FLASH FICTION

Kopila Dhungana :

Initially, my Nepali teacher was the muse who influenced me to get into literature. Also, my dedication and commitment enrich my writing life, and stimulate my own creativity. I do read my own past works for inspiration, and read my favourite authors’ book to generate incentive thoughts. Conclusively, my self-possessions, my vision to create extraordinary lines and deliberation of firm thoughts push me for writing.

Samir Gautam : Ma’am, could you give us your brief account about your literary background?

Kopila Dhungana : I have already said that I am very passionate in writing. During my childhood, I used to publish my articles/poems in school souvenir magazines. I used to participate in debates and speech competitions, essay competitions and school-wise poetry competitions. I used to win them and get lots of prizes. And I became my own inspiration. My own achievement compelled me to explore more literatures. My family and teachers had supported for me. I still remember that my father used to motivate me to follow the passion, and he had explained that “Just write for your sake, people will follow and respect your way. ” I have great influence of him. During my college years, I participated in essay writing competitions, and published articles in wall magazines.

Although I was writing since childhood, I started publishing my articles in online news and media websites, and different blogging websites officially just two years ago. Now I am content writer and editor for Nepal Reports which is a growing online media. I am also a blogger in different blogging websites and I chiefly write with passion and love to change thoughts of people.

Samir Gautam: Ma’am, I personally don’t write in my mother tongue but I rather prefer English to write poems since I feel that I can express myself better in English with rhyme and rhythm. Ma’am, how well can you portray in your mother tongue rather than in English?

Kopila Dhungana :

I suppose you are right that you feel easy to write in English Language. I do write in my mother tongue and English as well. But I can give more justice to my poem if I prefer to write in my mother tongue i.e Nepali Language. For instance, it is really amazing experience. A mother tongue is a language which a child starts hearing after being born and thus, it also helps in providing a definite shape to our emotions and thoughts. Similarly, mother tongue is the main way to enhance literary skills. Nepali language is the one I first learned, the language of my heart, the language I grew up with and it is my native language and that’s why I can stimulate my writing more than better, I can provide uniqueness and kindness on my writing. Overall, this task is a stabilizer and mentor that give proper direction for my writings.

Samir Gautam : From aforementioned accounts, one can palpably witness that you read a lot and you are at a study table till the late night. Ma’am, what keeps you being devoted in reading? What do you find so enchanting in reading prose?

Kopila Dhungana : Yes, I do read until I am tired. I am a motivated learner and an inspired reader who believes that the reading can change the course of our destination, change the thought and revive the soul. My own vision, selfcompassion, insight and self-awareness devote me to read. I find reading prose and poems as a brilliant way which increases empathy, critical thinking, and improves verbal dexterity and cognitive function, reduces mental stress, and anxiety. Personally, I feel that the reading of literature connects our heart with mind. The attraction, affection, love and consideration motivate me to be a loyal reader. I am practicing a lot during these days to increase the speed of reading from which I can read many of books in the short instance of time.

Samir Gautam:

Ma’am, how would you like to define poetry as an Art? Do the world still demands erudite Poets like Shakespeare and Milton?

Kopila Dhungana :

Not surprisingly, poetry is an art because it requires techniques, tools, pattern, practices, rhymes, sound, emotions and images. You pick up a pen and start to write your spontaneous feelings. Poetry possesses aesthetic and rhythmic quality. I love to say that poetry is art, an intellectual attempt, an outcome of creativity and skill which evokes focused imaginative consciousness.

To say about present time, the world is demanding knowledgeable, bookish, studious, cultivated and innovative poets like Shakespeare and Milton because they had written with deep and broad familiarity on any kind of general topics, and their writing was also the result of extensive reading. In comparison to the past, we are lacking traditional style, free flow, thought for personal conviction freedom and self determination. Thus, the world still gives more priority to those intellectuals.

Kopila Dhungana : There are plenty of floors where we can easily express our artistic work and creative abilities. Your ultimate purpose is to find your way of writing, but you also have a task to perform to inspire and influence others. Blogging websites is the best option where I can simply publish my articles, e.g. popular blogging platforms like WordPress, Blogspot, Tumblr, and social media like LinkedIn. I do also write in newspaper as a content writer or a blogger where I can convince lots of readers to respect what I am doing, motivate them to be the part of literary world. Basically, this will help me to recognize and fulfil my initiative. When people ask me about the best of deck, then I do suggest these kinds of things.

Samir Gautam : Ma’am, for the young talent like you who come up with fresh voice each day, is there any forum or platform where you can showcase your oeuvre and influence others to come up with novel voice each day?

Kopila Dhungana :

Nepali literature is thriving throughout the country and growing in the world through the publication of books, magazines, journals, and programs like discussions, interactions, seminars, and conferences. Although Nepali literature is struggling in the global market, it is more uplifting than the previous time.

Once I read an article in Himalayan Times, and it represented the topic of “Nepali writers haven’t found readers abroad” . As per this Nepali literature is produced and consumed primarily just at home but it is less exposed.

In general, Nepali literature is making its way to adjust and upgrade. This is a positive thing for all the upcoming writers.

