Poet Nirmal Parashar’s writing journey began with a quote he had read in the book ‘The Light of Asia’: Leave love for love of lovers. ‘This powerful quote has only remained etched on my mind since I read it,’ says the poet, speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction. He tells us that because he was an introvert, he used to spend more time with books than with friends during his school and college days. ‘Nonetheless, during adolescence, the curiosity to understand the word “love” became intense,’ he states with a smile, adding, ‘And although I was hardly familiar with this, I was curious to know how it feels to love and be loved.’
Coordinates require input, chance comes accidentally,
Rendezvous a meeting point, you do saunter aimlessly.
Vector an interception course, we cross paths randomly
Anticipation is foresight, I never imagined such beauty.
Peter nodded, then looked back out at the sea. I followed his gaze. Sunshine reflected off the surface of the water, mirroring brilliance. Waves rose and fell with roaring energy. It was scary, beautiful, and oh so wondrous. I needed to come here more often.
Cold moon flows
our love sick fantasies
sculpts desire of swallowed fame
oh, long lost symphonies!
Curtain falls on blazing seduction
slaying us over and over again
lighting the dark, curse upon us
until shadows remain.
You’re tormenting me like a restless, malicious spirit I can’t be rid of. You shall be an ever-present reminder of my cowardice, of my original nature long-lost and yet too, a beast discovered that’s forever concealed in me; one that hungers, thirsts, craves.
Once lived a proud and happy prince
in a palace too grand and fine.
‘Bout sadness and pain he knew not;
He knew to drink from nine to nine.
Waking up to the lazy winter sun,
Perched on a tree sings a lark.
Lives seem indolent and lethargic,
Snow falls softly while the day is still dark.
If only I knew where the sky begins,
and were I only ware of where it ends;
I’d state how many stars incandesce here
and also ’bout each thing that our earth tends;
The answers I shall give with no defense.
Author Morwenna Blackwood avers she doesn’t recall ever starting to write. ‘It’s just something I have always done,’ she begins, speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction. She goes on to state matter-of-factly that the first proper story she wrote was about a frog. ‘And that was when I was six years old,’ she tells us with a smile.
As the hour of dawn
Ever more imminent did draw
The lofty celestial expanse
Eschewed the tired robes of night
And discarded the redundant attire
Look to the east, to the symbols of destiny drawn on Tyrrhenian bunting,
Pirates approaching, rapaciously scavenging; eager for something worth hunting,
Seeing the sight of the youthful immortal they roar and express their elation,
Truly the gods must have favour for sons of the mighty Etrurian nation,
Brought to a landing and leaping like fishes,
Seizing their hostage, their motives auspicious,
Beauty so boundless, a body so healthy
Signals the son of a kingdom so wealthy.
It was indeed the mountains
that obscured him while he traversed the planets;
The Sun reflected by many rivers
did keep him warm while the unending sky
studded with zillions of bright, colourful stars
complemented the beauty of his soul.
When season gets cold and souls colder
Tears freeze before reaching a shoulder
Stories of summer feel older and older
And a weather of solitude starts.
The night pulls in
And the sun makes way for the moonlit sky
October’s golden sun has said its last goodbye
And winter’s chill swirls in the breeze
Shaking the last remnants of Auburn from the trees
Lights in houses glow in the evening air
Shimmering black pavements, under branches bare
Children in soft woollen warmth to the chin
Kicking fallen leaves, the cold blushing their skin
They’ve fallen from the trees that now stand nude and pale,
So leaves my soul to figure what they hold;
I’m lying to myself (no falsehood in this tale),
but on my mind dwell truths about the cold.
Is the weather not presaging what will happen
to grass ploughed well in April, May, and June?
Hand in glove with you is He, nothing’ll mishappen
but the gloves you have worn may wear out soon.
Do you know the word ‘hold’ has got close to fifty meanings? Well, we aren’t kidding a bit! And to make matters worse, this commonly used word can function both as a verb and a noun! While as a noun it has roundabout ten meanings, as a verb it has around forty.
If I could time trek, straight to school I’d go
because the thoughts that to me are cherished
belong to school and wish not to be perished;
Weren’t they the days when each hoed one’s own row?
The brooding sky harried the realm
It glowered beneath an angry brow
Through narrowed eyes
Glistering with intentionally unconcealed rage
Tinged with the betrayal
Of a fleeting mocking delight
At the discomfitted souls below