Proud of his Sindhi-Indian ancestry rooted in the Glorious Sindhu Civilization and Culture, Anand Krishna was born in Solo (Central Java), on September 01, 1956, as Krishna Kumar to Tolaram Gangtani. He lives in Ubud, Bali and is known as Swami Anand Krishna for his spiritual humanist movement.

He has a legacy of 180+ books to date with millions of copies sold in the past 25 years.

People of all faiths attending his talks is a running commentary to his vision “One Earth, One Sky, One Humankind”  – his interpretation of an age old Sanskrit Maxim, “Vasudaiva Kutumbakam”, this entire world is but one big family.

In the last 30 years, Anand has spoken to millions through television shows, radio talks, in-house trainings, books, newspaper interviews and articles, as well as daily meetings and workshops held at Anand Ashram (affiliated with United Nations), One Earth Retreat Center, Anand Krishna Center and Anand Ashram Ubud, the centers of yoga & meditation established by him in the Indonesian Capital of Jakarta, the suburban city of Bogor, the palatial ancient city of Yogyakarta, and other places. By Anand Ashram Foundation (affiliated with UN), Anand Krishna has inspired several other social and educational institutions.

Early Life, Schooling and Spiritual Journey

Anand Krishna was born in Solo, central Java but his schooling was completed in Lucknow, capital town of Uttar Pradesh state in north India and here he got the first introduction to spiritual powers and abilities held by human being from an ice vendor Sufi saint Sheikh Baba. Though father Tolaram was trying to introduce spirituality into life of Krishna with the poetry and teachings of legendry Sufi saint of Sindh Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai but eventually Sheikh Baba proved the reason for the making of Anand Krishna.

After completing Master’s Degree Krishna was working with a Garment factory in Indonesia as the shareholder and Director of the company, when in the year 1991 at the age of 35, he fell ill and medical diagnosis indicated certain death for him as he was suffering from Leukemia at critical stage. Here his childhood reading of Shah Abdul Latif and teachings of Sheikh Baba helped him lot and inspired him for holding tightly hope of survival and a miracle occurred in those days of suffering when he met with a mysterious Tibetan Lama in the Himalayas. This meeting proved the beginning of miracle, Krishna, who according to doctors was at door step of death, started recovering and in a short time was in the normal status of health. Krishna realized that this was a kind of new birth for him so after health recovery he didn’t return to his garment factory but decided to devote rest of life for the suffering humanity.

In 1999, Anand received a Cultural Doctorate in Sacred Philosophy from the World University in Benson, Arizona. In 2012, he received a Ph.D. in Comparative Religions from the University of Sedona.

Spiritual Career

Anand shared his personal experiences on the basis of “Be Joyful and Share your Joy to others”. As stated above he has promoted his teachings through print and electronic media, training seminars, as well as meetings and workshops held at Anand Ashram, One Earth Retreat Center in Ciawi, Anand Krishna Center and Ashram at Ubud, and at four meditation centers in Jakarta, Bogor, Yogyakarta and Bali. His ashram foundation is affiliated to the United Nations Department of Public Information.

He has written columns for Indonesian media publications and also appeared on Indonesian television and radio shows in Bali. In Jakarta, he was the subject of a 13-episode television serial called ‘Building Indonesia Anew with Anand Krishna’, broadcast on Q-Channel (now BeritaSatu) and Swara networks. A follow-up series was made, called Building ‘The World Anew with Anand Krishna’. Guests on the shows included fourth Indonesian president Abdurrahman Wahid; senior police detective Mangku Pastika; the Sultan of Yogyakarta; an Australian ambassador to Indonesia as well as various politicians and celebrities.

One of his three books in English – ‘Voice of Indonesia’ was discussed on a University of California campus radio show.

In 1997, he was made Reverend Minister by the Universal Life Church. In 2010, and was named Ambassador for Peace by the Universal Peace Federation. In 2011, he joined the International Metaphysical Ministry.

One of his books, in fact one of the three titles in English, “Voice of Indonesia” was released in California and discussed on the Campus Radio of University of California at Santa Barbara.

Humanitarian initiatives           

Anand has promoted several movements and Centers for Self-Development among others:

• International Bali Meditators’ Festival (IBMF); Forum for Revival of Human Spirit, which has given free Self-Development Programs to more than 25,000 teachers within last 5 years; Anand Krishna Centers in many major cities, and L’Ayurveda Healing Centers in Jakarta and Bali.
• AK Global Co-Operation, a national co-operative society with branches in several cities.
• The National Integration Movement, with almost 30 branches all over Indonesia and overseas representation, including one in the Middle East
• California Bali Friendship Association
• Brazil Indonesia Friendship Association
• Secret Garden of The Mother Divine, Dedicated to Healing Mother Earth and All Her Children, located in Kuta (Bali)
• AK Education Foundation, First Interfaith School in Bali, for which land has been acquired (about 2500 sq. meters in the prime area of Kuta)
• Bali Dvipa Charitable Clinic in Bali
• One Earth Integral Education Foundation
• Regular Free Medical and Trauma Relief Camps
• Global Harmony Monument in Ashram at Ubud – Bali
• The Charter for Global Harmony
• Center for Wellbeing and Self-Empowerment in 1991- He promotes a concept of love being the only solution to resolving global problems.