Samir Gautam : Ma’am, the second wave of Covid-19 is perilously toxic and thus the country has declared the second lockdown now. Can reading be the best alternative to escape from this recent catastrophe?

Kopila Dhungana : For me reading is the best remedy of a painful situation. I had passed the previous lockdown by reading books and also in this time I am following the same thing. I bought some books before lockdown and now I am reading them. Not all the people love to read books, and they are spending this lockdown time by doing the work of their own interest.

For book lovers they are having enough time nowadays. But I do believe that reading is mandatory for all. Good books can change you. So, choose wisely, read freely. Read for good, read for better.

Samir Gautam: Ma’am, modern poet like Nawaraj Parajuli who indeed deserves a grand ovation is a precious gem Nepalese must treasure for eternity. Do you think that people are condemning his literary works and they are also giving him a sound literary ambience to display his talent?

Kopila Dhungana :

Nawaraj Parajuli is one of the most influential youth poets nowadays. Every people specially youths are praising and supporting his works. As he is the first one who started the new trend “Kabita Concerts” , and took the Nepali poetry beyond the expectations, not less than a rapper, a person with rhythm and overall package of poetry skills. A man who recites poems to music, describes poems based on philosophy and human life, loves in mindful and spritual way, obviously deserves a huge respect and admiration from everyone. People are encouraging him to innovate more than expected. I also follow him, I do listen to him in YouTube and there I can see all the people are considering him as a truly inspiring poet who writes and sings from soul. People are supporting because they can connect themselves or relate in some ways by generalizing the thoughts and experiences in their own life by listening to him. He is the driving force who is motivating people to love poetry.

Samir Gautam : Some legendary rappers like Anil Neupane commonly known as Yama Buddha who resides in every heart of the youth wrote numerous brilliant lyrics which sail around life, melancholy, happiness and upheavals and at the same time go with poetry. Both consist of rhymes with smooth flows. Ma’am, do you find rap as beautiful as poetry? Why do people love poetry but not rap as they both deal with both bright and dark sides of human life ensued by rhythm and proper flows? Is it mere profanity that exasperates viewers or listeners?

Kopila Dhungana : I also follow rap, and find it as an art which resembles with a kind of poem because it consists of poetic quality. Both are spoken and rap looks like poetry. It mainly focuses on rhythms, rhymes and musicality but poem comprises flow and rhyme. Some raps are poetry but not all of the raps can be included in poetry. I enjoy poetic rap and I am following poetic rappers like Tupac Shakus, Nas, Kanyes West. Some people love rap and some love poetry. I would like to mention a couple of things here.

Lots of rappers consider themselves as poets and they always aim to elaborate social awareness in communities, speak out against negative aspects of life such as violence, injustice and to promote peace. I personally admire both rap and poetry as they express emotions, experiences and loyalty. Young people often appreciate the lyrics of a rap but do follow poetry as well. On the one hand, generally rap is expressed rapidly and rhythmically which is widely accepted and liked. On the other hand, only some people don’t like rap. This is not a matter of obscenity, and it doesn’t affect the perspective of viewers and listeners as every body follow their own interest. But I would like to suggest that the vision of rap and poetry is the same because they both aim to explore about different issues.

In my opinion, people love poetry more than rap because poetry communicates ideas, emotions, silent thoughts, and it can reveal the hidden truth. The sound gap in poetry increases enthusiasm in listeners, and it also enables you to express yourself and gives you a deeper understanding of the language which is a great feeling. And in term of rap, people don’t feel these things easily in rap as it is a really complicated and very different in its sound and culture. To recapitulate, I don’t think this behaviour of people is any kind of curse, and it’s all about the nature, choice and taste of people.

Samir Gautam: If you are given to choose between these two gems in terms of their contribution in Nepali Literature? i. Laxmi Prasad Devkota ii. Madhav Prasad Ghimire. Whom would you like to choose and what’s your opinion about the one you choose?

Kopila Dhungana :

It’s a really tough choice for me because I admired both. I grew up by reading their literatures. Firstly, Laxmi Prasad Devkota was the ‘Mahakavi’ (The Great Poet) in Nepali literature, and the most influential novelist of the 20th century. On the other hand, Madhav Prasad Ghimire who was honoured as “Rashtrakavi” , also a scholar with great inventiveness, author of praised pieces like ‘Gauri’ , ‘Rastra Nirmata’ , the one whose writings reflect the close observation in patriotism and society.

But if I have to choose one of them, I would definitely choose Laxmi Prasad Devkota. I read one of his popular books “Muna Madan” and I found it romantic and moral. Furthermore, by reading his literary works, I found most of his writings represent the understanding and experiences of humans in society. His explanation expresses underprivileged and marginalised people regarding the societal issues. He is a perfect writer who inspired lots of people to write for society. His critical thoughts, vision, self- compassion and empathy for writing propelled him to portray about societal elements like human values, norms, justice, family issues and so on.

Samir Gautam is a 20 year old poet currently studying in 12th standard at Oxford college majoring in English and Political Science. His works has been appeared in INNSAEI journal, Betiya Anthology, Acid Verse journal, Shagaz Anthology, Emotions and so on. He has been very passionate about writing from his very early age. Samir Gautam’s writing mantra : “Read and feel”

PAINTINGS

Ann Privateer

Ann Privateer is a poet, artist, and photographer. Some of her work has appeared in Third Wednesday and Entering to name a few. Her Instagram handle is annershea.

