Sometimes I imagine what if I hadn't met you

sometimes I imagine what if I hadn't met you, 
I wouldn't know those soft touches 
That i felt through the spring of your clutches
I wouldn't run a mile 
Just to see your beautiful smile  
I wouldn't know that warmth
That I felt in your arms
I wouldn't know the heaven of bliss 
That I found in your tender kiss 
I wouldn't know the taste of the care 
That I found in the blossom of your air 
sometimes I imagine what if I hadn't met you


_								-Mamta Verma

"Fajr Ali" was a well-known name in the field of children's literature. Fajr Ali's stories were published in almost every children's magazine.
Readers of all ages, young and old, eagerly awaited Fajr Ali's stories.

And Fajr Ali believed that all this was the perfection of his "magic pen" which was given to Fajr as a gift by his class teacher Miss Nusrat. Fajr still remembers the words of his teacher when he gave the "magic pen":
"Dear Fajr, with the power of this pen you will rule the hearts. With its magic, your words will enchant people."

Then it really happened that when Fajr Ali wrote the first story with this pen, it was well received, and then as soon as he saw it, Fajr Ali's stories became popular among the young and old.
Fajr Ali attributed every success story to the magic pen.
Every word that came out of Fajr Ali's pen enchanted the readers.

But then suddenly the stories of Fajr Ali stopped being published. One month, two months and three months had passed. No story of Fajr Ali was published. How can it be published? When Fajr Ali had not written any story in those three months.
Apart from the stories, an episode-wise novel was also being published in the children's magazine Roshan, the last episode of which was to be published three months ago, but Fajr Ali had not yet written the last episode of the novel.

Readers as well as editors were very upset by this situation.
.. .. .. .. ...
Fajr Ali was holding his head in front of a pile of papers when suddenly the door of his room opened, Fajr Ali looked up, Fajr's father was at the door, "Abu Ji, you?" Fajr said looking at his father.

"Son, now you tell me your problem, why haven't you written anything in the last three months?" Ali Sahib said while sitting on the chair.
"Abu Ji, I will never be able to write again." Fajr Ali said wiping his moist eyes.

"Why, son, what happened?" Ali Sahib asked anxiously.
"Actually, my 'magic pen' is lost, because of which I used to write, now I can't write with any other pen, as soon as I start writing something on the paper, my pen doesn't move, it seems like all my words are lost like a magic pen. "
Fajr Ali told his father the real reason.

"Oh my dear daughter, your pen was not a magical pen, but the real magic is in you, in your thoughts. That pen was just a simple pen, but it was important that it was a gift from the teacher." Well done, now shake off the illusion that your pen was enchanted, recognize the magic inside you, believe in your ability, grab this new pen and start writing with the confidence that you will write your words with each pen. I can do magic," Ali Sahib explained to Fajr Ali.
.. .. .. .. ...
The last episode of Fajr Ali's series of novels had been published in the children's magazine "Roshan." It turned out that everything she wrote was due to a magic pen.
Today Fajr Ali had identified himself.

Three Poems

Written by Yuan Hongri

Translated by Yuanbing Zhang

 

I Was Originally The God of the Gods

 

I shall change seawater into honey，

smelt the stone into the gold，

the bitter is namely sweet，

the sun is born from the womb of the night.

 

Oh, my God！No matter what if you are really the God

Oh, the devil! No matter how many tricks you have

today, I am neither living nor dying

I want to put you all into the golden tripod of time.

 

I am originally outside of the earth

I will leave one day

although I have forgotten many years

but I woke up finally today

 

From a little drop of water

the world came into being

It was originally a tear of mine

I was originally the God of the Gods .

