RABINDRANATH TAGORE AND JERNAIL SINGH ANAND

Mauro Montacchiesi (Rome)

ESERGO

“Faith is the bird that, when the dawn is still dark, feels the light..” — Rabindranath Tagore

PREFACE

In the brownian traffic of cosmic thought, few, very few indeed, are the voices that shine with luminescing clarity -Rabindranath Tagore and Jernail Singh Anand are two of them. Although they are many years apart, they are brought together in the spiritual and poetic sphere of existence, where their philosophies, ethics and aesthetic minds intermingle in a metaphysical quest. This meeting is not a mere dialogue of minds, but an eavesdropping of two souls: two souls that are committed to truth, to beauty and to human advancement. Bengal’s mystic bard meets bio-textual consciousness sage of a later age; Tagore and Anand speak across the time and space of centuries and continents.

MONOLOGUE BY TAGORE

I am the hushed tone of the break of day.

My words are drawings in the air, my grief and my joy have come and met.

The universe is not a problem to be solved but a poem to be sung. In every flower’s whisper, in every beggar’s palm, I see the face of the Infinite.

Not to teach, but to wake. The soul is not a lesson but a dance.” Oh Earth, with fire let me kiss you, and in your embrace vanish.

HAIKU

Waves of morning light

caress the soul’s silent shore

—truth blooms in stillness.

MONOLOGUE BY ANAND

I am the pen of the hopeless, the scream of the battered Earth.

My ink suffers of time, my pen mourns.

The truth is not a relic, it is a cry. I’m moving with some prophets/ eating with the orphans.

I saw my thirst mirrored, there in Whitman and Puran Singh. In the mirror of Whitman and Puran Singh, I found my thirst; I learnt my thirsting. Out of this thirst, I forged the theory of Bio-Text—where blood and word can no longer be told apart.

APHORISM

“The poem is written by the world whispering through the soul, not by the poet.”

DIALOGUE BETWEEN TAGORE AND ANAND

TAGORE: Do you write with joy, Anand, or with wounds?

ANAND: I write because wounds have learned to sing. And you?

TAGORE: I sang before I knew what sorrow meant. Then sorrow became my scale.

ANAND: We have walked the same riverbanks, then. I named the stream Bio-Text. You called it Gitanjali.

TAGORE: And yet, a longing for the Divine in the human, the current is the same.

ANAND: The poem is our proof, our protest, our prayer.

TAGORE: If truth be told. The poet speaks, even in silence.

ANAND: And the poet restore to health, in suffering.

TAGORE: Like bread among seekers, then let our ink be shared.

SYNTHESIS

In their dialogic dance, Tagore and Anand, unveil the poem as a sacred act: both offering and resistance, both vision and balm. The mystic and the reformer merge into a single pulse of conscience. Their words, whether sung or bled, form a liturgy of hope in the age of dissonance.

PARALIPOMENON

The play takes the form of a dreamed conversation between two great poets who write in right-minded, spiritually questing ways. The form transitions seamlessly blip by blip from monologue to dialogue, aphorism to synthesis, and calls to mind Tagore’s transformative mysticism and Anand’s existential activism. The haiku is a frozen breath of union, and the aphorism is the metaphysical embodiment.

AUTHOR 

Mauro Montacchiesi is one of the leading Italian intellectuals, multi talented and multi awarded author, ex President  of the A.I.A.M. International Academy of Modern Art in Rome. 

DR. ANAND:

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, with an opus of 180 plus books, is Laureate if the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky awards.  His name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. Anand is a towering literary figure whose work embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision. He’s not just an Indian author but a global voice, challenging readers to confront the complexities of existence while offering hope through art and ethics.   If Tagore is the serene sage of a colonial past, Anand is the fiery prophet of a chaotic present.

PRODUCTION OF SMART SUPERABSORBENT POLYMERS FOR SEALING CRACKS AND INCREASING THE STRENGTH OF CONCRETE STRUCTURES

Dean of the Faculty of Chemistry, Termez State University: B.A. Kholnazarov
E-mail: baxodir.xolnazarov@rambler.ru
Student of the Faculty of Chemistry, Termez State University: Jo‘rayev Ulug‘bek
E-mail: ulugbekjorayev901@gmail.com

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Abstract

This scientific work is devoted to studying the production of smart superabsorbent polymers (SAPs) and their integration into concrete mixtures with the aim of solving the problem of cracking in concrete structures and extending their service life. The study analyzes the hydrophilic properties of SAPs, particularly their ability to absorb and retain moisture from the surrounding environment and how this contributes to sealing microcracks and capillary voids within concrete. Furthermore, it demonstrates through practical experiments how the self-healing properties of these polymers enhance the structural integrity and water resistance of concrete.

