Now, that I’ve seen eight,
nine, I’m sure, will not be as fine
as they write in those tales.
Tales are just tales, I know,
So, they talk to me, I listen,
and nod, then I do what I want.
I’ve seen when I wait long enough
their talks do end and they leave.
Sometimes I look at them, look not listen,
and think of all I’ll do after the talk ends.
Then I wait, and wait some more, and they leave.
I am made to sit in a corner, punished, grounded.
So I wait, and wait, and they leave.
Then I play, alone, in my corner, book in my hand.
I’m safe, punished, and alone, while
they think I’m reading as ordered.
It's difficult to be what you are destined to be,
more difficult to know what you are destined to be,
and then to live, not reaching there, ever.
Nothing comes for free.
The world takes the fee of life.
Sometimes it simply condemns you to live your death
as you know you live, but not your destiny.
No David for that Goliath, the world
not for long, not for ever.
You live compromises, one after the other.
You give some and then, some more.
My sons, they tell me
that a part of my destiny will be fulfilled through them.
I smile and mask my fear.
Just think of the day they know their father, the midget,
the coward, and then, hate him
for not being
what he was destined to be.
(Rajnish Mishra is a poet, writer, translator and blogger born and brought up in Varanasi, India and now in exile from his city. His work originates at the point of intersection between his psyche and his city. He edits PPP Ezine.)
The New Room.
One week on and my boxes
of belongings have been unpacked -
a midnight blue butterfly knife,
a stack of novels,
a handful of vinyls,
a cactus that waits
for water on the windowsill,
some clothes that already need washing
and a photo of my parents
on their wedding
wondrously staring towards the horizon -
yet to be ground down by life and me.
I’m not quite sure if it’s depressing
or invigorating that my life can
be packed away,
or emptied in under five minutes?
But knowing that I’m taking
the time to ponder it
means that one way or another
I must have settled into
this new room now.
(Gwil James Thomas is a novelist, poet and inept musician originally from Bristol, England. He is currently putting together a split poetry chapbook with the poet John D Robinson. He resides in Northern Spain and is part English, part Welsh and part wolf.)
There is bliss
There is bliss in beauty,
in observing the sublime;
bliss in conceding to
the ravages of time.
There is bliss in believing,
in being without doubt;
there is bliss in yielding to
life’s defeats and routs;
There is bliss in seeing
a grandchild smile,
bliss in being oblivious
to nastiness and bile.
There is bliss in repentance,
in penance and peace.
There is bliss in accepting
this is all there is.
(Jeremy Gadd has published over 250 poems in newspapers, periodicals and literary magazines in Australia, the USA, UK, Canada, New Zealand, Belgium, Germany and India.)
Where I'm From....
I am from nowhere or everywhere.
A seedling sprouting from the earth, pulled towards the sun,
not knowing what I will become.
I am life and death, the transitions from one thing to the next.
Beauty and darkness, fragility and strength,
the softness hidden beneath the steel.
I am me...
still searching for who I am;
not knowing where I am going or who I am meant to be.
I am me for all or none to see.
( Carolyn Licht, PhD, is NY Psychologist in private practice, with specialties in addiction, trauma, anxiety and mood disorders, HIV, and chronic pain. As a prior professional ballet dancer, she emphasizes the mind-body-spirit connection and uses a strength-based therapeutic approach integrating DBT, mindfulness-based interventions, psychodrama, and other “skills-in action” methods.)
The Beautiful Space-