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!
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.
The crashing of the waves
Pummels the sandy beach
And blasts the granite rocks
As the spray swamps the realm
As the village dreamt, one little girl, Rehema, was woken up by what sounded like thunder. Sensing the rain, she ran to check the windows in her parents’ room. They were sealed shut. She then walked back to her bed to ensure her room’s window was shut, right before the thunder cracked louder, followed almost immediately by a bright yellow light that pierced through the blinders.
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.
You tell me you know best,
That there’s none that can best you;
Shall I put you to test
So I could find out what’s true?
There are days when I oft rue
The friendship we did share
When does come a blazing loo
That tells me you don’t care.
On top of me life’s comedy- those jokers
in the deck that wreck our focus,
off my centre, miss the locus,
that’s the way they think they broke us,
Parliamentary hocus-pocus,
propaganda from the POTUS,
all the things they think that ‘woke us
don’t mean shit to laid-back smokers.
Here’s Pongal, a festival that celebrates the Sun’s glory, might
Observed well by Indians, its epicentre sure being south
In mainly a state that bears those who employ an old tongue to mouth
Their praises and plaudits to yon great and mighty Sun giving light.
The author, who can speak a bit of Spanish and Welsh besides swearing in Punjabi, thanks to his Indian friends at school, also stresses while accepting the reality might be hard, if one does accept, then it will take the sting off the inevitable rejections and negative reviews that all authors get. ‘With rejections, try to be level-headed when they land. First consider whether they are sincere, or whether they are just a form rejection with little thought or substance behind them. If they are sincere, then study them carefully, take on board the comments and try to learn,’ he explains, adding, ‘This is especially important if those rejections go into specific detail about what did and didn’t work. Try and see this as honest advice from top people within the industry, which, in any other scenario, you would probably be paying good money for.’
I clutch little baby hands, his body wrapped in a hospital sheet.
It’s blue and red – much like his skin; my baby.
His face is the image of peace, but there’s something
not right in the silence of it all. They take him and hide him
away from my desperate eyes, but it’s a loud silence
that has my whole chest-bursting at the ribs.
I beg every god I know that he might breathe.
For me.
Please.
Soon enough we did notice some huntsmen with arrows, bows,
Who looked keen to put rollicking, glad deer yon day to death;
So like soldiers who safeguard the borders, we formed two rows
In hope we could stall each man that did tread with baited breath.
Besides, Mr Frankel shares with us that being an English coach and editor, he has to make time for other essential activities as well. While he usually writes at night for a few hours and takes breaks every fifty minutes or so, we learn that during the day too, he gets interesting ideas, which he more often than not jots down immediately. ‘During the day, however, I teach ESL (English as a Second Language) besides editing other writers’ works. Then, I do my own thing, which is writing. When I want to relax, I listen to music, read, or try to sleep. Most writers are sleep deprived at one point or another, and sleep is imperative to being creative.’
He does inhabit rooms that oft look like glooms,
Oh! But he prizes all he’s got, come what may.
He visits us with brooms, helps each man who dooms,
But I find it sad that he has got no say.
The few months that we were compelled to stay home,
He came, collected our dirt, greeted all in warm tone.
What transpired after resembled a movie scene in slow-motion. She was running to the end of the cliff, and he was standing still at first, for there was nothing he could do that would stop her. She was going to take the deadly leap to end it all! He gathered the strength to run after her like a lion chasing a deer. She though had already jumped into the air. She had widened her arms, taking the light away from the Sun as if she were a cursed angel.
His eyes are white, his hair is green
His nose and ears are super clean
While walking on his fingers weak
He never permits his mouth to speak
He buys books at the garment shop
At garment shops he books a mop
He gets paid just one time a year
And he lives his life in no fear
And when morning was unfurled,
I did open my eyes to sight
Blueness of the sky so deep and grand
That revealed the Saviour’s power and might.
And I wondered then if there was some site
Where His great vision might never land;
I cognised soon there wouldn’t be light
if He left our little world.
Every poet, without a shadow of a doubt, wants to be appreciated and acknowledged. However, little do many self-proclaimed poets know there exist different kinds of poets just like there are different kinds of poetic forms. While ‘poet’ seems to be the most commonly used term to denote someone who composes poems, it is very much possible to categorise poets. After you read this post, we believe you will get to know the category you belong to; so if you’re ready, get going!
Yon day we did feel the nature’s rage
When the city was hit by a storm;
And like puppies in a little cage,
We were locked, confined well to our dorm.
Oh, we heard the thunder’s rowdy dance
That did put us in a wondrous trance.
I wanted to thank you for interviewing me on your e-gazette, The Literary Juggernaut. You posed a number of interesting questions, and it was a wonderful experience.
Without the support of a big publishing house, indie authors must find every opportunity they can to reach new readers. Your efforts to spotlight indie authors and their work, introducing them to your readers is much appreciated!
To the owners and operators of The Literary Juggernaut, I’d like to thank you for giving me the opportunity to express my thoughts in an interview I recently did for you. Many authors try to get some form of public recognition and publicity for their efforts; you have given me both. I only wish that more blog sites would do the same!
As a writer, it is never easy. We spend long hours writing and rewriting, advertising on Twitter and other forums, chatting with fellow writers on techniques, and just plain doodling around until inspiration hits. It is good to know sites like yours exist that help us spread the word about our work.
Once again, my greatest thanks!
Having been interviewed by Vatsarah Stavyah (you can read the interview here), I can say that The Literary Juggernaut is AHEAD OF THE PACK. It is perceptive, astute, caring. It is curious, interested, unafraid, committed. It is there. It is all that you would most want from a literary journal, especially now with so much overload. It is a path, that is, to something new and true and real. Of all the journals out there, The Literary Juggernaut is just that, a juggernaut, and it is worth your time. Trust it. Read it.
