Tear Time
1.
I think it’s time
to acknowledge
ticking of the clock.
2.
Heart rate of all our hearts
thumping against
bump of the world.
3.
We might be doomed
in a battle
with no chance to stop.
4.
Hollywood fakes
pop guns shooting
starting bubblegum armies.
5.
Earthquakes signaling
volcanoes spitting
where they want.
6.
Thunder and lightning
opening our eyes
praying for the good help of God.
The Checkout Kid
He saw the kid who worked the checkout at the convenience store walking down the street, arm in arm, with a girl about his own age, maybe 17. He was a handsome kid. Compared to him, the girl was rather plain, he thought, wondering if people thought the same of him when he was dating his wife, or even now. She was a knockout, his wife. He never asked her if she had dated during their brief separation. He didn’t want to know what they looked like if she had. He wondered if they were sleeping together, the kid and the girl. If we were all contemporaries, he thought, and double dating, people would probably assume his wife, his future wife, was the one dating the checkout kid. He was probably being hard on himself. He was probably a cut above plain.
First Haircut
“The usual,” he told the barber, John.
“Remind me.”
“Number two blade.”
He’d remembered to wear a shirt with a collar. A collar provides a better vehicle than a crew neck for the paper thing they wrap around your neck to keep the hair from falling down your back.
An older man walked into the barbershop. He greeted all the barbers, “Angelo, Vinny, John,” with a nod of the head for each name.
“Have a seat, Tommy,” Vinny, who was available, said, “I’ll be with you in a minute.”
John asked him who he liked in the World Series. Since neither team was local, it wasn’t a big surprise that he and John had different ideas. Tommy chimed in, agreeing with John.
“Put on Sinatra,” Angelo, who was cutting a kid’s hair, yelled over to Vinny, who was at the CD player.
“Eyebrows?” John asked.
“Yeah.” He called them his Brezhnev eyebrows. The barbers were all old enough to get it.
Angelo started singing along with Sinatra, “Come fly with me, let’s fly, let’s fly away,” then said to the kid, “Betcha you never heard that one.” The kid said, “No,” and Angelo laughed.
“Ready to greet the world in style!” John said when the cut was done.
Out of the blue he was struck by a dim memory of his first haircut, his first barbershop haircut. Maybe it was the Sinatra. He remembered sitting in a kid’s barber chair in the form of an elevated red sports car. Or was it a fire truck? He remembered crying.
“What?” he asked John, holding back the tears.
College Days Full of Hope
Reading the obituaries, he discovered one of his favorite college professors had been a Nazi sympathizer. He made coffee, in a French press. As he sipped his coffee, Sumatra Mandheling, which he admired for its boldness, he also read about a man in Cambodia who had won a tarantula-eating contest, the first of its kind. The article conjectured it would become an annual event.
At work that day, he was asked to fill out a self-assessment, an oddly Maoist incursion into American corporate life. He wrote an unqualifiedly rave review of himself, refusing to give his bosses ammunition to use against him. After he had submitted the self-assessment, his thoughts turned to the dead professor. What was that course again? Oh yes, the theatre of cruelty seminar. Looking back, he couldn’t remember anything that hinted at Nazi sympathies.
Wistful for those college days full of hope, he stood up and surveyed a sea of cubicles in which he was but a speck.
UNSINGSONG OF ETERNITY
DR SELVIN CALLS DR. ANAND A HOMO SACER
WHILE GROCK CONSIDERS IT A BOLD CONTRIBUTION TO WORLD LITERATURE
SECTIOM A
A REVIEW OF MY EPIC BY GROCK.
GEET: THE UNSUNG SONG OF ETERNITY PUB by Authorspress.
A SEQUEL TO MILTON’S ‘THE PARADISE LOST’.
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand’s Geet: The Unsung Song of Eternity is a remarkable modern epic that showcases his prowess as a poet, philosopher, and literary innovator. This work is often described as a sequel to John Milton’s Paradise Lost, but it carves its own distinct path by placing Dr. Faustus, rather than Adam, at the center of its narrative. Anand reimagines the Renaissance hero as a prototype of modern humanity, grappling with existential dilemmas in a world marked by spiritual and moral decay.
The epic explores the complex relationship between man and divinity, inverting Milton’s intent to “justify the ways of God to Man” by instead questioning the ways of man to God. It delves into the struggles of contemporary existence, reflecting on how knowledge, ambition, and the passage of time have led to a deterioration of the human spirit. Anand’s Faustus embodies the modern individual—brilliant yet flawed, seeking meaning in a universe that often feels indifferent.
What sets Geet apart is its ambitious scope and philosophical depth. Anand blends Eastern and Western literary traditions, drawing from his Punjabi roots and the broader Indian cultural heritage while engaging with the Western canon. The work is not merely a retelling but a reinvention, offering a fresh perspective on timeless themes such as sin, redemption, and the search for eternity. His use of free verse, honed through his study of English literature, allows for a fluid and dynamic exploration of these ideas, unencumbered by rigid form.