National and International Speaking Career          

• Conference on Sufi Movements in Contemporary Islam
• Anand Krisha was invited to present his paper on Sufi Solutions to World’s Problems at a conference held by the National University of Singapore and Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 4-5 August 2008
• Ubud Writers & Readers Festival 2008
• Earth Dialogues on Water Planet, November 2008
• Earth Dialogues on Water Planet 2008
• Spoke at Earth Dialogues on Water Planet hosted by the government of Brazil on 26–28 November 2008. Anand presented his paper on Water of Life, Wisdom of the Ancient – In Pursuit of the Indigenous Wisdom of Sundaland and South America to Save Our Planet. His paper was published as a book with the same title.
• Addresses the Parliament of World’s Religions in December 2009, Melbourne, Australia. His speech was titled “Addressing Religious Radicalism in Indonesia: Appreciating and Cultivating Bhinneka Tunggal Ika (Unity in Diversity) and Pancasila (Indonesia’s Preambule)”. He was appointed Ambassador of the ‘Parliament of the World’s Religions Council’ in September 2009.

Selected works     

Anand Krishna’s books and audiobooks include:

In English     

1. Life – A Traveler’s Guide to Journey Within – 2003
2. Soul Quest – Journey from Death to Immortality – 2003
3. Voice of Indonesia – 2007
4. Christ of Kasmiri – The Incredible Saga of Sage Yuzu Asaph – July 2008
5. Tri Hita Karana: Ancient Balinese Wisdom for Neo Humans – 2008
6. Sufi Solution to World’s Problems – 2008
7. From Bali to Belo Horizonte – In Pursuit of the Indigenous Wisdom of Sundaland and South America to Save Our Planet – 2009
8. ‘One Earth One Sky One Humankind – Living Prayerfully in the Spirit of Unity in Diversity’ – 2009
9. The Hanuman Factor: Life Lessons from the Most Successful Spiritual CEO – 2010
10. The Wisdom of Bali: The Sacred Science of Celebrating Heaven on Earth – 2010
11. The Zen Yoga: An Integral Approach to Spirituality – India 2011
12. Sai Anand Gita: Lord’s Song of Bliss Eternal – 2011
13. ‘Guru Yoga: The Way Within’ – January 2012
14. The Wisdom of Sundaland: The Ancient Unrecorded Prehistory of Indonesia Archipelago – 2012
15. The Kaligis Success Factor, Lesson from a rare Man of Law – 2013
16. Dvipantara Dharma Sastra: Sara Samuccaya-Slokantara-Sevaka Dharma, Ancient Indonesian Wisdom for Modern Human – May 2015
17. Live Yoga: The Yoga Sutras of Patanjali for Modern Times – 2015

Sexual harassment conviction and blasphemy accusations

Anand’s promotion of inter-faith harmony and his stance as a Universalist resulted in criticism from religious radicals. In 2000, his books were deemed heretical and recalled from Indonesian bookstores.

In 2010, some of his former students accused him of sexual harassment. The main accuser’s lawyer, Agung Mattauch, stated: “Harassment is just an entry point for a more serious problem, religious blasphemy”.

He was tried at South Jakarta District Court, which acquitted him in November 2011. The Supreme Court overturned the verdict in August 2012 and gave him a two-and-a-half-year jail term in a fake case of sexually harassing three of his students. He was arrested at his residence in Ubud in February 2013 and sent to Cipinang jail in East Jakarta to serve his sentence. The Supreme Court in January 2014 announced it had rejected his request for a judicial review.

Anand Krishna was accused of blasphemy by extremist groups after he criticized conservatives seeking to transform Indonesia into a conservative state.

Hunger Strike for Justice

Anand Krishna had observed Hunger Strike for over 50 days as struggle to seek justice in Indonesian law system.

Indonesian newspapers had reported that prominent Spiritualist Anand Krishna is lying weak on a hospital bed in East Jakarta. He was treated for his heart condition after having a heart attack before attending the trial. On 5/4/2010 after an exhausting 12 hours of questioning, he collapsed in Jakarta Police Station and had developed irregular heart beat condition called bigimenie. He was also suffering from acute diabetes, high blood pressure and earlier leukemia history.

He had been on hunger-strike since March 9th 2011 after South Jakarta District Court Judge Hari Sasangka delivered an order for the detention although Anand had been cooperative throughout the hearings since the case went to trial in August 2010, and almost no substantial evidences and witnesses related to the case had been presented. His blood plasma glucose level had dropped but he was transferred to Cipinang Penitentiary.

Anand observed hunger-strike as his non-violent resistance and determination to fight against unjust and unfair treatment of the Indonesian law system, rather than against the person who acts against him.

A prominent human rights activist and Indonesia senior law practitioner, Adnan Buyung Nasution, had said that the order of judge to detain Anand was considered a reckless decision, and violated Article 158 of Criminal Code and Indonesian Judge’s Code of Conduct of not taking side before the official court verdict. “I’ve been practicing law for 50 years and just only this time, I find that a judge can put a defendant in guilty side before officially court verdict reached,” he said when visiting Anand in the hospital.

According to Anand’s lawyer, Dwi Ria Latifah S.H., the three-member panel of judges was leading the process of trial to dig out facts and witnesses related to Anand’s thinkings and writings, rather than to the facts and witnesses to the sexual charges. She alleged that there was a conspiracy to criminalize Anand’s thinking because it appears that almost no fair effort was made by the presiding judges to find out the truth about the sexual harassment’s indictment against Anand.

Former Indonesia Ministry of Research and Technology, Muhammad AS Hikam, in his blog also voiced his support to free Anand Krishna from an unjust, unhuman and unfair trial.

Anand Krishna – a phenomenon

After attending the 60th Annual DPI/NGO Conference on “Climate Dr. Rajendra Prasad, the first President of India had remarked upon seeing the child Krishna, “This is not ordinary boy”.

The prediction had come true. Standing high as the legendary Mount Meru, Anand Krishna wavers not an inch from his course of action, in spite of all kinds of trials and turbulences.

This is hard to believe that even the critics of person are impressed with dedication and capacity of raising self to above self for serving the humanity. This is not an imagination but is the true happening of the piece of land called “Indonesia”. Here you will find not only the critics but the people having sympathy with are used to call and recognize Anand Krishna as the “phenomenon.”

