Nishi Pulugurtha

THE VILLAGE OF MASKS

The masks lay around

colourful

As they kept working on more

Some glitter added to many

A few left to dry

Arrayed on the walls

and on the steps

Of the little shop beside the road

One shop beside another

Many more all over the place

Their livelihood

Their hopes and dreams

Unlike the ones that several keep wearing

Always.

THIS IS NOT MY HOME

My home was there

in that village

There was a pond on the left

and a large mango tree beside it

Why am I here?

Take me home

To my mother

This is my house

built a long time ago

Do you know the story?

I will tell you

Let us go home

This is not my home

Did you see my mother?

I am looking for her

There are white flowers

on that tree beside the window

This is my house

Take me home

CARVED ROCKS

Talls trees that led into the

forest wild

The sun struggled to shine through

and the gentle breeze played with the leaves.

Close by a mountain reared its head

lording over all

Brown and bare

Rocks strewn in the green

Rocks that human hands decided

To carve upon

A snake here, a peacock there

A tortoise and a lion too

Some leaves in the crevices

And a little of the blue

that peeps in

Pakhi Pahad they call it

The abode of the birds

Whose song could be heard

mingled with the breeze

On a September day.

Nishi Pulugurtha is academic, author, poet, editor and translator. She has two volumes of short stories, an edited anthology of short stories, three volumes of poetry, a co-edited anthology of poems, one book on travel, an edited volume on travel and a volume of essays apart from several academic writings. Her recent book is a co-edited volume of translated short stories written by women on the subject of mental health. Her book on food and a fourth volume of poems are forthcoming.

Harihar Jha

Lotus in the Mud

My heart has turned into a stone
some rocks hit against and break
to flow in the river
but still desire to see the seedling sprouting
is alive
Hope to hear melodious songs from birds
is active
and dreams of fragrance from the flowers
yet remains…

Someone has plunged his sword
into intestine of the wasteland Earth
and yet,
in these threatening and roaring clouds,
the desire for showering compassion is still alive.
Hope from the heartless earth
to grow passionate sensitivity is still active.
Appeal to the dead sky
to rain the life-force yet remains…

There is no place for platonic love now
What is Love? But just a deal
an equation in Mathematics
or a computer program
flowing chemicals of a few organic compounds
In spread of the mud,
Hope to lotus blossom
yet remains…

Paradox

Hungry dogs keep barking

Hungry dogs keep barking

Moon sneaking away behind the horizon

In this city

A few corpses bury human beings alive

A few chairs catch the neck of people

Sit over them haughtily

why budding flowers are being crushed

My soul is furious, enraged

And cries my fuming speech

In response

Angered by not able to crush me

the hungry dogs

catch me with their big forceps

push me in a dog-vehicle

and leave me in a dreaded forest.

 Poor Me!

Lured me to make like you

You snatched away my ‘self’

On excuse to lighten me

on my body you added shackles

Engrossed with relation in family

full of leaves and flowers

rootless as I was

You chose to give me power

To give me my own personality

Me nude tree at your request

With the lotion of Beauty-saloon

glued dummy flower on my breast

Veils after veils I was covered

by my Lord, the stone-age guy

You turned me into a bar-girl

For liberation, I couldn’t cry

You removed my clothes, layer after layer

For freedom I was keen

What a shame on tragic joy

you peeled off even my skin.

Crake of dawn

A lonesome branch embraced
And squeezed the chest of a tree
Smiled the breeze in her heart
and passed by the sea
Crake of dawn is fine! and so is lukewarm unshine
Merging in sweat of burning noon
Sky to the depth in light
Ah! Dream Melody emerged from
A cave of frightening night
Crake of dawn is fine! and so is lukewarm sunshine
Naughty someone during night
Blackened the face of Miss earth!
No one to care for her dews like tears
Then what is all its worth?
Came sweet Morning with garden wind
What a flowery and fruity!
Tears of happiness that was dew
and got again her beauty
Crake of dawn is fine! and so is lukewarm sunshine

I Don’t know why?

I see a crying hungry child
My hands dip in a philosophical puzzle
What is hunger and what is pain?
What is body and what is a soul?
I see a woman being dragged by a sinner
My eyes searching for the answer.
Who is victim here and who is a culprit?
What is love and what is lust?
Live knives and crying dead bodies
In a communal riot
My ears only want to listen
Who is Hindu here and who is Muslim
Who are my own?
And the rest are aliens.
I don’t know why?
My eyes, ears , hands and legs
Have turned into Mind
And where is my Mind?
Dancing like a puppet
To the tune of these cunning snake-charmers.