The paper outlines the synthetic production methods of SAPs, their granulometric composition, chemical stability, and interaction with concrete. The final results serve to improve the long-term durability of concrete products, reduce maintenance costs, and contribute to the development of environmentally friendly innovative building materials. Moreover, SAPs help retain moisture within the concrete, thus supporting the continuation of the cement hydration process.

During the study, various SAP brands, their physicochemical properties, optimal dosages, and methods of integration into concrete mixes were examined experimentally. The results showed a significant improvement in crack resistance, water durability, and strength of concrete samples containing SAPs. This innovative approach enhances the reliability of building materials and extends their service life.

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Keywords:

Concrete structures, crack sealing, smart polymers, superabsorbent polymers (SAP), self-healing materials, strength, hydration process, water resistance, innovative construction materials, concrete composition, crack resistance, polymer additives, service life of concrete, construction material innovation, SAP technology, microstructure enhancement, environmentally stable materials, variable humidity conditions, technological additives, mechanical properties of concrete.

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Introduction

Today, in the construction industry, requirements such as durability, strength, and long-term performance are of crucial importance. In particular, ensuring the structural stability of concrete constructions remains a pressing issue. Although concrete is one of the most widely used construction materials, it is prone to the formation of internal and external microcracks over time due to various factors. These cracks weaken the structure, lead to corrosion, and shorten the service life of the material.

Therefore, developing technologies that allow concrete to self-heal and automatically seal such cracks is a significant goal. In recent years, smart materials—particularly superabsorbent polymers (SAPs)—have emerged as a promising solution, attracting increasing attention from the scientific and technical communities. These materials can absorb and retain environmental moisture and expand in volume within the concrete to fill cracks as they form. Additionally, by promoting continued cement hydration, SAPs enhance the internal structure of concrete.

This study focuses on producing such SAPs, investigating their properties, and evaluating their practical application in concrete mixtures. Despite the widespread use of concrete, one of its main disadvantages is the development of cracks due to internal pressure, temperature fluctuations, or external loads. These cracks reduce the mechanical strength of concrete and make it more susceptible to external influences, ultimately decreasing structural reliability and increasing repair needs.

Modern construction material technologies offer innovative approaches to solving this issue. In particular, the use of smart materials such as SAPs to develop self-sealing mechanisms in concrete is gaining significant interest. These hydrophilic polymers react with moisture in concrete, expand in volume, and effectively seal cracks. Moreover, they support the continued hydration process of cement, thereby strengthening the internal structure of concrete.

This research provides an in-depth analysis of the use of SAP technology to enhance the strength and crack resistance of concrete.

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Materials and Methods

Materials:
In this study, the following materials were used to improve the crack resistance and strength of concrete mixtures:

1. Portland Cement (CEM I 42.5N): A high-quality binder and the main component of concrete.
2. Natural Sand (0–2 mm): Ensures uniform mass and density of concrete.
3. Crushed Stone (5–10 mm): Enhances the mechanical strength of concrete structures.
4. Superabsorbent Polymers (SAP): Self-healing polymers that absorb moisture and expand to fill cracks.
5. Clean Water: Required for cement hydration and activation of SAPs.
6. Plasticizer (polycarboxylate-based): Reduces viscosity of the mix and improves workability.
7. SAP Stabilizer (if needed): Controls excessive swelling of SAPs and ensures even distribution in the mix.

Methods:
The following tests and experimental methods were applied to assess the crack resistance and mechanical properties of concrete and to study the effects of SAPs:

1. Preparation of Concrete Mix:
   Concrete mixes were prepared according to the GOST 10181-2014 standard. SAPs were added in amounts ranging from 0.1% to 0.5% of the cement mass. All samples were prepared under identical conditions using the same components.
2. Determining Water Absorption Capacity of Polymers:
   The water absorption of SAP samples was measured using the gravimetric method: pre-weighed SAP samples were immersed in distilled water for 24 hours, and weight increase was recorded.
3. Compressive Strength Testing:
   The compressive strength of concrete samples was tested at aging intervals of 7, 14, and 28 days following GOST 10180-2012 standards. Each test was conducted three times, and average values were calculated.
4. Crack Sealing Evaluation:
   Pre-cracked concrete samples were stored in a humid environment. The extent to which SAPs sealed the cracks was observed microscopically. Changes in crack width and depth were monitored over 28 days.
5. Water Resistance and Capillary Absorption Test:
   Water permeability of SAP-modified concrete was assessed using a vacuum chamber absorption test.
6. Microstructure Analysis (Structural Study):
   The internal structure of the concrete was analyzed using Scanning Electron Microscopy (SEM) to study the distribution of SAPs and their effect on hydration.