Critics and readers have noted the epic’s imaginative power and its ability to resonate with the challenges of the 21st century. It’s a testament to Anand’s vision—a poet who dares to tackle grand narratives in an age where such undertakings are rare. Geet: The Unsung Song of Eternity stands as a bold contribution to world literature, inviting reflection on humanity’s place in the cosmic order and cementing Anand’s reputation as a significant voice in modern poetry.
Appreciation by Grock
SECTION B
A PAPER ON GEET was presented by Dr Selvin Vedamanickam, a free thinker
The Homo Sacer in J S Anand’s Geet:
A Norm Violated to Establish Another Norm
THE HOMO SACER IN J.S . ANAND’S GEET ;
A NORM VIOLATED TO ESTABLISH ANOTHER NORM
Dr. Selvin Vedamanickam
Unaffiliated Free Thinker
Pondicherry
The paper starts with an attempt to study the current significance of the terms “human being”, “being human’ and “homo sacer” in J S Anand’s Geet. Even though the work claims to be a sequel, it is filled with fresh beginnings and new point of departures. What is astounding is its political, economical, sociocultural and literary relevance to the present day world even when dealing with a special binary of geographical vs. non-geographical space. Often the illusionary nature of representing the world as “good, true and beautiful” has been comfortably forgotten by both literary artists and other art form practitioners. Apart from representing a real and/or imaginary world either it be symbolical/allegorical, literature has to posit a viable(?) world. Even the Library Intellectuals or the Campus Hoppers have talked of the modern man only in the light of the metropolitan hyper-individuals and seem to conveniently omit the existential predicament of the sub-human man whose life is increasingly becoming bare and he himself becoming a rare being at the verge of extinction under the clutches of the privileged, super-civilized races.
The paper also tries to question certain key critical concepts (which are rarefied post-modern issues) such as irony, indeterminacy, self-reflexivity which are mere ‘thought representations’ of ultra-civilized man’. The paper calls for an understanding and literary representation of the equal importance of “an ironic sensibility” and “an empathetic sensibility” in capturing the plight of the sub-human common man, thus leading to empathetic activism to alleviate the sufferings of the bare/rare beings.
Submitted for the Two -Day International Conference on International Seminar on Novel Issues in Indian Writing in English (JKC College, Guntur, 23, 24 Feb 2018)
My future
I ride in this path with the vehicle of mercy,
With the hope of kissing my destination.
A hope that whispers to me that I shouldn’t peep in to giving up.
And in me, I hugged the faith that promise me I will make it,
And sighting more effort to grab my goals.
The critics may criticize,
But it can never sink the water out of my basket.
I knew I have many holes but wish to patch them days to come.
Spokane
Disillusioned by
what was going
on around him
he tried to open
his life in another
window but was
never able to get
past the pop-ups.
Career Paths
At thirteen he decided to become a prophet. By nineteen he had died & been reborn five times. Nobody took him seriously. Youth is a hard barrier to overcome.
He then decided to emulate the form of regeneration that seemed to have been most successful for generating prophet recognition & had himself crucified. Unfortunately, one of the nails was rusty, & during the transition period he contracted tetanus. He came back unable to speak, & essentially illiterate since so certain had he been of his destiny he had neglected to acquire much of an education.
Nobody wants a prophet who cannot communicate his prophesies. He spent the rest of his allotted three-score & ten in silence. Alone.
Nothing ad-
ventured
nothing
gained
when you
rely on
toxicology
instead
of taste.
partly because the sun
was in an
inclement meridian
partially because
the moon was
in the wrong
quadrant of the sky
particularly because
the cusp between
daydream & nightmare
was a silver ribbon
with elastic properties
Ella in Budapest
Something I have always
found disappointing,
hearing a singer in concert,
hearing a recording of that
singer somewhere else, some
years later. The same song,
The Lady is a Tramp, music by
straight George, lyrics by gay
Ira, Ella Fitzgerald singing.
The voice a little harsher than
I remember but the phrasing is
the same. I sing along. We impro-
vise together. In unison. I know
what notes will come next.
I miss the hug
A hug that they give you and you forget the weaknesses of your existence.
I miss a kiss
The kiss that someone give you and your stomach make those noise like is full of butterflies
I miss the smile
That childish smile that you have
U are smiling and all nature become
Pink
I miss the walk to the beach
The waves
The perfume of the salt
I miss the sunshine and the sunset
All the simple things that I had
I miss the generosity of people
I miss the kindness of grandparents
I miss the relaxing moments of drinking a coffee
Now, they all want your friend, your position, your talent, your contact, your potential, your life almost but no one…
Nobody want to get in your shoes
They are too tide.!!!!
at the perfumery
the vibrant fragrance
of freshly peeled tangerine
my first time
dealing cards
Paul Callus (Malta) / Christina Chin (Malaysia)
– – – – – – – – – – –
the busy
holiday streets
lovely afternoon
hawkers experience
a sales bonanza
Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)
– – – – – – – – – – –
snow butterfly
clings to the leaf
beautiful spring
speckled wings
on a buddleia bush
Christina Chin (Malaysia) / Paul Callus (Malta)