FLASH FICTION

Krzysztof. T. Dabrowski

Books in USA: "Escape" (2019 - Royal Hawaiian Press), "Anomaly" (2020 - Royal Hawaiian

Press) Books in Spain:"La fuga" (2019 - Royal Hawaiian Press), "Anomalia" (2019 - Royal Hawaiian

Press) Books in Germany: "Die Anomalie" (2020 - Der Romankiosk) Books in Poland: "Deathbirth" (2008 - Armoryka publishing house), "Anima vilis" (2010 -

Initium publishing house), "Grobbing" (2012 - Novae Res publishing house), "Deathbirth and

other stories" (2012 & 2017 - Agharta & Armoryka publishing house), "Z życia Dr Abble"

(2013 - Agharta publishing house),

"Orgazmokalipsa" (2016 - Alternatywne publishing house), "Anomalia" (2016 - Forma publishing house), "Ucieczka" (2017 - Dom Horroru publishing house) & "Nie w inność" (2019 - Waspos publishing house) ANTHOLOGY in: USA, England, Australia, Poland, Russia, Germany & India. And he published his stories in the following magazines: PLAYBOY (Slovak edition), USA, England, Czech Republic, Russia, Brasil, Spain, Argentina, Germany, Italy, Hungary, Mexico, Albania & Nigeria.

He had those really cool babes, each one different than the others, but also beautifully built. I've always envied him, just like everybody else around. One would have to be blind not to appreciate their beauty. I could only dream about one of these – honey is not for the ass's mouth, as the saying goes.

Why does it have to be like that? That's not fair. I do deserve something in life!

I think every one of us felt the way I did, and I suppose he sensed it. He walked around with them, as if he was God knows who, every single day with another one. Some were classic beauties with divine shapes, others exotic, such jewels that would blow your mind. And us, the poor pensioners with a piece of hemmed wood...

His walking sticks – real works of art...

HAIKU

Merlin Priyadharshini

Merlin Priyadharshini is an aspiring poet. She was born and raised in Madurai, Tamil Nadu. She is currently based in Bangalore after her marriage. She is married to Mr. Dias Raja who is a software engineer. They have a year old twin boys now. She has completed Electrical Engineering from the Anna University. She is a blogger and freelance editor. She had always been a poetry lover and began writing poetry at her early teens. She likes melodies and also accompanies herself in the church choir much often.

SHORT STORIES

Dana Trick

First generation Mexican-Canadian-American and lover of skulls and books, Dana Trick lives in Southern California where it is clearly foolish to wear black any day but she does it anyway. When she isn’t being a historian, Dana Trick spends her days writing emotional poems and weird stories, and drawing comic strips that she thinks are hilarious. She enjoys learning about the history and the various mythologies of Latin America and Asia, but her interest is mainly on the history of autism, which she has. Her work has been published on Art of Autism, the Lothlorien Poetry Journal, DeviantArt, and The Ugly Writers. She wishes the reader a nice day

Political Satirized Fable

One day, a liberal artist and a conservative artist had what was supposed to be a somewhat levelheaded discussion about art that dwindled into a petty argument about art that went around in circles and circles. “Art is supposed to be free, ” the liberal artist proclaimed, “Anyone who tries to censor it for unrealistic and shallow justifications can only be a dictator.” “Yes, yes, yes, that’s right, ” droned the conservative artist, “But a lot of people are too foolish, too literal, too impressionable. . . Art must be carefully supervised, so people would only receive the correct way to live and prosper. ” “That’s not how art does work, ” the liberal artist shot back, “Art is birthed from honesty as well as creativity. Art isn’t a moral monitor for the people, it should be the total freedom of expression and opinions of both the artist and the audience. ” “Yes, yes, yes, that is true, ” injected the conservative artist, “But the artist should be at least aware of the world around them and know that there should be lines that mustn’t be crossed or violated.” “You bring up a good perspective, ” the liberal artist admitted, “Art is also full of everything and sometimes are stereotypes and prejudices that only continue ignorance. Art should be constantly critically reviewed and overseen, therefore it wouldn’t bring destruction and immorality upon the people.

“Yes, yes, yes, that is accurate, ” hummed the conservative artist,

“But art and artists should not be condemned for what they created nor pressured to create stale pieces. Art is also an expression of opinion, and no matter what those opinions are, they should be respected from the audience. A piece of art should be whatever the artist wants, and artists should create whatever they want without being punished for it.

“You make a good point, ” the liberal artist acknowledged,

“But artists are humans and humans can be horrible as well as good, and sometimes the art that is made from these horrible humans often exploits moral boundaries for the sake of receiving recognition and acclaim.”

“But the audience shouldn’t take art too seriously. Artists should do what they want without being so cautious of offending extremely reactionary and soft individuals whose outrage is extremely overblown.”

“You bring up a good argument, ” the liberal artist recognized,

“But sometimes some of those outrages are valid and should be listened to, as art has occasionally been used to intentionally harm the outsiders of society—in both representation and creation. Artists should make themselves aware of these issues as well as include and recognize society ’s outsiders in the sphere of art.”

