Jan Oskar Hansen
Mario Petrucci
Jyotsana Prasad
Ritallin the Cerebral Stimulant
 
 
   

Joytsana K. Prasad

  Jyotsana K Prasad, Indian, holds a PhD degree in Hindi Literature.  She has received training  in  Indian classical dance and music. For more than a decade she has been devoting all her time to creative writing. She has also written short stories and novels in Hindi.  She has been awarded  an Honorary Membership  of International Writers and Artists Association, USA. For her, poetry is an objective expression of the subjective experience of the kind of life one lives. She believes that the various kinds of experiences one is undergoing  in the course of one's life get transmuted into poetic images when touched with imagination.  In the process the ordinary is transformed into extraondinary and becomes universal.  At present, she lives with her husband Dr Anil K Prasad in the city of  Ibb, Republic of Yemen and is   engaged in translating a Yemeni novel into Hindi.

 
The New Present
(Abhinav Uphar)


Locked up in the glass-palace
Of the new millennium,
In a state of suffocated anxiety,
A poet of pure, tender emotions
Shudders to hear the sound
Of his own breathing.

His sensations have disappeared
Or are buried in
The measureless embryos of the deep
Awaiting…
The impending good-morrow.

Today in every nook and corner
Of the world anarchy rules.
The poet who used to be engrossed
In describing the glow of red lips
Is terrified by the flames of fire.

The sensitive one who used to get drowned
In the kohl of the beautiful eyes
Is shocked to witness the dance
Of savagery.

The bugle of destruction is blown
Sky is stunned by agony, hiccups, shrieks,
Tears, pain and terror.

killing, killing and  killing:

In the surge of tears
People drift and sink

Clothes wet with blood
Hands covered with blood
Holi celebrated with the blood
Of the innocent people:

The poor homes of the poor burning
Flames howling

Burning the poor homes of the weak
People are celebrating Deepavali.

Searching for warmth
Of a mother's anchal and food
Innocent waifs are begging
From door to door.

The naked dance of savagery:
Contaminated water, polluted environment
Society - emitting the venom of hatred
Happiness –Peace- Procreation – Prosperity
Kalptaru – with fruits of growth!

In their own land
People are living a life
Worst than refugees
People are killed everyday
Mourning the living of a life.

Is it the welcome present
Of the new millennium?


Holi: The Indian spring Festival of Colours. "The night before Holi, huge bonfires are lit, symbolizing the destruction of evil" (from   Microsoft Encarta Encyclopedia: 2003).
Deepavali: The Indian Festival of Lights. It celebrates the triumph of light over darkness.
Anchal: The front part of a Saari which stands for a mother's love and care for her child.
Kalptaru: This mythical tree, famed for its uninterrupted bounty, is believed to be in heaven, appeared after the churning of the ocean by Devas and Asuras


Still There Is Fragrance Left In My Life
(Abhi Gandh Shesh Hai Mere Jeevan Mein)


Every pore is my threshold
Of a dilapidated citadel.

I am afraid lest our mutual
Selfishness and disagreement
Should destroy it
Like a catastrophe.

I am afraid lest the minarets
Of my devotion should bend
And the windows and doors
Of my patience and nerve
Should be made hollow by insects.

I have doubts lest the pillars
Of my pure faith might collapse
Like a wall weakened by decay.

Every pore is my threshold
Of a dilapidated human race.
Centuries-old these ruins
Are littered here, everywhere-
Many broken images
Of pleasant memories:
Frescoes of varied emotions
Faces of many beautiful women.

Somewhere imaginations
Are being baffled
Somewhere getting dim
Are the lighted lines
Of human civilization.

Every pore is my threshold
Of memories in oblivion.
I am afraid lest they might
Bury in the cemetery
Of jealousy and hatred
The pure sentiments
Of compassion and renunciation.

We are waiting with hope
From the stone-hearted idols
Who are ruling the country.
All agree:
"It is their responsibility".

Thinking thus we
Are turned into an inert mass.
Until now…
They have been decorating   their houses
Perhaps, now they will turn to these ruins.

These ruins-
Are not only remnants…
These are our own heritage, from the past-
Precious remains of humanity.

Every pore is my threshold
Of the pleasant dream of a future.
Still we have faith left
Still we have hope left
In the dark sky of despair
Will bloom the splendour
Of the red new-morn.

Every atom of it should be protected
Deviation should not be the path.
No savagery should grow
There should not be a broil
Between the hearts.
Hungry wolves should not
Congregate here.

Every pore is my threshold of a culture
On the verge of disintegration.
This is true here there was once
The zenith of knowledge and science 
But O my Heart! Don't despair
Again here there would be a renaissance.

Still there is enthusiasm
Still there is awareness
Still there is a wish to do something good
Still there is wisdom
Still there is strength
Still there is a desire to do something

Still hope is left in my home
Still life is left in my body
Still faith is left in my mind
Still there is fragrance left in my life.


The Many-splendoured Sun
(Bhaskar Ke Hain Kai Rang)


Child-sun- very tender
Pure, passionate, loving
Adult- sun- flame-hot
Flame-intoxicated, proud,
Poisoned-arrows
Or the furnace of a potter!
Evening sun-
Aged, mellow
Yellow leaf, tired body
Tired , composed, tranquil mind

Calm winds, nightfall
End of a magic
Of the many-splendoured Sun.


A Change
(Badal Gaya Hai)


This is the same sky which was once ours
This is the same sea which was once ours
This is the same sun which was once ours
Yes, they were ours-
This is the land which was once ours.

But everything is changed now-
Happiness and love have changed
The shelter is changed into a cemetery-
Rosy lips are ink-black.
The decorations of land have changed.
Silence is restless with pain.
The mood of the wind has changed.


Anticipation
(Hridaya-Dhvani)


Like a musical time-piece
Set on a favourite tune,
You sing my name, when I am with you
Absent for a moment-always your
Chant enchants me to be with you
And putting aside all my work 
I come to you running, breathless, bewildered,
Anticipating an unforeseen trouble,
But  when I look at your quietude,
Amused  I am and you-
His Highness-in-meditation-deep!
Pull a chair for me to be seated beside
A distance that touches and tips me
To hear the silent radiance of your musings,
And I wait, and have been waiting
And looking at your face for a bloom.
But you on a distant Himalayan height-
Immersed in your thoughts in a dark
Deep cave of delight.
Bemused - I begin to tip-toe and go
Back to the calls of my daily chores,
Then you touch my arm with your smile
And make me sit again
Near you, you look at me but
Still your lips are locked
Like ancient portals locked for ages covered
With green-grey-growth-of –grass of Time
Hiding unknown, untold treasure!
My mysterious meditating austere core!
Now your eyes begin to
Beam with silence soft
And suddenly I see the Sun beckoning us
Into the shadow of his vermillion-glow
That gleams through his jewelled-crown
And making an announcement
For the beautiful
Beginning of
The pleasant evenings of
Our each day.