Harihar Jha was born in the year 1946 in Rajasthan. Having worked in Bhabha Atomic Research Centre, Mumbai for much of his time, he has been residing in Melbourne since 1990. A post-graduate M.Sc. from Udaipur University, poetry for him is a call to the roots in India. Apart from poems he loves music, chess and good books. Published books in English and Hindi like ‘Agony Churns My Heart’, ‘Bhig Gaya Man’, ‘Phusphusate Vruksh Kan Me’ , Dulhan Si Sajili’ ‘Prashna Khud Betal Tha’ Anthology: “Hidden Treasure” , “Boundaries of the Heart” etc

Ertuğrul ERDOĞAN

LET THE BATTLE BE YOURS

Give me the streets of my childhood!

Take those bad years of mine, they are of warphilists

l don’t want your rifle, your cannon!

And your virüs that suffocates poeple

l have missed the flowers in my garden

And the four o’clock flowers

And the daisies standing inocently in the corner

l have missed the flight of the insects,

Wandering around the bulbs that give pale yellow light

Over the tables laid under the stars

İn the dark of the night.

Oh mom!

İn a huge bowl

She used to wash me up

With a bar of soup

That used to make my eyes smart

Whit beady droplets shining in the sun

Oh mom! You used to clean

But the outside used to make our young bodies dirty.

Wars are all yours,

And also your kills.

Give me back my marbles

All my dreams ramained in them

l have also missed the cotton like clouds,

My future remained hidden in their shapes.

Here l have missed!

İt’s crumbs left on the handle of a candy apple,

And the games we played in the shade.

Take my dirtied years from me!

Life is very ugly, my dad!

İn fact exceedingly ugly!

Ertuğrul ERDOĞAN/ Türkiye

A FRILLED PHOTOGRAPH

In the baseness of life

A dwarf walks in the darkness,

Further on a couple of streets

It enters quietly

A house whitewashed in a yellow shade…

The smell of dampness

Makes it difficult to breathe.

Spider webs on the walls

Dead flies on their webs

As dry as bone…

An old photograph off to one side

Frilled on the edges…

A man, a woman

Their hair stuck to each other

The bowler-hatted man,

The gazelle-eyed woman.

They smile

Whispers,

Whispers,

And then a huge silence…

The wind gliding through the threshold,

Goes by licking off the memories…

Poem: Ertuğrul Erdoğan / Türkiye

English Translation by: Mesut Şenol

AFGHAN WOMAN

An hale and hearty

Afghan woman

At the slope of mountains

She’s put burqa on because of she fears

And is looking at around,

Papavers are flush scarlet

As for daisies are bridal gown.

She is sanguinely looking at far far away

Seeing the World which is be shattered.

When a bird perchs on a branch of wild pear tree,

She has approached slowly;

Forcefully;

And taken her extended hands out of burqa.

The bird has scared; and fluttered away.

The woman could not see its wings…

She cried,

Cried!

But nobody has seen her teardrops…

Poem : Ertuğrul ERDOĞAN – Türkiye

Translater : Ali Osman Tezcan

Ertuğrul ERDOĞAN was born in 1958 in Ankara, Turkey. He worked at Doğan Publishing House and Printing House between 1968 and 1980. He then worked as a local and general media reporter in Ordu province between 1982 and 1983, and at a public institution between 1983 and 2009. His stories have been published in print media such as Deliler Teknesi, Edebiyat Nöbeti, Üvercinka, and Ihlamur magazines, as well as in online literary magazines, newspapers, and books. The author, who incorporates global issues into his works, has the forthcoming novels “Insects in a Jar,” “Apple Candy,” “Tirşe Renk Apartmanı,” “Kuluçka İşletmeu,” and “Underground Sun,” as well as a biographical novel, “Süpürgeliktaki Friendım.” His literary interviews with international writers from various continents have been published in Deliler Teknesi magazine. Erdoğan has participated in the International Poetry Festivals in Kritya, India, and Medellin, Colombia, and is a member of the Turkish Writers Union (TYS).