4.30.2011

 

我本是上帝的上帝

 

我要把海水酿成蜜

把石头熔炼成金

这苦涩就是香甜

这太阳从黑夜的子宫诞生

 

上帝啊 无论你是不是真的上帝

魔鬼啊 无论你还有多少伎俩

今天 我不生也不死

我要把你们统统装进时光的金鼎

 

我本在这个尘世之外

有一天还将归去

尽管我遗忘了许多年

可今天终于醒来

 

这小小的一滴水

诞生了这个天地

它本是我的一颗泪珠

我本是上帝的上帝

2011.4.30

 

 

The World Is in a Box


 

The world is in a box

the little timeworn world

the countries of Lilliput

the President of the king's prime minister

those kings, premiers and presidents

those dwarfs in the scroll of time’s picture

 

They do not believe the additional sun

both like a diamond and like gold

make you warm in winter

make you cool in summer

 

Neither have they seen the sweet ocean

nor have they known heaven outside time

forgotten those gods who like mountains

are the ones the former ancients owned

9.1.2012

 

世界在一只盒子里

 

世界在一只盒子里

这个小小陈旧的世界

一座座小人国

那些国王 首相 总统

那些时光画卷里的侏儒

 

他们不相信另外的太阳

既像钻石 又像黄金

在冬天时让你温暖

在夏天时让你凉爽

 

他们没见过甜蜜的海洋

也不知时光之外的天国

忘了那些山岳般的众神

是古老的曾经的自己

2012.9.1

 

The King of The Diamonds

 

The sun was rising in my breast

I woke up finally

said goodbye to the night's nightmare

the world was lit up by me

this is actually the real me

 

There is no longer day and night

there are no longer newborns and death

I got myself back

before there was no earth and heaven

I have existed from the beginning

 

The world is just my works：

a picture, a poem

a symphony.

Give me a stone

I will turn it into the king of the diamonds.

9.3.2012

 

钻石之王

 

太阳在我胸膛里升起

我终于醒来

告别黑夜的梦魇

世界被我照亮

这才是真实的我

 

不再有白昼与黑夜

不再有新生与死亡

我找回了自已

在没有天地之前

我就早已经存在

 

世界只是我的作品

一幅画 一首诗

一部交响曲

给我一枚石头

我让它变成钻石之王

2012.9.3

Bio: Yuan Hongri (born 1962) is a renowned Chinese mystic, poet, and philosopher. His work has been published in the UK, USA, India, New Zealand, Canada, and Nigeria; his poems have appeared in Poet's Espresso Review, Orbis, Tipton Poetry Journal, Harbinger Asylum, The Stray Branch, Pinyon Review, Taj Mahal Review, Madswirl, Shot Glass Journal, Amethyst Review, The Poetry Village, and other e-zines, anthologies, and journals. His best known works are Platinum City and Golden Giant. His works explore themes of prehistoric and future civilization. Its content is to show the solemnity, sacredness and greatness of human soul through the exploration of soul.



Yuanbing Zhang (b. 1974), is Mr. Yuan Hongri’s assistant and translator. He himself is a Chinese poet and translator, and works in a Middle School, Yanzhou District, Jining City, Shandong Province China. He can be contacted through his email-3112362909@qq.com.

 

SHEHZAADA, ABDUL & LINCOLN

In economics classes & management level presentations I have often encountered the term birds-eye view & insect-eye view. Just for academic purposes, these two terms are used to indicate an overall broad overview (bird’s eye view) & a detailed micro level view (insect's eye view). But whenever I heard these terms images came to my mind. 

A bird, may be an eagle soaring high in the sky with all his panache & ridiculing all our master creations at ground level by the sheer size of its visibility. All our skyscrapers appear as mere Lego blocks or Jenga pieces to him. Similarly the insect eye view reminded me of the blur compound vision as found in insects and an insignificant Lilliput like stature. Though both the views are relative to the literal sense and is an illusion of the truth. But Shehzaada & Abdul had actually explained these economics terms to me in Luxor, Egypt.

Since the day I had seen Brendan Fraser kiss Rachel Weiss in a hot air balloon in the movie “The Mummy Returns”, it was in my bucket list. I mean the hot air balloon and Egypt part. 

So when I finally visited Egypt & booked the Hot Air Balloon ride in Luxor, I was thrilled to the core. There was fine sense of accomplishment within me. It’s common to most middle class Indians when one of their childhood dreams come true.
The excitement kept swelling as the burning fire kept swelling the inflated balloon. Most of my fantasies are linked with Hollywood movies, I switched from Mummy to the Disney’s Animation Up as we went up. As we went up the world below started getting smaller and smaller. It was dawn and the sky was pink. The sun was about say good morning. 

