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B Sudharsan

B Sudharsan is an Indian poet, English instructor, and former journalist. He is the founding editor-in-chief of The Literary Juggernaut and dwells in Delhi, India.

‘Loving’ Friend

There’s a world abiding in each where blooms love;
Nothing great can be gained if yon world dies!
I say rear the world now; never ask when.
Would that you could grasp what in yon world lies!

Rescued by Poetry

Author Robert Stubblefield started writing around the age of ten. As a matter of fact, he began composing poems at the time as a way to cope with the loss of his grandmother. Speaking exclusively to The Literary Juggernaut, the twenty-eight-year-old American author and poet, who is currently residing in Maryland, the US, says poetry has always helped him express his feelings towards the world around him. Emphasising that he usually writes when he has the urge to pen down his thoughts and whenever he feels low, Mr Stubblefield, who holds a bachelor’s degree besides two master’s degrees, says he composes poetry so he may articulate the deepest of his thoughts in ways he cannot do when he happens to be speaking.

The Force That Guides the Worlds Galore

I suggest you now grasp that heart’s core
Is illumed by none but God; thought ain’t vain.
Same is force that guides the worlds galore,
One birthed by a chaste woman. Prized lore!

You Slew Your Soul

But I suppose there is no fun
In leading what you’re leading – gruesome life;
You think not of superb acts dropped
Before you say the thoughts that stay well popped
Until slain is the mental strife!
And goodness goes on to stand sadly done.

When I First Looked Into Your Eyes

Lambasted love couldn’t even minds
That shall float now, forever,
Be born again to be dead, gone.
That is life’s nature; it quite binds,
Creating love in ways clever
In order that worlds may move on.

The Real Question

Could you will to enquire where we are caught,
And why the ball of fire has not touched us?
Give it some time, give what’s been said a thought
Before you put your questions, making fuss.

‘Writing Is Art, a Calling’

Author T C Weber is a morning person, and he begins his day with what he loves doing most: writing. In an exclusive email interaction with The Literary Juggernaut, Mr Weber, who is a member of Poets & Writers and the Maryland Writers Association, says when working on a novel, his goal is to write one scene each day, schedule permitting. ‘I ensure that I write something every morning, even if it’s just random thoughts or a few paragraphs. Long scenes may take several days,’ explains the author, who also knows to speak Spanish besides a bit of Russian and Japanese.

World of Play

The stars greatly glowed when the night was young,
And the moonlight gleamed, glistened upon seas;
It looked as if the stars were lights well strung
By men who would prize nothing but calm, peace.

Tricolor Profaned

Pretentious men sat, watched the harm,
Recalling to word their dead thought;
Observed was chaos; there was no calm!
Farm laws were blamed and farmers bought.

Pandemic Plagiarised

Pandemic plagiarised plagiarised plagues
Plagued pure places, preyed ‘pon poor people
Plotted, planned, plunged persistently
Placed plain pain, pessimism, pricks
Plundered positivism
Pained planet proudly
Pauperised peeps
Pressed paupers
Provoked
Pawns

Gone With the Wind

The morning did beam when the sunlight flared,
Awakening worlds then asleep in men;
It made them alight from their homely den
While raging winds clavered, determined, dared.

Deriving Strength and Courage

What gives us pure pleasure is after all loving those who do abhor us;
So you and sure I shall esteem those who hate us but not once defeat, trim
The strength we’ve attained hitherto by just being loved by those we’d hate, cuss.

The World Is But a Speck of Dust

Hence, worlds that exist in our very small vision
Are just lies mirroring truth;
But what the true truth does is work illusion
Thus causing pain, agony, and ruth.

Love and Hate

Each who has wronged me does deserve to be abhorred.
And so, not once will I ever want to think that
No one’s my foe and that world’s friendly, lovely, great.
For I’m quite strongly of this sound opinion that
There’s no mates in the real world that we dwell in.

Do Your Duty

Let each thought causing you harm now cease; strong and brave you shall be!
Not brooding on what’s past does sound wise; exactly what we feel.
The acts you do are not done by you; there’s forces you hardly see.
Fruit, therefore, you’ll not seek even once; let’s just term all this deal!

Feelings Felt

Askew went the planning
Because of our notions,
Caused lots of lamenting
Did soil our emotions;
Edged then were our portions
Facetious was fought fight,
Gone feelings then lotions
Helped both to become light.

I Saw Your Awed Eyes

I saw thy awed eyes loudly doubting me
Isled, raw thy flawed sighs howled, in silence yelled
Eyed flawed, awful lies ruining me, thee
Thy augured thoughts then soundly themselves quelled.