“Yes, yes, yes, that is exactly right, ” mumbled the conservative artist,

“But artists can only be artists if they put the work in. The mere act of being inclusive to others who hadn’t done the work and whose below-average pieces only receive recognition and acclaim just for being society ’s outsider is insulting to art, true artists, and the so-called artist. There is a reason why so few people are able to become an artist.

“Art should be accessible for all, ” the liberal artist asserted,

“Not for a select few who’s always the dominant in power and wealth. Being inclusive doesn’t equal to a decrease in quality.” “Yes, yes, yes, that is somewhat true, ” murmured the conservative artist, “But those outsider individuals don’t always bring the best of humanity, and they would have the audacity to glorify it and because of that glorification, the people would attempt to replicate that depraved glory to foolishly enrich their own lives at the cost of ruining society! This is why art should be closely supervised to remove those potential pieces that would bring harm to society and replaced with moral lessons to improve society.

“Art should be totally free!” the liberal artist argued back. And so on and so on.

Throughout the day, the two artists bickered back and forth, each of their examples and points neither gaining nor losing ground. Their exasperating ruckus immediately annoyed everything that came across the—animals, humans, bugs, winds, plants, water, spirits, ghosts, monsters, demons, angels, saints, gods. It wasn’t long until this argument started to stink so gravely that the Nine Muses in heaven began to hear it and couldn’t stand it within a millisecond of smelling it.

Determined to cease this stank off the earth and their home, the Nine Muses descended in front of the two artists and demanded, “Your wasted words have created a stench so disgusting that all things good and evil are avoiding you! Cease your foolish arguing!”

Yet, despite confronted with the divine, despite being at the other’s throats previously, both the liberal artist and the conservative artist simultaneously said, “But dear Muses, this art-centered discussion isn’t based on personal philosophy but of practical politics!” and they quickly gave the Muses their arguments in hopes of their argument receiving the ultimate divine agreement and approval.

Sumati Muniandy

Sumati Muniandy is currently an academic lecturer and a writer. She holds her Master’s Degree in TESOL from University Southern Queensland, Business Administration from University Putra Malaysia (UPM), Diploma in TESL from Teacher Training college,Malaysia and Diploma in TESOL from London Teacher Training College. She has written a number of articles on various locally and abroad. She has also presented papers in conferences. Writing is her passion and she writes her real life experiences to inspire others. She believes that everyone has a story to tell.

This story tells you a story of an alcoholic father. It brings a different perspective to our lives. This bittersweet story may help to see the world in a broad manner. It tells a story about an alcoholic father, or perhaps it is much more than that. There were brothers. Twin brothers. They grew up with an alcoholic father. He was not only an alcoholic but full of anger, aggression, bitterness, unjust and abuse verbally and physically. Worst kind of example for the two boys. Nothing they learn from him except his drinking habit and abusive behavior. These two brothers watch this unfolds real-life story the moment their eyes could see and the moment their ears could hear. They watched their father’s uncouth behavior throughout their childhood, teenage years, and right after they become adults and moved out to be independent. Unfortunately, their dad never changes with the advancement of age The drinking habit never stops, the bitterness grew day by day. The anger towards the world became stronger and started blaming the world for his never-ending problem.

Many years have passed, the boys are now grown up. Their father is now behind bars for violent crimes not for the 1st time but so is someone else. One of the twin brothers is also in prison for his crimes. One fine day, the mother visited him in the prison, she asked how he ended up like this. Feeling puzzled and uncertain, the son answered he didn’t have any choices as his father is an alcoholic. He blamed his father for all the misery in his life. His dad was not a role model for him, he said and left abruptly. His weeping mother stood and left the place emotionally.

She was on her way to meet her second son. This twin's life turns out to be different. He was positive and welcomed his mother with open arms. The eager mother asked how his life turned out to be like this. The son said what choices he had seen his father’s attitude day in day out. He eloquently said that he didn’t want his life meaningless like his father. He said he didn’t want to be him and always wanted to be an example for his children.

The moral of the story is no matter what happens to us, the only matters what meaning we give to what happens to us. Ultimately, it will shape our lives and whom we become in the end. Rather than blaming others for who we are and whom we become like the son in prison in the story. All we can see is the negative things illuminating in our lives. Why not for a change we see the negative things in life in a positive outlook as a blessing instead? A negative situation is a strong reminder to seek the betterment of life. Achieving betterment in life is not an easy task. Through a radical change and a strong mind, we can choose to create a better life for ourselves and our family. We can harp on the past and pinpoint others for all the calamities in our life or we can see the good in others and the good in every situation we are, we can set even the hard situation is set to be our own blessings, and we don’t have to wait long to find it. We can be the victim of life circumstances or a successful victory. Furthermore, we can choose to see the negative or the positive vibes in everything we do. It is a matter of choice and our perspectives in life to control things as they are. The question is “ what do you choose”? In the current unprecedented time with the Covid-19 pandemic which hitting the world without messy, how do we prepare ourselves to view it positively? The celebrations and festivals have become quiet now; people fall unconscious and dying now; the earth is shaking, and now it is forbidden to go to a feast and celebrate as we used to do. These are some implications of the pandemic. So, what should we do? Sit and mourn about it as it is no sign of disappearing or make use of this time to do something beneficial. It is in our hands and the choices we make. Hope to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

WRITE - UP

Aparna Paranjape

Aparna Paranjapeis fascinatedtowardsphilosophy as a seeker of truth.She is bornand brought upin Maharashtra ,India. She is MSc , MA , B ed withEnglish Literature.She teaches Academic ENGLISHfor 10 /12 studentsin private academypune.