Simultaneously as many 15-20 hot air balloons joined us in the air. All of them were vividly colourful and morning sky looked like a beautiful painting. After we finished admiring the lucid sky & vibrant neighbouring balloons it was time to look down.

A hot air balloon can go up to 3000 feet high as per Google. I don’t know how high our balloon was but view below was fascinating. The desert looked sparkling yellow with the sun just rising. The sand dunes and rocky cliffs as if resembled a hidden castle in the desert awaiting for a prince from top. Or maybe it was a dungeon where an evil magician was trying his spells. The green patches of irrigated agricultural lands added to the colour contrast and made it even more vivid. The trees, rocks, huts, houses were mere colourful dots. We could feel the wind on our faces and the fire on the top gave us warmth. 

As the sky kept changing colours, my mobile camera kept clicking pictures good enough to embarrass the Instagram filters. The aura was peace and serenity personified. You could breathe in all the freshness from the morning sky, appreciating the brilliant craftsmanship of nature while the daily hassle and cacophony of the world below appeared miniscule and insignificant. The rocky desert below took me to another childhood illusion one where Aladdin flew on his magic carpet over these sparkling rocky deserts. Truly majestic or may be a bird’s eye view.

Though joy descends gently upon us like morning dew as our balloon descended the golden patch of land slowly started taking the shape of a barren rocky lifeless desert. It was then I saw Shehzaada & his friend. From the birds eye view Shehzaada & his friend resembled two princes galloping on their horses tearing through deserts may be chasing some evil magician out their kingdom holding their swords high in the air. But we descended further the horses turned into small donkeys, and my Don Quixote & Sancho Panza turned into 2 lean kids. Shehzaada was one of them & he had a dry branch in his hand which resembled his sabre from the bird’s eye view. As our balloon finally touched the ground Shehzaada & his friend stopped to greet us.

The desert was barren, lifeless & hot. For miles there was no sign of life. It was seven in the morning and already we could sense the heat. As I saw Shehzaada from the ground level it was not a hard guess that he was far from a prince. As I came closure his lean physique, dry lips, dark sun burnt skin tone and clothes with a number of holes told a thing or two about this tribal lad. Even the donkey was thin and weak. As Shehzaada’s friend approached another balloon adjacent to us Shehzaada approached us.

His meek and small eyes were pleading and his hands were touching his cracked dry lips in a gesture to indicate he wanted food or money. I never asked his name. I just assumed his name would be Shehzaada or a prince from the bird’s eye view. But while I was having the privilege of the insect’s eye view I asked what his donkey was named. 

“Abdul” replied Shehzaada. Abdul stared obstinately at us and indistinct braying clearly signified that he was not much intrigued by our existence. I wanted to ask Shehzaada a lot of things. Where he lived, if he went to school, if he watched cartoons or movies, if he liked burgers, how his parents were, whether he knew of Aladdin? But unfortunately we couldn’t communicate through any common language. I don’t know even the A of Arabic and obviously Shehzaada was ignorant of English.

Most of our co-tourists were busy taking selfies so I decided to chat a little with Shehzaada. Though my efforts were futile verbally but his bright eyes told a thing or two. Unlike me, a hot air balloon was no fantasy for him. He sees it daily. It’s rather boring for him. Probably he hates most tourists too as they are reluctant to pay him a tip. Even Abdul, his companion, seemed to hate us as for the balloon he had to travel 30kms in the morning from their village. His angry stares and frequent braying justified his stance. But does Shehzaada fantasize of aeroplanes or pizzas? Probably. When I was his age I had seen “The Mummy Returns” and the hot air balloon fantasy stayed with me. But in Shehzaada’s eyes I could see his dreams were the basic amenities of life. Good food, a warm bed, basic education maybe. The dry white puss around his pale lips signified he was clearly malnourished. Poverty is just a dot from the bird’s eye view.

    

As Shehzaada extended his right palm towards me, I introduced Lincoln to him. Yes, Abraham Lincoln, on a five dollar bill. He took it and smiled gleefully. Probably he smiled at Lincoln. Shehzaada doesn’t know Lincoln. He does not need to. He knows Abdul and loves him. But Lincoln at that moment was significant for Shehzaada in the insect’s eye view. Probably Lincoln will fetch him some of his fantasies, may be a pizza or an ice cream! This too was my bird’s eye view and not the insect’s eye view where a poor tribal kid would value pizza more than a full meal of rice and lentil soup. 

