Abdul Raheem, who used to be an autorickshaw driver in Kerala, reached Saudi in the first decade of the century. He was hired by a family in Riyadh to take care of a differently-abled teenager along with driving duties. The boy used to breathe and eat using the help of a device attached to his body. One day, while driving with the 15-year-old, the boy assaulted Raheem for stopping at a traffic signal. While trying to calm the teenager down and protect himself, Abdul Raheem ended up pushing the medical device on the boy's shoulder unintentionally. As it fell inside the car, the boy became unconscious and passed away, Onmanorama said in a report. In 2018, Raheem was sentenced to death as the family refused to grant amnesty. The Kerala man's appeals were rejected and the Supreme Court upheld the verdict. However, in 2023, Raheem received a ray of hope as the family reconsidered and decided to accept diya (blood money) instead. They demanded 15 million Saudi riyals, approximately Rs 33.24 crore, which was to be paid within six months from the deal's signing on October 16, 2023. With the deadline fast approaching and Abdul Raheem's fate on the line, people across the stratas of life in Kerala joined hands to crowdsource the money. Until last week, the crowdfunding effort could only manage to find Rs 5 crore. However, as the deadline loomed, an aggressive campaign was launched via social media and the volunteers managed to find the entire amount in just four days' time, Why I mentioned the real story of Kerala ? It is a movie that trying to halt the prosperity and love between religions and cast The Kerala Story is a 2023 Indian Hindi-language drama film directed by Sudipto Sen and produced by Vipul Amrutlal Shah.[1] It stars Adah Sharma, Yogita Bihani, Sonia Balani, and Siddhi Idnani. The plot follows a group of women from Kerala who are coerced into converting to Islam and joining the Islamic State .[5][6]Marketed as a true story, the film is premised on the Hindutva conspiracy theory of "love jihad",[7] and falsely claims that thousands of Hindu women from Kerala have been converted to Islam and recruited in the Islamic State.[8][9] So Kerala didn’t have story like this, so this is not the real. Today we seen how the Keralites treat every one A tiny oversight cost him his life. 18 years spent incarcerated No aspirations, no desires Seven days remain before death. The tears were shed like spring. The mother, in despair, thought of her cherished son. 34 crores for one life. No money, no forgiveness The remnants of humanity The insight of society with an aspiring mind The civilization that was portrayed as radical and narrow-minded shown true humanism. Saved him with four finger days. Tiny branches that are connected by various boundaries The genuine world's lifesaver No hue, no faith Neither wealthy nor impoverished Combined, providing the shed The Humanity Day The day of God's pardon Dreams as actuality The modern era's angles With the courteous customs and principles proud of every second. It feels like we were born with human emotions and died as human beings. The real Kerala story Not just one, more than the blood money Written by Sinanbinumer
Art from Mark Young
Poetry from Kristy Raines
On A Beautiful Spring Day I met you on a Sunday, on a beautiful Spring day You watched me from the back of the church I just walked by you and never uttered a word. Everything was blooming and you drove by me You asked if I'd walk by the lake with you, On that beautiful Spring day, I smiled and nodded, "yes". You picked me flowers and I cherished those wild flowers... Time went by and like flowers, so bloomed our love A year later on a beautiful Spring day, we married Holding a bouquet of Spring flowers, I whispered, "I Do". One day you got ill on a beautiful Spring day With all the beautiful flowers blooming, you passed away Years later, I stand here on a beautiful Spring day All the beautiful flowers blooming now remind me of you Maybe on a beautiful Spring day with the sun shining You'll be holding wild flowers for me at Heaven's gates. And together we will walk again, Forever... On A Beautiful Spring Day.... The Wings of Love When I feel you near, at times I can't breathe Your presence makes me sigh, and my eyes close trying to compose my feelings that can't be denied No doubt that even after death this love will not die The wings of love surround us on this beautiful night and will lift us up above the heavens to meet the moon This memorable evening never to be forgotten and one that will go on and on through the passages of time I find you even in the most unlikely places of my heart and I have new eyes that see only the most Beautiful You I am the sky that fills you arms and heart tonight as we dance beautifully together between the stars. Where Love Resides Where golden strings play songs so sweet and the many colors of red reside there also resides my love When the song of a sparrow touches my soul and the signs of Spring show off their colors So also shows the colors of my love If the rains come and clouds shadow me and if my tears fall like the drops that stream down my window they cleanse my heart so love can shine through again And, what comes my way, whether happy or sad I know tomorrow will bring a brighter day For I look to the heavens and know, the greatest love resides there Kristy Raines was born in Oakland, CA, USA. She is a poet and prose writer. Kristy is also an advocate. for the Rohingya refugees living in Cox’s Bazar, Bangladesh. Kristy has five books getting ready to publish this year. One with a prominent poet from India, Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai, which will launch soon called, "I Cross my Heart from East to West", two fantasy books of her own called, "Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings" and "Princess and The Lion", an anthology of poems in English, "The Passion Within Me" and her autobiography called "My Very Anomalous Life." Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing.
