Week 2,July 2023
When the Dream gets Better
By Fabrice B. Poussin, 14th July 2023,
The night seemed painted in black and white
and a few shades of gray.
As he walked in an eerie silence
the cobblestones echoed with his hesitant gait.
The air was made thick by a floating mist
heavy as the lead of cotton dreams.
An avenue narrowed into a path
through tallest memento to man’s fetes.
The knowledge of what he was to find
now set forevermore.
So long he had nurtured a vision and a wish
it was time to enter the world made for him.
Not to be alone at last a trusting soul
waited behind those imposing gates.
Decades in the making a realm real
built with the gentle illusions of slumber.
By Mona Bedi, 13th July 2023
another winter —
I take out dad’s muffler
for a walk
somewhere a whiff
of his perfume
By R.I Karoly, 11th July 2023
eyes folded in dreams
opening to the water
falling from the stars
lilac winds of old
forgotten stories upon
secret garden’s lap
standing worlds apart
on the shore of cresting waves
dreams the yearning heart
An Ivory Song
By Debarati Sen 12th July 2023
In a city that has metamorphosed over the years
Dreams hung like barnacles
From the frayed edges of misspelt stories.
In the mauve twilight, catamarans carried sapphire
dreams to far-off shores
In the mind's hinterland, a chaos theory loomed large,
Blurring the gap between space and dimension
We are, but biological robots with consciousness.
Constantly fighting a battle between
the 'self' and 'other'.
Hearts swell like the summer sea glistening
under the scorching sun
In a city that doesn't sleep
The clouds smell of dark rum
The days are hazy like a nebula
The creaks made of hyperspace fury
fill the indigo depths with vermillion poetry
An ivory song blanched in crimson
covers the fag end of a September evening
A primrose on your tongue
tasted of a repertoire of good times
Peacock blue and emerald green shades
shined with abloom aesthetics
As night set in, the moon drowned in my drink
While I shared my champagne
with the Aurora borealis!
ByPriti Aisola 10 July 2023
Your public face,
Which needs a facelift anyway,
Deserts you completely.
You just want to sit quietly
With neither thoughts nor emotions,
Just your breath for company,
And your room as an observer.
The mind is a spiked trap,
Each breath a hankering cry
For the liberating air of faith
Baba’s words about the mind, about everything,
Are just so many syllables randomly juxtaposed
In an alien language with a curious script.
These words, ‘Meditate on me,
Either with form or without form;
That is pure bliss,’ are only display pieces
On each day’s mantel shelf.
Is a rough stone,
Waiting for love
To give it chiselled form.
I am glad that such things that I speak of
Only happen sometimes.
Even as you share this poem
You see through the game
Of sharing memories, pictures, poems
And ask yourself this blunt question,
‘Why do you wish to be known,
be remembered, at all?’
At such times
You withdraw your public face
From social spaces,
Sit quietly, look at Baba’s face.
And say, ‘This is how I meditate,
Take it or leave it.’
Then the One who says,
‘Love is my form, Love has no form,
Love is God, God is love,’
Biographies of Poets
Priti Aisola is the author of See Paris for Me, a novel (Penguin, 2009); Beyond the Gopurams, a spiritual travelogue (Wisdom Tree, 2014); A Dinner Invitation to God, poems (Writers Workshop, 2016); O Shrineless Silence, poems (Authorspress, 2017); Letters to Maya, creative nonfiction, (Authorspress, 2020). In 2020, she was introduced to haikai literature by Kala Ramesh and she is very grateful to her mentor for this.
R.I. Károly is a Hungarian author currently based in Germany. She writes poetry and prose both in her native Hungarian, as well as in English. Her writing has appeared in various online journals. To see more of her work, follow her on Instagram: @rikaroly