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Production of Superabsorbent Polymers (SAPs)

Superabsorbent polymers (SAPs) are hydrophilic polymers capable of absorbing and retaining large amounts of water. These are typically based on acrylic acid and its derivatives and are produced using specific chemical processes. The production process involves the following key stages:

1. Monomer Preparation:
   The main raw material for SAPs is acrylic acid (CH₂=CHCOOH). It is neutralized using agents such as NaOH, adjusting the pH to the 6–7 range.
2. Polymerization Process:
   The neutralized acrylic acid is mixed with a small amount of cross-linker (e.g., N,N′-methylenebisacrylamide) and an initiator (e.g., ammonium persulfate or sodium persulfate). These components initiate a radical chain polymerization reaction, usually carried out in an aqueous medium at 50–70°C.
3. Gel Formation:
   The resulting polymer forms an elastic gel with a cross-linked structure, capable of absorbing large volumes of water.
4. Drying:
   The fresh SAP gel is dried completely using a vacuum oven or a low-temperature dryer, resulting in a solid yet hydrophilic polymer granule.
5. Grinding and Sieving:
   The dried SAP is ground using a crusher and sieved to achieve the desired particle size (typically 100–800 microns). These granules are then added to concrete mixes.
6. Quality Control of Finished SAP:
   The final SAP product is tested under laboratory conditions for its water absorption capacity, density, swelling recovery, and thermal stability.

MOVING DAY CRIME SCENE

When it’s happening, we feel like burglars

robbing ourselves, ransacking the house,

stealing every piece of furniture

and clothing, each book, vacation memento,

the CD’s, the food, the brooms, the umbrellas,

the plants in pots, even the dog’s bowl.

You name it and we steal it from

the unsuspecting people who’ve

livedt here all these years.

We look back from the end of the street

and see, with nothing left to hold it together,

time collapse upon itself.

It’s like a great eraser abrasing its

way across a chalk-board, rubbing

the lives, their meaning, into oblivion.

A FARM OVERGROWN

I scour

the rocky soil

where my father

lost his belief

in God’s munificence.

Lyric forest embalms

old hopes

of making a living.

Only some stumps

and abasement survive.

Oh there’s a harvest here

all right

but it lacks the human hand,

merely ratifies.

beauty’s way with failure.

In pebbles,

the generations end,

the names, the dates,

stripped like bark

from the green veneer.

But it’s just the wind,

the shuffle of brush,

amiable bird song

mixed up with

harsh-throated warnings.

In my father’s wake,

everything’s

sprouting and growing,

blooming and shedding.

But nothing takes root

like the stones.

MORNING SPIDER

I’m up early, early enough to watch the night slip away.

As always, I’m at the bottom of a mountain.

As always, I am non-committal as to my first step.

I just sit here as new sun nudges away bits of shadow.

I amuse myself with straight lines because I can’t see where

the bent ones go. Coffee begins its occupation of my veins.

My eyes roll around my face, then settle in their sockets.

The cat, with a chrysanthemum in its lapel, rubs my ankles.

The mountain is descending itself.  At hill height,

it looks up and, with mighty breath, blows its own head off.

Then it flattens out. I can walk across it.

Light enters the room, is selling uncut flowers.

Above, one sky stands in for all the skies that could be.

It’s the ceiling, like a canvas, where, in a far corner,    

a solitary spider signs his name.

NEW MORNING

On a new morning,

the reds, burnt oranges,

of dawn,

fade into fresh light

that becomes

the final arbiter

of stale darkness

and black sky gives way

to pale blue

and downy clouds,

as trees

flap in the brief

flute notes of the breeze

and sunrays

burn away

tiny drops of

water on the grass tips,

wake the flowers,

draw out the petals

from their nighttime fold.

THE WORLD OUTSIDE WHERE IT BELONGS

I am awake,
fingers slow burning
as they grip hot coffee,
heart, a Geiger counter
finding love in your still sleeping body,
and, on the other side,
brain pecking through
the grievances
already assembled
in my thoughts,
in the newspaper glaring
from my laptop.

The world is a sorry place
but the people in it
find such comfort
in nothing more than
a shape in the sheets,
a soft breath contesting
the solid headwinds of my own.
Strangers die
but loved ones live.
Soldiers kill
but no harm comes
to those in bedrooms.