The 4th President of Indonesia, KH Abdurrahman Wahid recognized his contributions and said, “If we want to have peace, then we must hear what Anand Krishna is saying.”

____________________

Courtesy: Ubud Ashram, Anand Ashram, Anand Krishna, Aumkar, PR News Wire, Wikipedia and other websites

The post Swami Anand Krishna – Sindhi Sufi of Indonesia first appeared on Sindh Courier.

By Murli Melwani

“I told you, Duru Dadi,” said Jamna Bai, the midwife, as she coaxed my mother to push, “that you will give birth to a son”

Banter and cups of tea had circulated round the room the whole evening. Around 9.00 pm an infant’s sharp cry surfaced on the waves of overlapping conversations.

“It’s a boy,” said Jamna Bai. The women launched into a rousing ladha (a celebratory song). Jamna Bai wiped the infant and handed him to my 8-year-old sister, Rupa, who stood behind Mother’s bed. Sati, the 6-year-old, came close to Rupa and put her finger in the infant’s hand. The boy closed his fist over it.

A sweeping, meaningful glance from Jamna Bai hushed the room. Jamna Bai signaled the older women to join her outside.

“The boy has no anal opening,” Jamna Bai said. The women knew what that meant. No bowel movement, a distended stomach for 5 or 6 days – And departure in a shroud.

My mother didn’t have to write to my father who was on his second contract managing a clothing store in Shillong. The husbands of most of the women who had gathered in the room were either overseas or working in different parts of India. Families did not accompany their husbands unless their employers, also Sindhis, were satisfied that the employee had proved himself to be loyal, hardworking and honest. That test ended after the 4th or 5th two-year contract. The sisterhood of wives who were left behind to raise children on their own had a grapevine that kept the husbands informed of the news at home.

When Duru came as the bride of Vishindas Samtani, some four or five years ago, it took her little time to make friends in the neighborhood. The women came to know Duru as a person with a large heart and a great sense of humour. She told a story with the flourish, the pauses and the banter of a wandering minstrel.

The daily recreation of the women was to gather on the rooftops after they had completed the day’s chores. The houses were so close to each other in this locality of Hyderabad, Sindh, that the neighbours shot the breeze across rooftops. The literal breeze was warm but pleasing with the dry fragrance of the desert.

One of the women would goad Mother with a remark like, “So Duru, did Hamid Mia deliver the suthan-cholo (loose pant and top) on time?”

“That Niria-ghutal!” – The literal meaning of the hyphenated word was “choked-throat.” Niria-ghutal was the nickname my mother had conferred on the tailor. Hamid spoke as if a glass-marble was stuck mid-throat.

My mother took the most noticeable trait of a person and gave it a good-humoured label. The dhobi had loose skin hanging under his chin, rather like the wattle of a rooster. She would say “the murgo has come. He will crow that he couldn’t finish ironing all the clothes so he’ll bring the rest next week.”

The elderly person who lived next door always left the home with his lips glistening with ghee, applied, presumably, to prevent his lips from chapping. My mother referred to him as the “the lip-ish-teeck Dada”.

My mother withdrew into herself after my brother left his body. She walked every morning to the tikano (a place of worship with Hindu, Sikh, Jhulelal iconography). On her return, Mother began to spend more time in the alcove in the house that she had converted into a temple. The neighbours learned from Rupa and Sati that Mother kept wiping and cleaning, over and over, the lithographs of Jhulelal, Guru Nanak, Lord Ganesh, and Goddess Lakshmi. She kept bathing and drying the statutes of gods and goddess with a faraway look in her eyes.

The women would come in the evening and coax her to join them on the roof top. Her gentle answer was the same every day: “I don’t feel like it today- Some other day.” But that day never came, not even by the time Father came home for the customary month’s break after his 3rd contract.

As Father told me years later, he was shocked at the change in Mother. “So…so…disheartened. No interest in anything.”

“I was shocked to lose a son too. But my interaction with customers and managing staff helped me accept my karma.”

Father had a sense of humour too. It was different from Mother’s. Whereas Mother saw people through a caricaturist’s eyes, Father used humour as a skill that resolved situations.  Father tried his best to raise Mother’s spirits. One morning he told her: “this middle-aged customer was undecided about the fabric he liked. So I said to him, ‘it will keep you warm in winter and cool in summer’. No fabric does that. The man laughed and bought the piece.” Mother’s response was a weak smile

On another occasion he told her, “The woman said that the price for the sari was too high, I told her this story: ‘One day a mother sent her young son to buy two annas worth of cooking oil. On his return she saw that there was an anna at the bottom of the mug. She told her son, ‘I’m sure the shopkeeper must be keeping a huge profit margin, otherwise how could he sell two annas worth and still return an anna.’” My father waited for a response, but Mother kept stirring the sai bhaji (a Sindhi delicacy) on the stove. “The customer smiled and said, “You can pack the sari.’”

One evening over dinner, Father narrated how “Hiro and Lachu – two employees – had a terrible argument. They came to me to arbitrate. I mimic-ed the gestures and expressions they used when they were arguing”. Father repeated the mimicry. Rupa and Sati laughed. Mother merely nodded.

I’m sure that my Father and Mother, in happier times, would have enjoyed their shared, though variegated, trait.

When humour didn’t work, Father encouraged Mother to join him on his evening strolls along Gidu Bandar, the promenade along the river. She accompanied him on one or two occasions; after that she excused herself.

Father’s month-long stay flew by. Mother hoped that, as on his previous visits, she would find herself pregnant. A whole month passed; her hope remained unfulfilled.

She shared her fear with her neighbours that she might never be able to conceive again.  The sisterhood began to assure her, in their own individual ways that in time the body would discover its functions. Mother kept hoping that it would.