From Ordinary to Extraordinary

Soul and body are two different words to be noted. Soul dwells in body so body is a vessel to carry soul. Both are interdependent undoubtedly. When we think we listen brains signals, but when we feel we get universal signals offering satisfaction to the soul. Soul is eternal so it is happy only when we think beyond body

This concept is a guiding force to the strugglers of searchers. This distinction is really easy to understand. When the soul is content and happy, meager earnings or a hard life do not prevent the glow and smile on your face. People who live close to earth and toil with it all day remain happy and content. There is much more in life to keep one happy than struggling for riches and wealth. Small things in life can bring joy and keep our spirits high. We need to meet life with an attitude of peace, well being and gratitude for what we have .

Body is important but heart is pivotal. Heart can receive real signals directly from universe. It requires honesty and courage. It demands vision and values beyond Intellect.

When we are happy without any reason, it's direct appreciation of universe. As all this is beyond our comfort zone. Don't think and be happy is the motto.

Broader view is detached view. It gets better aspect avoiding unnecessary expectations. High intellectual power applied in the best manner for the thirst of our own heart is blessing.

So be natural. Ignore artificial.

POETRY

Aparna Paranjape

Aparna Paranjapeis fascinatedtowardsphilosophy as a seeker of truth.She is bornand brought upin Maharashtra ,India. She is MSc , MA , B ed withEnglish Literature.She teaches Academic ENGLISHfor 10 /12 studentsin private academypune.

WHAT HAS CHANGED?

Do have leaves changed their greenness Do have flowers changed their sweetness.....

Do have chillies changed their acridity Do lemons changed their acidity?.....

Do trees left giving shadows Doesn't grass grow on meadows?.....

Do rivers changed their way Do oceans rushed to bay?.....

Does nature stopped giving Does God stopped caring?...

What has changed let me know The answer is truth our head to bow...

Humans have changed all is same It's proved impossible to intelligent tame...

Now the result is shocking to all Undertand it's time to wake up call.....

Be free from burden not to collect Be optimistic in each case thing to select....

Can't blame anyother for this loss Be alert wake up for real cause Real cause..

Shwetha A

An introverted dreamer, and a voracious writer, called by her name Shwetha A , is 20 now, currently pursuing Bachelor of Engineering in computer science. She is in love with books. Her family roots are in Kerala. She loves to decorate her skills with a rainbow of colours. Words are her paintbrush and poetry is the paint. Paper and pen are her buddies. With her passion for poetry and skills for creativity, she does believe that she can make a positive impact. She creates her sunshine, a passionate dream girl...Her poems have been published in several print and online publications, including , ‘SHE,A PRIZED SOLITIARE’ , ‘A THOUSAND WORDS’ , and ‘A WEAVER MAGAZINE’ etc..

SUNDAY EVENING

A Sunday evening, Azure skies are enticing. Succumbed in the beautiful phantasm, To unleash every chasm. White waves from the milky paper reflected through. Something more added to the eerieness was true. Her crimson ink pirouetted, The smile of the paper broadened. The calligraphic pattern I thought, But the word escaping was the fact. Something more was hidden inside the wardrobe, All to savour the dark I fizzled my earlobe. All, I thought was a weighting lie, Finalized I, how fast the truth die. Brooded over the subject again, Reminiscent of memories I gain. It all wasn't a denouement, The moment was so iridescent. Tarnished feelings evaporate into the ocean, The weight of teardrop hits the rock, is an illusion. Pinkies eyes for details, She, nothing but a cat explains.

Mirror said about my eyes dark stretch marks, I found, the shape losing of the exclamation marks. Ohh my, I am sorry for being dubious. The mirror never lies, I forgot the fact. Anthurium there loved the air, The most irksome moment turned so unfair. Further, I flipped through the crispy pages, Inside that was written, "Unconditional care of my mom unmeasured, Her love walks more, never to be assured. Dad's sweat perfumed through the waves of the air, His hungry stomach lies, so unfair. Blooming flower bud, her green leaves to hide the thorn, She, Shreya, my twin, a lifetime gift I adorn. My brother, a sweet little butterfly that glitters Like my eyelash, all through my journey, he considers" Words gets stitched in the chalk-white paper, Memoirs of bygone days falter.

B.S Saroja

B.S.Saroja is from Bangalore, Karnataka, India is 67 now. She is a post graduate in literature, graduate in Science and a diploma holder in Commerce. She has worked as Personal Secretary to the Managing Director of a business organization for ten years. She is a bilingual writer. She has written essays, short stories, poems and is a published author. Her writings have been published in different magazines, periodicals. She has written over two thousand English poems in different forms. They have been published in many poetry anthologies, Poetry books. To name a few.. "She" Infinite and Beyond, "Splash" The unremitting Drizzle , "Pebbles" Crystal of feelings, "The Brimming Bards" "Trouvaille" Medley of Poetic Beads ,"Illusive Hearts" etc.,

CONFINEMENT

Life has become so confined, I'm living in a dark prison. The tiniest crack of light is like a glimpse of God.