Poetry and art from Brian Barbeito
rain earth cold but once the summer sun and your eyes plus birdsong I remember (for Tara)
all the time through both the nocturnal wild and the structured parts also. cold, wind, ice, and sleet. grey, dark, opaque, and even rueful. the old church and its tombstones the roof crying on the sides and the tears not flowing but racing down to the cemetery earth. poor old field mouse is probably even saturated w/that and also sadness. where did the summer and the sun of the summer go to?- once I think, there were purple and yellow wildflowers that lived on the edges of fields,- fields verdant and inside the woodland passageways great healthy vines sometimes climbed trees old and full, so full of character and warmth, of nuance and energy, robust w/the stories and spirit of the good things of the countryside.
I think, also, that your eyes were brown and spoke of many things, things of now and of ancient continents. the other souls,- well their eyes only appear brown from a distance…something to do w/the light or angle. but their eyes are green and blue and grey, things the world lauds and celebrates,- but the world is wrong, the world has everything backwards, for it is your brown eyes that are above the rest and that make the world settled and whole, no? yes. of course. I can see. you tell me about the owl and the birds and look upwards much of the time. and the birds. they always sang for you. against reason and logic I would say they never sang for me like that when i was there alone. birds and butterflies, little streams and water washed stones. I think we stopped there and watched everything and the living dream of the world was much better than it is today.
Poetry from Philip Butera
Cottony Clouds The winds of winter push cottony clouds before the moon in the dark of night. I remain, missing more pieces than I can gather. The air is numbing cold and my shadow has disappeared into frozen snowdrifts. January is an unforgiving month, like a lover in distress who sacrifices reality for a dream. There are always doubts about whether great love equals great pain. There are always doubts. I am nostalgic and yearning for the warmth of an afternoon sun. I long for summer I long for July, lovely July when I was whole and your smile danced around me. I remember the heat and I remember the crisp white sheets. I was that lover who sought but never saw.
Poetry from Rasheed Olayemi
Unemployment To keep body and soul People need jobs A good job, a great joy Improves man's morale But when a man lacks a day job His joy vanishes throughout the day A dependent he becomes Brooding all day long Long period of joblessness Long period of joylessness A psychological distress That wrecks psyche Massive unemployment Attracts pervasive poverty And escalates crime rates Evils hide in unemployment A struggle to get a job A positive move That can save man From the pains of poverty If you're jobless Get tangible activity, legit For your daily bread Steer clear of idleness Idleness attracts lawless acts
Poetry from J.J. Campbell
----------------------------------------------------------- gently on the shoulder i found you naked in my bed sleeping so quiet and i snuggled up next to you kissed you gently on the shoulder and told you i love you i woke up alone a note on the pillow saying thanks, you need to buy some toilet paper i laughed and then realized what you used that towel for -------------------------------------------------------- thirty some years ago you ever remember the time we kissed under a bridge on a rainy night thirty some years ago how all loneliness left us two souls determined to take on the world sharing cigarettes at three in the morning two weeks later you would be gone to some other place i never saw the world the same again --------------------------------------------------------------------- in science class earth shaking like never before and some idiot thinks it is the wrath of god and soon the sun will give in to the moon and some genius will take it as a sign from god to shoot up a school or rob a few banks it is pretty easy to see who was actually paying attention in science class and who was busy daydreaming about a life they could never ever achieve --------------------------------------------------------- slowly come to terms tears race down my face as i slowly come to terms with my inevitable demise i've squeezed more talent out of apathy than is probably allowed be thankful they allowed you to go this far most of your types end up in institutions or cemeteries i have a modest urn in mind ashes to be spread in the pacific ocean lord knows i'll never make it there while alive --------------------------------------------------------------------------- a proverbial box shooting stars have no wishes attached to them fear is a disease that can trap any soul in a proverbial box sometimes i think it would be better to burn the fucker down than figure a way out J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is stuck in the suburbs, plotting his escape. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Black Coffee Review, The Asylum Floor and Horror Sleaze Trash. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)