My father completed another contracted stint and returned to Sindh for his month with the family. When Mother felt that Father was well rested, she said: “May I ask you something?”

“Of course! Ask all you want.”

“I want you to take me to Thatta (a city in Sindhh). I’ll take blessings from the dhuni of Baba Sunmukhdas”. The dhuni, the site of the worship to the Mother Goddess, is kept alight all the time.

Thatta was far from Hyderabad. My father had two options. His sister, Gopa-Ma’s husband, Seth Chandiram, was in the export trade in Karachi. Parents, Gopa-Ma and Father, being the only children of their parents were very close to each other. In fact, his brother-in-law had used his connections to get Father his present managerial position. Father could ask to borrow Seth Chandiram’s car, a spacious 1936 model Plymouth. But that would be inconveniencing his brother-in-law. Father chose to travel by the rickety public buses that made innumerable halts.

The sisterhood could see the change in Duru when she returned. She reported, with joy spilling from her eyes, that Baba had given her the vibhuti from the dhuni with the words: “Have faith. Your wish will be fulfilled.”

The rest of Father’s stay was as happy as the first weeks after his marriage.

Mother’s routine changed after Father left. She stayed longer at the tikano. On her return she went straight into the alcove and recited the Japji Sahib (Sikh Morning Prayer). She followed it by singing bhajans. She asked Rupa and Sati to join her for the ardas at the end. She spent half a day in the alcove.

Mother added more events to her existing religious routine. She began to perform the monthly Chand Arti and Pallav (Prayers to Jhulelal followed by the seeking of benediction).

She was overjoyed when she missed her period. But she didn’t tell anyone about it, fearing an evil eye. It was only when she missed it the 2nd time, she whispered it to the sisterhood. Soon she began to join the neighbours on the rooftops in the evening.

Hamid Mia’s wife, Bano, came on a Friday afternoon and presented her a metal taweez. “There is a prayer on paper rolled in. It will protect the child against harm.” Bano tied the black-threaded taweez around Mother’s arm.

The wife of the elder neighbour lip-ish-teeck Dada advised her to announce that she was carrying a girl. “This will mislead any evil spirit.” The elderly women took on the role of a town crier and spread the news.

Other neighbours chipped in with suggestions. One told her to order a girl’s frock and hang it in the house. Another brought her a basket of chillies and said she must distribute them, instead of the customary ladoos, when the child is born. The sisterhood insisted that she start performing the Satya Narian Katha every month. My mother honoured all their suggestions.

The delivery was easy, a son, with no birth defects. I am that child.

Chillies were distributed on the 11th day of my birth following my name-giving ceremony. According to the horoscope, my name should begin with the sound of K. The name chosen was Kheeman. But the elderly neighbor decreed that my name should to be related to chillies. She thought the name “Mirchu” would be appropriate. That was the name by which I began to be called.

When I was about 7 months old, Mother woke up around midnight to the feeling of an unseen, incomprehensible presence. She walked round the house and went back to sleep. Next evening, she shared her experience with the sisterhood. The chance of a thief entering the house was discounted because we lived on the 2nd floor. An older neighbour said that unexplained noises, scents, sensations, or fleeting shadows were indications that jivas, spirits, was present in a home. There were good jivas and bad jivas. Someone suggested an exorcising ceremony. My mother gently said her faith was in prayers.

A few weeks later Mother was roused from sleep with the same uneasiness as before. That night she didn’t dare to get up and check the house. She spent a sleepless night. Every few weeks this feeling of uneasiness would occur, mainly after midnight.

When I was about a year old Mother suddenly felt that I was not in the bed with to her. She closed her eyes, folded her hands and said in a tearful voice, “For the love of God, please don’t take another son from me.” After the supplication, Mother saw that I was by her side.

She wrote to Father about the happenings. “I’m living in fear. I don’t want to live here.” She waited, with increasing anxiety, for his reply. He wrote back that when he returned in about a year, he would find another home for her. Mother cried when she received the letter. After that she tried to stay awake at night by silently reciting shabads, mantras, and bhajans. Finally, she picked up courage and wrote to Gopa-Ma about the state she was in. Mother pleaded that she arrange for Father to come mid-contract and not just move her from this house but  take the family with him to Shillong. It was in Seth-Dada’s power to do so.

Gopa-Ma was able to convince her husband. Mother, in gratitude, wrote back that for this kindness she had sponsored an ardas for her in the neighboring tikano.

In no time the news spread that Duru and her children would move to Shillong. The sisterhood was happy for her.

When Father arrived, she pleaded: “before we leave, please take me to Tatta again.” This time the three of us accompanied our parents.

Baba Sunmukhdas smiled, and asked “What name have you given the boy?”

“The pandit chose Kheeman. But everyone calls him Mirchu.”

Baba asked for the day, the date and the time when I was born. He looked at a chart, thought for a few minutes and said in his gentle voice, “Change his name. The vibrations of the name, Arjan, will ease his journey through life.”

Mother touched the Baba’s feet. Arjan is the name I’ve carried since.

The first thing Mother did on arrival in Shillong was set up her home temple in a corner of the last of the three rooms.

Mother was taken by the natural beauty of Shillong. But what she couldn’t stand was the cold. She wore thick sweaters most of the time.

She followed almost the same routine here as she did in Hyderabad. Shillong didn’t have a tikano; it had a gurudwara. On Sunday mornings the whole family went to the Gurudwara, soaked in the kirtans and ate the blessed karaun parsad.

Afternoons, Mother and the three children sat on the verandah and heard her talk about Sindh, about her family, about the good and bad times she had lived through. She interspersed her memories with stories about Hindu gods and goddesses.

Her old sense of humour had returned; she saw the Hindu gods and goddesses in human terms. Once, talking about Hanuman carrying a whole mountaintop when he had to pluck just a herb, she gave this example: “If I told Arjan here to buy a few oranges and he brought me a whole tree, what would I think of him?” They laughed, nudging me.