Soon, you too will
rouse from sleep and dreams,
reconvene with what keeps
you up at night:
the wars,
the inequalities,
the murders, the rapes,
the homeless
in their winter blues.

It’s a dangerous world.
We are safe.
Life turns ugly.
We are beautiful.
Others are what we read about.
We’re what we believe.

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, River And South and The Alembic. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Paterson Literary Review, White Wall Review and Flights.

Kill Me!

    He hung upside down on an aluminum frame bed, my friend Victor at the Austin Seton Hospital. Sores covered his body. The nylon straps that held him in place didn’t touch many sores and were supposed to make it possible for most to heal. Victor was on morphine drip for the pain.

     The man had grown up in a poor aristocratic family in Mexico. His father had a small hacienda that he sold soon after Victor grew up. Victor figured America might be a better place for a man that loved the study of philosophy. He drove a taxi in Austin for Roy’s, but spent the majority of his hours at the philosophy table in the UT Student Union arguing existentialism and the absurdity of life. Victor carried worn and fat Spanish translation of Jean Paul Sartre’s Being and Nothingness. He had a rubber band around it to hold the book together.

     My former wife Brenda kindly provided him a room to live so he could get his act together, but after a year she told him he’d need to leave. He ended up living in a tiny one room place in Clarksville neighborhood and that’s where the sores developed. He was not taking his insulin for his diabetes, not bathing, and not eating much. Victor ignored the sores and never went to the doctor.

      Victor was tall, thin, bearded and neurotic like I was. We both looked like we stepped out of a Woody Allen movie. 

      So now Victor was hanging upside down at Seton Hospital. I had come to see if I might help. I sat in a low chair next to his bed, bent over, my head turned up as much as possible to see and talk with him. It was not a position I could maintain. I saw in his face the befuddlement and despair, now much worse because of the pain.    

      Victor had been married to a hippie American woman who had renamed herself Miracle. I met her once. She was trying to make a living growing and selling wheat grass. For a short while wheat grass was the miracle food to save the planet. They had a daughter named Star who lived with Victor and was tall and blonde like her mother. Star tried once to get me to write a high school essay she needed to turn in the next day. His former wife had more difficulty surviving than Victor. She had transferred daughter Star and son Daniel over to him to bring up.

       A year ago the daughter had gone on her first date. The boy took her for a ride through the lovely Texas hill country. The car did not complete a turn and went off a high hill into a deep valley.

      Both these beautiful seventeen-year-old children died. I remember Star’s funeral under a canopy in the September heat in a Round Rock cemetery. It was called a celebration of life.

      The son Daniel was too broken up to come to his sister’s funeral. The boy was just a sophomore but a star player on the Austin High’s soccer team. The father had found the Clarksville apartment so his son could go to the best public high school in town. How they all fitted into that one room apartment I can’t imagine.

         Victor looked down at me as I tried to look up at him. For a long while he did not speak, then he said quietly, “Kill me.”

          I jumped up from the chair I sat on and moved toward the door. The words struck deep. To lose a child was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. Victor’s chances of surviving I’d been told were poor. I wanted to help. We had spent a lot of time talking together down at my bookstore. I knew he was poor and didn’t mind that he never bought anything. Sometimes he’d bring me a cup of coffee. This was around 1982 when downtown Austin was being torn up.  Sidewalks were widened, parking spaces were decreased, and trees were being planted along Congress Avenue. Flagstones were replacing the old sidewalk concrete. Changes were in the air. The Austin I knew and loved was beginning to become something else, a place not for intellectuals like Victor and I, a computer place that would soon be full of libertarian millionaires.

        But then I saw a flash arrogance on Victor’s face, followed by a touch of delight. He was testing me, pushing me. He felt a certain power. Victor wanted me to cross a terrible moral line and did not seem to care if it would haunt me forever.

       “Kill me, please,” he repeated, even more intensely.

       What was there in the room to kill him with? He wasn’t plugged into any machine I could turn off. The nurses would call the police. I’d be arrested. I could spend a long time in jail. I might even be executed. 

      I sensed he was enjoying the game, even in his awful pain. I looked up again to where Victor was hanging and saw for a moment the body of an alligator. His head was an alligator’s head with big grinning teeth.

      “No,” I finally said. “I can’t. You could recover.” I started crying, got up and walked away again. I was crying for Victor and for myself. I was crying even for the alligator.

