Short story from Vijay Nair

 

                               WUTHERING HEIGHTS RETURNS

 

Once again today I remember him after many years. Heathcliff, my infamous hero! I would not have forgotten him easily. He is Infact my own reflection. My own soul. I am literally an ophan like him. That’s why I love him so much. Is it an unforgivable crime a man be an orphan? Is it our mistake be born as an orphan?  Don’t we have a right to be loved? Don’t we have a right to express our feelings and emotions? Dear readers all of you know why and when Heathcliff  began to think about revenge. Isn’t it?

 

Look at me you all. I am crying….. My eyes vomitting  pools of blood! I know you people don’t believe me. You readers think that as I am a story writer I can imagine even if I am the King of Utopia!  But the truth is different. All the salty tears containing red corpuscles, pouring over and over again on my shirt incessantly. Now I am wearing a red shirt! Earlier it was pure white.

 

If you don’t afraid I would disclose one secret. Do you? Ok. I trust you all.

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Poetry from Chimezie Ihekuna

  1. Is the church really moving?

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‘The church is matching on

and the gates of hell shall not prevail’

The Word says

Yet, church is not only stagnated

but also a living manifestation of hell

Is the church really moving ?

 

‘Greater works shall you do…’ The Word assures the church

Unfortunately, the church has fall short of great works

Is the church really moving?

 

The word makes plain the role of men and women in marriage

but the church is a showcase of the modern couple age

Is the church really moving?

 

‘Love your neighbour as you love yourself’ the Word admonishes

However, the church is showing ‘conditioned’ love to its members

Is the church really moving?

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Poetry and paintings from Jeongeui

jeongeuistream2

 

I like a stream and tree in the mountains.
The objects make me always heal and purify my mind and it makes me
think of life.

Sadness, bitterness, unhappiness was under the water
but they are leaving now with the running water, maybe already gone.
Mean while, I can see positive hope and delight and much of the love I receive in the sunshine pouring on the rock.

I’m basking in the sunshine.
I feel that no good thing never dies.

Life is still beautiful……………….

jeongeuimeadow2

Essay from Chimezie Ihekuna

Housewifery

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It is an obvious fact that the smallest unit of any society is the family, chief resident of a home (not a house). Of course, the head of the house is the man but the home-maker is the woman. Though a man may acquire magnificent edifices to his enrichment, it takes a ‘good’ woman to make them homes.

However, the reverse is the case in our contemporary world of civilization where husbands and wives are in pursuit of enhanced convenience at the expense of home building, monetary gains at the expense of physical and mental development of their family members (especially children) and other seen interests. Unequivocally, these discrepancies have truncated stability in most homes thereby constituting inauspicious divorce and estranged issues and eventually broken homes.

At this point, an instance will be necessary to explain the importance of a ‘good’ home-maker, a woman (precisely a wife). A law is passed into a country’s constitution as its recognition. Without the functionality of the executioner, what is the essence or potency of the law? Similarly, a man, the head of the house, can (only) practically pass the instructions to be executed by the woman. Without this, the home will undoubtedly be in shambles. Come to think of it, the executioner is a trained person equipped with the skill of properly executing or acting appropriately on laws passed. In the same vein, a woman or better put, a wife is nurtured with the necessary physical, mental and spiritual empowerment, recognition to deal with issues that face the home. What happens if the woman is not equipped with these empowerment recognition over the years? The answer can be likened to a plant without a functional nucleus. That plant is a phantom!

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Poetry from JD DeHart

Ash

Creature of smolder,
a dream put out.  Smoking
into the air.  Tickles
the nostrils.

That’s ok.  It wouldn’t
have been my dream
anyway.  Lost heat.
Years-ago lack of reality.

A pile of ashes fittingly
left as a tribute to
something that used to be,
but (being matter)
hasn’t disappeared yet.

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Poetry from Michael Robinson

Some Place 

For Donna Simons 2017

 

I’ve been someplace special,

Where the sun speaks to the moon,

While the mountains listen.

 

I’ve been someplace where my soul dances,

And my heart speaks in its native tongue,

Some place where I come to life.

 

Some place where my Mother,

Sings with her soul,

And I hear every word.

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Poetry from Joan Beebe

A PEACEFUL WALK      
          

A renewal of spirit seems to take place

While following a path along a meandering brook.

Walking through a forest of beauty and serenity

One’s mind is filled with the sights and soft  sounds

Of nature’s  peaceful  surroundings.

Time stands still and you are enveloped

Within the outstretched arms of  trees as if

Welcoming a friend,

The brook we follow has a sound of its own –

Like a beautiful melody of joy.

For a few moments, one is mesmerized

By the feeling of being one with the

Natural  rhythm  of a forest so alive.

As the brilliant sun sends its golden rays

Upon the canopy of green above us,

One hears a quiet whisper of this forest –

It is the gentle wind flowing through the trees

And sheltering us as we end our Peaceful Walk.