I'm an insomniac lying in bed; waiting for the first bird to sing, watching the grey sky through the small window.

My mind runs over the events of past days as if a video player has been fixed in my mind; Some scenes are seen over and over again.

Dance of death all over the earth With a gripping anxiety, waiting for my turn, I'm eager to embrace death but not in this cruel way.

Pandemic knows no arithmetic, Maybe it's a unique punishment for all our crimes against nature; Life's lamp is flickering.

Nothing left to dream, Life has taught me a lot. Yet, the present is trying to say, what I have learnt is not enough!

Prasanna Kumar

Prasanna Kkumar is a published trilingual poet and author of many macro and micro poems, he writes in English, Hindi and Telugu. He hails from the state of Andhra Pradesh, India, acquired Master of Commerce from Andhra University, He is an ardent lover of Nature and as such he always walks amidst., whenever wants to feel the breeze of freshness. His writings mostly reflect the abundance of the same, music is his passion, runs through his nerves, one could listen to his humming, whenever he is in upbeat mood.

KISS OF RIPPLES

Drowned in the waters of blues, In the brine that filled with bliss, the kiss of ripples quieted the eyes those brimmed with gushing cries,

She was a sorrowful goddess of infinite sadness, dunked herself to ward off the distress into the self of realising the self, the mess

of puzzling riddles, now, floating in the pool of refreshing rivers, left all the madness of drifting to rejoice in the transient matters

Dee Allen

African-Italian performance poet based in Oakland, California U.S.A. Active on the creative writing & Spoken Word tips since the early 1990s. Author of 5 books [ Boneyard, Unwritten Law, Stormwater and Skeletal Black, all from POOR Press, and from Conviction 2 Change Publishing, Elohi Unitsi ] and 38 anthology appearances [ including Your Golden Sun Still Shines, Rise, Extreme, The Land Lives Forever, Civil Liberties United, Colossus: Home, 2020: The Year That Changed America, Geography Is Irrelevant from York, England's own Stairwell Books, Five Words: Volume XIV from West Cork, Ireland's O' Bheal and the newest from Flower Song Press, created in connection with the 2021 Rio Grande Valley International Poetry Festival, Boundless ] under his figurative belt so far.

HOT SPRINGS

Leafy green Southern titans The Ouachita Mountains Pour their generous Wet offering To the lowland city Thriving at their feet.

Steaming wet offering Clear and hot, stored ancient rain Rising 6000 feet from mountain faults. No fish can swim in these Waters of high temperatures, But humans seem to enjoy them.

Leftover Victorian Era bath-houses, Modern hotels and spas Wouldn’t be built and patronised otherwise. People wouldn’t be taking dips for a moment Into heated water, seeking relaxation, wonder-working Curative power for the body otherwise. Travellers and locals wouldn’t bring to spigots Big glass jugs to fill with the intent of Taking a little of Hot Springs home otherwise.

I had the opportunity to visit My first true green area in years For a scant 25 minutes, there and back

From home. from a silver laptop computer. One century as a national park, One decade as a posh Gangsters’ paradise of which Coolio knew nothing, Four millennia as a wellspring, Still welcome to all who feel The need to stop and bathe, Soak all ailments away At porcelain and marble tile Altars to blessed water, One-hundred and forty-three Fahrenheit degrees.

I followed a helpful ranger Through past and present, Through her domain of expertise, Hot Springs, Arkansas where The liquid stream and the urban stream Concurrently flow, through a digital portal: zoom

Dr Muhammad Waqas Gul

Dr Muhammad Waqas Gul lives in a small town of Chashma, Pakistan. He is a medical doctor.Wrting English poetry and sometimes prose is his passion. He has been writing for past 4 years.His favourite poet is John Keats.Travelling and exploring new places is other favourite hobby.

TIME TRAVELLER

Seconds of sorrow Or of momentary joy I've seen times change Whether laughter or cry I'm a distant time traveller

Shields and spears of Troy The arrow piercing Achilles heal I see the devastation of war And pray for calm and peace I'm a distant time traveller

The hues and brush strokes of Da vinci And that mystery Mona Lisa smile I look at the beauty of colours Wishing to spread it everyone's life I'm a distant time traveller

The verses of Keats and Elliot The expressions of Chaucer and Yeats I immerse in beauty of the words Every human should definitely read I'm a distant time traveller

Seasons after seasons change But human nature remains the same Jealousy,hate and hypocrisy I see Let's except our follies its not a shame I'm a distant time traveller

Etumnu Ugochukwu Bright

Etumnu Ugochukwu Bright, a graduate of the University of Port Harcourt, where he studied theatre art and film studies. Many of his macabre plays had been performed on stage. When he is not reading or writing, he is cooking and tinkering.