Mother didn’t forget to teach me the value of work “In the evening, go stand behind the counters in the store. You’ll see how hard it’s to earn money.”

One evening the purchases of an Englishman filled a number of paper bags. The Englishman grabbed three bags in each hand. My father told me to carry the remaining two for him.  After the Englishman loaded the bags in his car, he pulled out a two rupee note and put it in my hand. I must have been about six years old. I ran home, excited; I told Mother what had happened and held out the note for her to take.

“Wait Arjan, wait,” She ran to get her roaw (dupatta), draped it over her head, held out the lower part with both hands, palav-paiyun style, as when seeking benediction. I put the two rupees in the raow. She touched it to her forehead. “Guru Baba. This is my son’s first earning. He is offering it to me. Bless him. May he earn so much that he can look after his mother and father when they are old.”

How can I ever forget that scene of Mother so ecstatically happy?

More than once Mother said, “all my treasures are with me for the first time.” That was the happiest period of our five lives.

As every winter approached Mother fell ill. Father would tell her “Let’s see a doctor.” Her reply always was: “A little rest, hot ginger-lemon-honey tea and I’ll be all right.”

But that winter her cough was more wracking, she had a fever, she didn’t eat much, she complained of being tired all the time. After much persuasion, she agreed to be seen by a doctor. Dr. Padmapati made a home call. He examined her and told us to rush her to the hospital. Father admitted Mother to the Welsh Mission Hospital. After the examination, Dr. Hughes spoke to Father in a whisper. “Fluid has collected between the covering of the lungs and the inner lining of the chest. The infection has spread to the blood stream. We’ll drain the fluid tomorrow morning.”

Mother’s smile was weak as she was being taken to the operating theatre the following morning.

Dr. Hughes came out of the theater a minute or two later. With a sad expression he told Father that by the time they transferred her from the gurney to the operating table “she was already in God’s arms.”

Gopa-Ma arrived after a few days. My father needed the emotional support only she could provide.

Over the next few days as the Sahaj Paath (non-continuous reading of the Guru Granth Sahib) continued, all that we talked about was Mother. It was in these conversations that I learnt the depth of her penances and the fervour of her supplications for a son.

“Bless him. May he earn so much so that he can look after his mother and father when they are old.”

For me the sun didn’t rise for months.

It rose after I promised myself to nurture this child of prayers in Mother’s image.

Seva would be the first step.  On pre-festival days I went to temples and gurudwaras and spoke to the panditjis and gyanijis. I noticed the pleased, supportive smiles on their faces as they assigned tasks to this ten-year-old.

__________________________

Courtesy: Muse India – The literary ejournal (May-Jun 2021 Issue)

Murli Melwani

Murli Melwani taught English Literature at Sankardev College, Shillong, before making a mid-career change to head an export company in Taiwan for 25 years. His retirement in Plano, Texas, brought out the writer in him. His short stories have been published in journals in various countries, including USA, UK, Hong Kong and India. He is a two-time nominee for the Pushcart Prize, in 2012 and 2013. One of his stories made the list of “Story South Million Writers Award notable stories of 2012”. Another was nominated for “Best of the Net 2013” prize run by Sundress Publications, USA. Another was included in Stories from Asia: Major Writers from India, Pakistan and Bangladesh (Longman Imprint Books, UK). His published work includes Stories of a Salesman (1967), short stories, Deep Roots (1970), a play in three acts, and two books of criticism, Themes in Indo-Anglian Literature (1976) and The Indian Short Story in English (1835-2008): An Historical and a Critical Survey (2009). His latest collection of short stories is Ladders against the Sky (2018). He lives in Foster City, CA.

The post The Child of Prayers – A Short Story first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Seeta Maya Rai

Seeta Maya Rai, 18 years old Bhutanese writer is currently studying in grade 12 in Peljorling Higher Secondary School. She adopted writing as passion since her early age. Till today, she has written a number of poems and articles and some have been published in anthology while some are being translated into many other languages. Seeta has received many awards from different literary forums.

Blooming Buds of May

Staring by the open mouthed window

Saw I thousand buzzing bee’s shadow

All over the newly sprung buds of May

Breathing melodic air of the hued bay!

Then joined fairy birds in blue and red

Like a golden rays of sun on global head

Paved its way from one bud to another

Swimming the oceans of sweet nectar!

Seeing young white rabbits that less visit

Leaped my heart with joy like a little kid

That touches the sky when becomes happy

Remained I staring with a cup of coffee!

Gazing bright buds, bees and birds upon bay

Wore me with inmost ecstasy in every way

Where became my daily chore until dark night

And knew I everyone adores tranquil sight.

______________

Italian Version

(Translated by Stefania Miola)

Boccioli di maggio in fiore –

Fissando dalla finestra a bocca aperta

 Ho visto l’ombra di migliaia di api ronzanti

Su tutte le gemme appena spuntate di maggio

Respirando l’aria melodica della baia colorata. Poi si unì agli uccelli fatati in blu e rosso

Come un raggio di sole dorato sulla testa del mondo.

Asfaltata è la strada da un bocciolo all’altro Nuotando tra gli oceani del dolce nettare.

Vedo ancuni coniglietti  bianchi  sparire.

 Il mio cuore batte  di gioia come un bambino Che tocca il cielo quando diventa felice.

 Sono rimasta a fissarli con una tazza di caffè.

Guardando boccioli luminosi, api e uccelli sulla baia.

Questa vista mi  trasporta  in uno stato d’immensa  estasi . Lo  stato d’essere di ogni giorno fino alla notte profonda.

Lo so  che tutti adorano la quiete.