I wondered if it was a compound insect vision or a bird’s aerial view. I wondered if I were a proud eagle or an insignificant centipede. But Shehzaada hardly cared. With Lincoln in his pocket he climbed on Abdul’s back and galloped towards another descending balloon few metres away. As Shehzaada, Abdul & Lincoln vanished in the distant horizon an eagle screamed in the barren desert, merging my bird’s eye view and insect’s eye view into one stark reality. The reality that involves Shehzaada, Abdul & Lincoln in the barren deserts of Luxor. 

Salvation from the Flames


Soldiers marching with rifles at the ready.
All seemed lost in a city burning down.
A city ablaze as the smoke rose to the skies.
Death was as near as the heat of the city.

It was a night that fire brought pure fear.
Pleading with God to not let me die in the flames.
Always been afraid of the flames of the night.
Pleading with God to not let me die in the flames.

A night when D.C. was ablaze God saved me.

Light of Grace
Inspired by “It Could Have Been Me” The Five Blind Boys of Mississippi

Daylight coming through the stained glass windows.
Kneeling at the altar alone day after day for years.
Friends lost to drugs, jail, and gunshots wounds.
My heart ached month after month for years.

God was to save me on the night death called me.
It was not me dying on that floor after using cocaine
It was not me dying alone in the red light-district.

Touched by Innocence
For Mahjabeen

The evening skies in Vermont on a cool night.
Watching stars upon stars flashed before my eyes.
Amazed that such beauty existed in the world.
Baptized on a night with a shooting star.

Heaven once a distance memory opened.
Angels rejoiced at the return of a brother.
Sins were forgotten and washed away.
A lonely heart was filled with harmony.

Salvation had been given to a sinner.

Retrograding

I sat by the backwaters of my imagination
and gazed at the stars melting in the mouth of the sky.
Her smile bright like a glazed ceramic
Illuminated the dark alleys of my soul.
The admonishing silence raving through the crevices of the moon
disintegrated the night's monochrome into pieces.
The wind blew it away to distant planets.
My attempt to pour the sea into the bell jar fell flat,
the brine water overflowed
drenching my mouth
that parched with fever.
The cuckoo's distant farewell song
pierced my ears
It is time to return now 
to the orb of nothingness.
I tried to tie her words with the windchime 
Tinkering with the winds from Bosnia.
The colors of summer inundated the city. 
 Its fragrance perched on my shoulders.
Far away is an abyss that cannot be crossed this evening.
The roaring wind mimicked my inner turmoil.
The paranoia sprouted like grass.
The earth's rotation rattled on my nerves.
My head felt dizzy with every solstice.
I tried hard to pour life out of an aluminum kettle
but it spilled from the sides 
and messed up my life's filigree.
The spectrum of rainbow signaled the dawn's arrival.
Another ordinary day was about to take its course.
I folded the sides of the night sky
and kept it safely inside my lavender purse 
till we meet again on the horizon's other end!

Regards
Debarati Sen

Bio

A published poet and a regular columnist in Youth Ki Awaz and Literoma. Freelancer at the International NGO JPS Medaid. Winner of the International Poetry Writing competition 2021 organized by the Elite Awards. Published debut poetry book 'Blurred Musings' in January 2022. I have contributed to more than 15 anthologies. Works as a Junior Assistant in Presidency University Kolkata.

-Dreams-
© Gabriel T. Saah (Marvelous Inker)

Beautiful heart warming pictures that don’t let you sleep,
Tiny strong willed creatures that won’t allow you speak,
They push you for it, hold you down for it,
But won’t let you quit.
Inexhaustible vehicles with you as the driver,
That make you think of only doing better,
Like a fair mother and good father,
They push you continuously to growth.
Radiant morning sun rays that spark courage and help you forget mere broth.
Silent fires that blaze with intense heat,
 That cleanse your inner and make you neat.
Sonorous lullaby, that pinch your eyes not to shut,
And beautiful babies that need serious attention as you go about.