GIVE SPEED

By chance, she hit him with the chains of her hands, The fiend of a man slums to her side, bleeding. This was her long awaited chance, And like a rabid dog she bolts into the night, Forgetting the wounds of her body and her soul. Made by the many times he kicked her; To kill the planted seed in her loin. Give speed to her feet divine zephyr; That she races to her freedom. Arianna was betrayed by her friend Mercy Lure with the idea of adventure. Her feet swift, her heart racing, The darkness covers her sullen nakedness; Hope is her only light. As she ran, stones cut deep, and thorns lick her, She silences their baneful mockery and races on. Death would have been her solace than be branded with “mine” Arise wind and give her speed, Cover gentle nature her feminine dignity. Then it streams into view, a Tavern! Lighted by the daze of burning lanterns. Her feet divided with her mind, Which compel her to run further. She run into the Tavern and falls prostrate, She notices a man stabbing another Her blood froze with fright. “Oh, don’t kill me” she cries “I am a woman betrayed by Mercy ” And slowly she swoons.

Patricia Walsh

Patricia Walsh was born in the parish of Mourneabbey, in north Co Cork,and educated at University College Cork, graduating with an MA in Archaeology. Her poetry has been published in Stony Thursday; Southword; Narrator International; Trouvaille Review; Strukturrus; Seventh Quarry; Vox Galvia; The Quarryman; Brickplight, The Literatus, and Otherwise Engaged. She has already published a chapbook, titled Continuity Errors in 2010, and a novel, The Quest for Lost Éire, in 2014. A second collection of poetry, titled Citizens Arrest, was published online by Libretto in 2020. A further collection of poetry, titled Outstanding Balance, is scheduled for publication in late 2021. She was the featured poet in the inaugural edition of Fishbowl Magazine, and a further novel, In The Days of Ford Cortina will be published in late 2021.

BOUGHT OUT

no end of expense when technology fails laughing at whatever an insult too far, the grey shawl comes to soften the din, lights on every corner hold their ground, singing against will a feat little ignored.

Expense after injury, the latest models burn, pressing escape buttons in an effort to function witty cards over function, anagrams of rock, pre-packaged necessities, overkill the situation, advertising other sorrows over lightbulbs fine.

Inviting hatred a prerequisite to divine love, shut down to resurrect from despised society, staring at creatures dying from overloaded coffee bright eyes, like an idiocy, cancers to the end, wine licence beats the drum of all the love within.

The comfortable makeshift café advertises its wares, watching phones like hawks settling on perches, waiting for the next kill, losing the progressive disrobing for the lost heat mourned, an open door, solitary confusion demanding an explanation.

Not wanting collective solitude, enough to be alone, where limited letters pay for hardy demolition ugliest situation in the city begging disbelief coming down slowly after a useful denigration holding technology to ransom, fixing a drink to same.

Divya Onkari

Divya Onkari 'Garima' , hails from Bhopal, Madhya Pradesh, India is a girl of resoluteness with an enthusiastic outlook and one who believes in dedication towards work, with a belief in the equal significance of hard-work and smart-work. An Orator who stands strongly for truth despite any criticism. She is a writer who writes in English, Hindi and Urdu (Devanagari script) languages. She is also awarded at many youth and literature festivals for her writing and speaking skills. Her work is published on many platforms, pages of communities and in several anthologies including two world records. Her work is also published in International anthologies and in International magazines and newspapers. She had been an active part of various international Poetic meet and also hosted a number of international events. She got diplomas, certificates of honors and letters of recommendation from renowned literature platforms for her poetries. Her writings usually speak about love, pain, life, nature and spirituality. She believes in constant learning with positive attitude.

JOURNEY WITHIN

One night weaving answers, for the questions of my soul. I travelled myself - within, witnessed, I, the inner furore. Drenched in the pain, drowned in the grief, locked real emotions vying illusionary peace. My screams are confined by my tears, discerning enigmatic smile, since several years. I felt my heart, like broken glass. Flowing pains of veins, turned me into the bard. My eyes are now barren, Dreams do not flourish anymore. So much destroyed in anguish, Self care, I forgot! The intensity of my agony, led me towards a change, I felt a different person, Living under my frame. Conversations with darkness, speaking with my wounds. I accepted this setting, as peace all around. My silence is in need, to be heard silently! I moved towards paper, with my pen - ultimately. As I came out from myself, to reach the destination of this journey, I saw a rising sun, Giving hope to my fading destiny! My inner screams I felt, went again to sleep! I wore smile and confidence, leaving behind the grief!

I know as the night will come, these all will wake me up again! they want me to weave answers, to rejuvenate the emotions and pain ! The vortex of feelings, never reaches to an ending! I consider my storms, as best friends by befriending. On the roads of paper, walking as words. My incomplete trail, is my complete world.

Kenneth Kibet Cheruiyot

Kenneth Kibet Cheruiyot is a young Kenyan poet with a Bachelor's degree in Biotechnology. His love for Poetry began way back in high school and has since grew to be one of the renowned poets in Kenya and Africa. His magnificent literary skills and has seen him feature in a number of international anthologies as well as online journals. He hopes to gain a lot of international recognition in future.

YOUR HEART IS ROME.