Stefania Miola

Stefania Miola is an eminent Poetess, Art Critic and Writer from Italy. She lives in a small town on the outskirts of Turin. Since 2015, three books of Stefania have been published – “One sky – the only true one”, “Violets in the Desert” and “The scent of the white rabbit”. These books were presented at the Turin International Book Fair and all books are awarded nationally and internationally. Her several poems are present in anthologies of various publishing houses. Stefania Miola had been writing for Sindh Courier.

The post Blooming Buds of May – A poem from Bhutan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Mokhira Eshpulatova

Mokhira Eshpulatova is an Uzbek writer. She was born in Khatirchi district of Navoiy region, Republic of Uzbekistan on October 25, 1995. She graduated from Navoiy Pedagogical University. By profession she is a teacher of Uzbek language and literature.

The curse of the dragonflies

The lazy sun of March began to set on the horizon. Bashorat, who was watching the sun from the hospital window, sighed deeply. “It was dawn lately, now it’s getting dark. It rises again in the morning and sets again.  It will happen again and again, but without the warmth, without the hope” she thought. For the last few months, nights have become fearful for Bashorat. And in the nights spent alone she would have only one thought in mind – death. She never felt sorry about her life. Perhaps, this character was inherited from her mother. She was just worrying about her foetus which was growing day by day under her heart, waiting to come to earth safely. She had waited to have a baby for years. “This one should live, at least this one, otherwise I can’t tolerate anymore” she thought. Concerning about her sister’s health, Yorkinoy ran to the hospital empty-handed. She had been helping her sister with food, clothing, and other personal needs but she couldn’t do anything to stop her pain and inner fear which disturbing her sister most. The “outside world” brought the girls together, who had grown up quarreling and compromising each day. Like many sisters, they became more sincere after getting married.

“It’s time to injections,” said the nurse. Bashorat looked back from the window with her tired eyes.

– Again? She asked frowning as she remembers the pain of that bitter medicine.

“What do you mean? Your medical treatment has just started. You should take it three times a day till the birth of your baby.

“Hmmm,” she said, lying on side hardly. – Well, I can handle anything for hold my baby at last.

“Don’t worry, sister, everything will be OK,” said the nurse calmly.

“God bless, she said in a weak voice. Bashorat has heard many of such words of soothing. Hope comes when you are weak, but it becomes very strong and sturdy like camel thorn. Bashorat hoped again that all would be well.

“I haven’t seen your sister today,” said the nurse, spraying the medicine into the air from the syringe needle.

“She’ll come, you know, she has a family and kids too.”

The medicine was flown slowly, and Bashorat covered her head with a pillow and remained silent. “It’s noting, Bashorat, you’ll have much worse treatment than that too” she thought as she recalled the birth process.

The night had set, and Yorkinoy hurried in, asked about her as usual, and tried to cheer her up. She told the news she had found out here and there. For her sister’s sake, Bashorat pretended to listening to her sister attentively, giving her some questions and smiling at respond.

“I feel bad, my sister, I’m seeing my parents and my brother in my dreams.”

“What’s the matter, why bother?”  Yorkinoy asked a silly question, even though everything was as clear as crystal.

“How’s my brother?” He seemed worried. I don’t know, he said that he would come to see me. Maybe that’s why I’m dreaming of him a lot.

– Yes, he wanted to come. You know, there’s a lot to do. But he will come.

“He’ll come. If I don’t leave before he comes,” said Bashorat in a weak voice.

“Don’t talk like that, understand? – Said Yorkinoy in fear. – Everything will be fine, absolutely. God please, you will recover, and you will be able to hug your child safely. Please don’t scare me like that.

“God please” said Bashorat, looking out of the window at the sky. You mean, like, God wanted three kids to die without seeing the world, right?  After all, isn’t He kind? The worst pain in the world is losing your kid, why am I being given this misfortune again and again? – Bashorat was speaking continuously and she did not even know where this power came from. She felt like a bowl full of aches and pains. Every word of useless consolation was “shaking her bowl of patience”.

“Bashar, my dear sister, I know you’re very tired.  But don’t blame God, just be a little more patient, be strong,” said Yorkinoy. She took Bashorat’s hand, and cried too. Bashorat saw and felt it, but did not respond with a single movement. Her eyes were fixed on the sky, and the sky was black.

“Yorkinoy,” she said in a pleading voice, “Tell my brother to come. I really want to see him. I didn’t him want to see me in a situation like this,” she said, caressing her belly cautiously, “but, I’m afraid that…” she could not continue her speech. She decided not to speak about it because of sister’s earlier request.

“All right,” said Yorkinoy, swallowing. “I’ll tell him.”

That night, Bashorat’s condition worsened. But it was too early to give birth. There was a pain inside her like a cat’s scratching with its sharp claws, and her bones were like splitting from each-other. Bashorat was feeling the pain in her body, and her sister also felt pain, it was a pain deep in her heart. Yorkinoy was not screaming like her sister. She was crying silently. According to superstition, in order to make the process easier, a woman should see her husband before giving a birth to the child. But that was not possible in their situation, because Bashorat’s husband was abroad. So, Yorkinoy called her brother again. She was a little relieved to hear that his brother was on his way to the hospital. Bashorat’s pain stopped. She was given medicine to calm down, and with the help of that medicine she could talk to told Yorkinoy.

– My brother …

“He’s on way”

“You’re cheating on me like a child.”

“No, no, that’s right!  I talked to him a while ago, and they’ll be here by the morning.

“I’m afraid I won’t make it until morning.”

After those words Yorkinoy started to cry.

“Bashar doesn’t talk like that.  Don’t scare me. I have nobody to rely on but you. Be strong, my dear sister.”

“Let me talk to my brother!”

Yorkinoy dialed the phone numbers with her trembling hands. When she heard his brother’s voice from the other side, held it to the ears of Bashorat.