      I’d been living in the bookstore’s basement on four hundred a month for over a year. Roaches would come down the hall from the sump pump and crawl onto my legs. I did not own a car. It had taken me an hour to walk to Seton Hospital on a cold November Sunday while my wife worked the store.

     On the way back to the bookstore  my rebellious mind started whispering, ‘What would Jesus have done? Could Jesus love a man enough to kill a dying person if asked by the dying  person?’ I thought of Sunday school as a ten year old back in the suburbs of San Antonio.

      No, I decided. Jesus had died to save all humankind, not for one person. Jesus would have healed Victor’s sores. Snap. Just like that.

     Too bad Jesus wasn’t around now.

     I was no longer close to Jesus, but we did talk now and then, especially as I was drifting off to sleep.

    Victor died two months later while on a private plane flying back to Mexico. He was asleep and slid into death in spite of the pain.

     I try to focus on the good times with Victor down at the bookstore, on our great conversations about absurdity and how to make a good life, as we waited for a customer to come in.

      It’s twenty years later now. I moved to Chicago ten years ago to manage computers for Chicago Trust Bank. I remain a little guilty  I didn’t do what Victor demanded. I could have relieved his terrible suffering. Maybe the arrogance and delight I saw in his face was not there. Maybe my mind wanted to see those things in order to get me out of the situation. The alligator, after all, wasn’t there.

      I don’t understand the tragedies of this world. I fear the alligators and understand why people turn to Jesus. Onward I say, through the guilt! Find the pleasures life can give. I am married now and have two children.

What She Meant

My mother once said 

You only grow up 

when your heart grows

I cried,       not 

Understanding 

I cried,       not 

When your heart grows

You only grow up

My mother once said

Transient Keychains on Backpacks 

We chained it to our backpack 

Dirty scratches on one side 

To times we split the last slice of pizza 

To times we crouched, holding our stomachs 

Metal charms clipped onto split rings

Our names engraved on its tag 

To times we leaned heads on buses 

To times we finished each other’s sentences

The cool touch of the metal 

Its warm reminders of our memories  

To times we first met 

To times we waved goodbye in tears

Cicada, Fish, and Apples

I remember pieces of my past memories

The crying cicada, the fish, the apples 

But here in the city,

Cicadas are stepped on 

Fish are inside glass bowls 

And apples are not so ripe

Ah-Young Dana Park is a student attending a high school in Boston, Massachusetts. Her poetry often explores memory, interiority, and fleeting moments. Beyond her writing pursuits, Dana enjoys singing, painting, and exploring other artistic fields.

Mritiqa

‎

‎Mritiqa, can you walk?

‎From one heart to another.

‎

‎Can you arrange emotions?

‎in the heart of a boring world.

‎

‎Can you paint with the colors of the sun?

‎The hungry stomach of the sea that has been thrown up.

‎

‎Can you  play the flute of Hamilto?

‎In the cursed city gathered on the forehead.

‎

‎Can you make a walking path?

‎In the unnecessary glands.

‎

‎Can you read?

‎The silent call.

‎

‎Can you absorb?

‎The red tears that tore my heaven.

‎

‎Can you make me

‎a dreamy musical piece

‎

‎Come and slowly touch

‎My final twilight.

‎Look at this vast sea of people

‎Silent in the half-darkness and the crushing darkness.

‎The fields, the mountains, the valleys, the springs are oppressed

‎Dead winter, dead spring.

‎The dead emotions of living people walk around

‎On the path flowing past the grave.

‎Candles do not illuminate the grave of the heart

‎Immortal death on the edge of the sleepless night

‎I return to you in deep sorrow

‎Leaving my hometown to the forest.

‎All pain fades away in an instant

‎In the cage of your innocent chest.

‎I like to do in search of you

‎In the form of the wind.

‎

‎Embrace me once in both arms

‎The beginning of a bright new day

‎Cast anchor in the song of the primeval night

‎Where civilization sprouts from seeds

‎My fire pit – eager for freedom

‎In the united march of free living

Fourteen Lines

Thousands

with too many wounds,

bodies of stitches

hard to breathe,

earth quick rolling

sky sparks of war,

never ending

babies ready to march,

madmen mumbling

counting their gold,

drinking their mix

of death and blood,

they do not care of the innocent

only their lust for themselves.

Seven Lines

She’s over there with knees bent

her right jaw against the dirty floor

her arms behind her back

against her will

she died yesterday

the rich laughing

between the explosions of their wars.

Three Lines

Drone swarms

becoming alive

without hearts.

Too Late to Count

Someone lighting the last fuse….