When I was roaming in the wild, Everything was seemingly mild,

From Sunrises to Sunsets, all was gloomy, From Mornings to Evening, everything was dummy,

Nothing was exciting, not even the Roses of Vienna, Even the the Lilies of Lille wasn't, neither the Peonies of Siena,

Ronis, you stepped into my life with unconditional ounce of Love, Your presence became a pence of peace in my heart, like a Dove's,

Breathtaking beauty like the tulip gardens of Netherlands, Mind-blowing smile that will stretch your thoughts for miles,

Glowing skin that will draw your destination to Switzerland, And turn your mind into a flight taking off for Sunderland,

Your affection is a gem, And your care is my life anthem,

Your personality is my Rome, And your heart is my Home.

Ojo Olumide Emmanuel

Ojo Olumide Emmanuel is a Nigerian Poet and Book Editor. He is the Author of the Poetry Chapbook "Supplication For Years in Sands" (Polarsphere Books, 2021).His works have appeared and forthcoming at Melbourne Culture, Afro Anthology, Feral, Quills, Poets in Nigeria (PIN), African Writers Space (WSA), The Nigerian Review (TRN) and elsewhere. He is a fellow of SprinNG Writers Fellowship. He lives in Minna, Nigeria.

PARABLE OF FLUTE

By the stream Maidens are in pairs Counting their waist beads with dance I flung my eyes from a distance And my ears tread behind the music The flute is a lesion of tales & so I listen To the parable of how seeking is not finding buta requiem for sliced ecstasy. For every desire, forlornedUnrequited, ravished by a cloud of absence--- I wait! I've waited, until absence is another way My name is pronounced /aebsens/. If she ever returns: Tell her, I sprayed water On her absence--- waiting If it will ever sprout a flower.

Smitha

I am Smitha from, Kochi, India which is in Kerala. Kerala is also called God's Own Country. I was an HR by profession and I career- transitioned into Writing because I am very passionate about it. I love writing poems as it fulfills my creative expression. I have a poem for every occasion.

This poem "The Scent of an Old Book" was written on a winter morning in Delhi, amidst the thick fog and I was seeking warmth in the comforts of my home in winter clothing and sipping creamy hot choc. But, there was something amiss. Of course, it was the scent of an old book.

THE SCENT OF AN OLD BOOK

A story hides in me, Waiting to be read,

Readers savor me, Nerds devour me,

Some are quick, some make me sick.

An old book store is my new home, With coordinates nondescript,

They call me second hand, But, I am a wise old book.

I survived graphite marks, With the chatter of sibilance,

These marks on me, Like jewels I adorn.

I live with other wise friends, Just like me, to share the mirth,

Of the whiff of vanilla scent, That emanates from my old paper, adhesive and ink,

That’s the scent of an old book, The scent of me.

Joan Leotta

Joan Leotta plays with words on page and stage. Her poetry, short stories, and essays have appeared or are forthcoming in North Carolina Literary Review, Red Wolf, A Quiet Courage, A-3 Review, Writing in a Woman’s Voice, Silver Birch, The Ekphrastic Review, Anti-Heroin Chic, and others all over the globe. Joan's first poetry chapbook, Languid Lusciousness with Lemon, is out from Finishing Line Press. Three of her smaller chapbooks are available free, online. She has been a Gilbert Chappelle fellow for NC writers and a featured performer for the North Carolina Story Guild. She has presented folk and personal tales on stage in venues up and down the East Coast of the US and via Zoom in many places around the world. Her writing and performances celebrate the value of the seemingly ordinary moment, and the joy of food, family, and friends. When not writing she likes to walk the beach and spend time over a good meal with family and friends.

GOOD THINGS COME IN THREES

Part I

A mockingbird skips along, slender myrtle limbs, pecking for edibles, out of the corner of one eye he spots me watching him through our sunroom window. His beak could peck seeds from my open hand if it were not for the glass separating our worlds.

A flock of Ibis swoops over the river and then lands in our backyard, lines up in a long arc that moves across the grass in synchronized beauty, curved yellow beaks bobbing up and down feeding on whatever has invaded my home turf.

I open the front door look up to enjoy the sky ’s expanse and spy an eagle gliding out of a cloud, first low as if to assess his options, then skyward again, landing on the top of a dead tree by the river.

It’s the perfect perch for an avian fisherman. His sharp gaze turns first to the river then toward me. I feel his eye upon me. I salute him. He is king and knows it.

Part II After I return inside, our daughter calls with unexpected, good news; my husband’s new recipe turns out, “delicious;” and, before going to bed, I find the earring I lost last week.

Part III I hope tonight to dream of bird visits— in threes.

Heart Links Online Journal is a monthly publication featuring griots, raconteurs, poetry, fiction, prose, quotations, interviews, literary appreciations, short stories, essays etc conceived and executed by Samir Gautam and his crew. With kin bravado, the magazine cuts across major genres of the literary arts, knitting hearts and souls from different countries and ethic backgrounds, and announcing its quantum leap, not just in the hall of fame of world acclaim widely read global literary magazines, but a full realisation that writers participate in the estate of world literature in which "Heart Links Literary Journal" is one of its undeniable testimonies by any standard. Another way of addressing testimonies like this in the practice of the literary art is partly because of the indepth knowledge embedded in art; the other half being that the study and practice of literature is seen by many as something that does not demand the kind of mental process involved in the practice of pure and applied sciences.