– Alo, aloo.

– Brother!

“Bashar, sister, how are you?  I’m on my way.”

“Brother,” she lost her words as her feelings were mingling with each other.

“What do you say, mommy?”

Bashorat, who missed her brother, kept her eyes closed, not knowing what to say at first, but after a word she sobbed and cried.

“Nothing- I really wanted to hear you say that.” Bashorat was barely audible, and her frequent, short breaths could be clearly heard through the phone.  Sanjar used to call Bashorat a “mommy”.

“Mommy you’re my sister, be strong.  We’ll remember these days with a smile, you’ll see” said her brother.

“Brother, I want to be your little sister again. How you cared for us…how you worried about us…

“You’re still my little sister. I can still protect you from any trouble.”

“Remember, you hit me once?” I loved catching dragonflies of different colors flying along the stream. And you…

“Bashoraaat,” said Sanjar, worried that her thoughts were distracted.

“And you,” she continued with a sigh, as if she could not hear his brother, “would not.”  You asked not to torture them. And I didn’t do what you said. Instead, I grabbed a lot of them and put a thin stick in their back so that they could fly freely, but not so far away from me. I loved watching them fly. They fluttered their wings, made a croaking noise and dropped dead. Little did I know that I was hurting the dragonflies by watching them dance. They also had a mother, didn’t they?

“Bashar”

“Brother, I was cursed by those dragonflies.”

He did not understand what Bashorat was saying. She was talking obeying her emotions, not her mind.

“Mommy, mommy, don’t talk like that” said her brother, realizing this.

“Tell me brother call me “mommy” as before. I see our parents in my dreams.  They have a new doll in their arms, just like the one I took for my little girl, and they’re gesturing and saying: “Come on, it’s for you…”

“Mommy, sister, don’t frighten your brother.  I’ll go ahead.  I’ll give my niece some of the best toys, just be strong!”

The Bashorat was strong. Although she was in pain, she did not cry behind her brother. She was operated on when her condition worsened. Just after midnight, they called her brother, who was traveling at high speed on the highway.

– My sister.

“Brother,” a crying voice came through the phone.  Her voice echoed in the hallway or in an empty room.  Sanjar’s heart pounded. He slammed on the car’s brakes. The car left a trail on the asphalt road about 10 meters away and stopped loudly.  He was afraid to ask questions.  He tried his best to move his tongue to ask what had happened, but his heart sank at the possible answer.  Noticing this, Yorkinoy burst into tears.

“Brother, we have a niece, she is healthy, thank God… but my sister is not well. They took her to the intensive care unit, brother…  Tell me what to do, brother?” cried Yorkinoy.

“What to do?” This question was running through his mind. He always found a solution to everything. He has always found a way for his sisters, not only as a brother, but also as a parent, so why is he watching the loss of his sister like a flower?  Sanjar got out of the car. His sister was unconscious and cannot hear or speak. Now it can be a dream for him to see the eyes that are waiting for him.  He was staring at the sky, burning with painful thoughts. The weather was cold and the sky was cloudy.  Lightning flashed from everywhere in the sky, piercing the heart of the cloud, and in a moment when the lightning flashed, it disappeared again, showing for a second how dark the sky was. The only thing Sanjar could do when he was helpless was to put his trust in Allah.  It was a source of strength, a way, a comfort. He wrote on the side of the road, on the crevice of the thorn, which he had always carried with him, in order to offer his prayers, which he had lost on the way.  He performed tayammum with soil.  Then he began to pray in his usual but slightly trembling voice. When he opened his hands in prayer, his voice turned to a trembling cry.

“Oh Allah, You are the owner of all property – Malik al Mulk! You are the Hakim, the Salam, and of course the Musavvir. You make our bodies, souls and destinies beautiful!  If you want something and you say, “Become,” it becomes. There is a believer walking near you.  It is up to you whether she stays or leaves!  You’re Razzakh (Razaq), who doesn’t let anyone to leave this world before they are cut of their rizkhi (Rizq)! I ask you for the good end. After all, no one but you can give us goodness as much as you want. ”

… The doctors ran in all directions to save Bashorat. Yorkinoy sat at the door of the intensive care unit, squeezing her tear-stained handkerchief until dawn. She would whisper something sitting in her seat, and what she said was no different from his brother’s.

It was a beautiful morning.  Finally, they saw each other, and while the father was enjoying the news about a baby and sharing it with his colleagues from the distance, Bashorat sniffed the little baby in her arms. She stared out of the window. Spring had finally entered her heart.  The dragonflies also will appear soon.  They’ll start dancing beautifully in the river near their house… Bashorat will be still enjoying watching them with her daughter. But this time she will not touch them, she will not hurt their wings.

____________________

Story translated into English by Hilola Mirzayeva

The post The curse of the dragonflies – A short story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Gulnoz Tojiboeva

Gulnoz Tojiboyeva, a writer, journalist, scriptwriter, movie translator, designer, artist-restorer, was born in 1991. She is a member of the Academy of Arts of Uzbekistan and a member of the Eurasian Creative Guild (London). Gulnoz got first place in the Republican seminar of young writers of Uzbekistan in the nomination “Children’s Literature” category. In 2009, she won regional and city stages of the Zulfiya State Prize. She also won 1st place of the International Central Asian myths, fairy tales, legends prize for her screenplay ‘Jayhun and Alanga’ in South Korea in 2014. Gulnoz is the author of 6 books and has translated more than 20 movies into the Uzbek language.

     Offense

Aunt Halima, hearing the trill of the doorbell, wanted to meet her son as soon as possible, but was in no hurry to get out of bed. Her sister-in-law, Dildora, must be busy preparing dinner, and she had no time to open the door. “She is a daughter-in-law, let her do her duties,” decided the mother-in-law and, closing her eyes, tried not to listen to the voices coming from the corridor.

Dildora, who was busy in the kitchen, heard the incessant trill of the doorbell, noticed that her husband was running out of patience; she looked at the two-year-old daughter Shahzoda playing on the carpet:

— Daughter, sweet, do you hear, dad came home from work! Go to the door and talk to him! Tell him that mom will come right now…

Hearing the word “dad”, Shahzoda, forgetting about her dolls and bunnies, jumped up. Then she stomped along the corridor with small feet with a loud joyful cry:

— Dad! Dad! Dad!

Standing outside the door, Nodir, hearing the voice of his beloved daughter, removed his hand from the bell button. But for some reason the door did not open and the daughter’s voice kept repeating:

— Dad! Dad! Dad!

— Well, why don’t you open the door? – asked Nodir, from fatigue, barely holding large bags of groceries. – Daughter, where is your mother?

— Mom prepares pilaf! – chatted a little girl on the other side of the door. – Mom will come now!

— Well … Where is grandmother then? Sunny, call grandma! Let someone open this damn door! — Nodir grumbled displeased.

— Grandma is sleeping! —The little girl answered quickly, not noticing the displeasure in her father’s voice.

Aunt Halima could hear well the conversations between her son and granddaughter. Yes, of course she could get up and open the door. After all, her son worked all day, and then went to the supermarket and bought food, brought them home. Tired, probably … Oh, son … She turned over restlessly on the other side. She sighed heavily, but … did not get up.

The mother was offended by both her son and daughter-in-law. Her son Nodir used to be very caring. When he came home from work, he talked to mother for a long time, played with my little daughter. And Dildor’s daughter-in-law was affectionate, kind, all the time obeying her mother-in-law.

Suddenly, one day, both the son and the daughter-in-law changed. The son became withdrawn, nervous, often returned from work late, was annoyed, and did not play with his beloved daughter. All the time he sat gloomily in front of the TV or poked at the phone. And Dildora became kind of restless, fussy and silent. Every day when Nodir comes home from work, he leaves all his clothes in the bathroom while Dildora does the laundry. Sometimes the son and daughter-in-law sit in the kitchen for a long time after dinner and talk in an undertone about some kind of virus. But when they see Aunt Halima approaching them, they immediately interrupt the conversation, the daughter-in-law hurries to the kitchen to make tea, and the son again turns to his phone or is silent.

Aunt Halima had a fight with her daughter-in-law this morning. She was going to visit her friend and wanted to take her granddaughter with her. After all, two-year-old Shahzoda is such a mischievous, does not give her mother a minute of peace: she either licks the sulfur from the match head or mother’s favorite face cream, or swallows the paper clips that fell on the floor from the father’s documents. Aunt Halima told her daughter-in-law that she was going to visit her friend and would take her granddaughter with her so that Dildora could calmly go about her business. In response to Dildora gave her mother-in-law a whole lecture about some kind of quarantine, viruses, diseases and people dying in the hospital.

Yes, Aunt Halima was aware that quarantine was declared in the country, but this does not concern her. After all, she is healthy, practically does not get sick. And her friend is healthy, so why not visit her? And yet … why is the daughter-in-law in command here? What is she unhappy with? Because her mother-in-law took care of her and wanted to help? Well, if she doesn’t want to let the child go, let him suffer…

Aunt Halima got angry, without answering her daughter-in-law, went into her room, quickly changed her clothes and was about to leave. When she put on her shoes, the daughter-in-law handed her a medical mask:

— Mom, put on a mask!

Aunt Halima looked at her daughter-in-law with disgust. What else did she think of? Is the daughter-in-law already mocking her mother-in-law? Aunt Halima is not sick, so there is no need for her to wear a mask! She left the house without answering.

Aunt Halima stayed with her friend all day. Together they made dumplings, ate, and then she returned home…

Finally, Dildora closed the lid of the cauldron and went to the door. Although Nodir was losing patience, after talking a little with his beloved daughter, he softened. Therefore, when the door opened and his wife stretched out her hands for the bags, he said wearily:

— Wait … Let’s get an antiseptic first!

Dildora quickly took out a spray bottle of alcohol and started sprinkling it on her husband’s head. Nodir sniffed the air.

— I do not understand?

— It’s alcohol, — the wife explained. — The antiseptic is over, so I poured some alcohol into the spray bottle. Well, what’s the difference after all, alcohol is also an antiseptic?

— Well, okay, come on faster! – Ordered Nodir, pointing his eyes at his daughter.

Shahzoda stood silently near the shoe cabinet, pouting resentfully. She got used to the fact that, after returning from work, dad picked her up in his arms and threw her high, then caught her. At such moments, the girl screamed and laughed loudly. And her mother smiled, and her grandmother. And she was happy. For some reason, dad has stopped doing this lately. Now mom will spray him with a stinking liquid, then dad will rush to the bathroom and wash for a long time. After that he will go to the kitchen, and for some reason he no longer really wants to play with his daughter…

When Nodir left the bathroom, it was evident that his mood had improved slightly. He smiled at his wife, who put a full lagan pilaf on the table and a tomato and cucumber salad. Then he took his daughter, who was silently sitting in the corner, in his arms.

— My sweet! — He exclaimed and kissed his daughter’s round cheeks. — Why is my beauty sulking? — He turned to his wife and winked. — Well, who offended my daughter?! Dildora, have you offended my bunny? Come on, come on, confess!

Dildora forcedly smiled. And the girl, seeing the wrapper of her favorite chocolate peeping out of her dad’s breast pocket, immediately forgot about her insult. She quickly took the chocolate out of her dad’s pocket and smiled cheerfully.

— So the sun came out! — Nodir remarked with satisfaction as he sat down at the table. Only now he noticed that mom was not there, and looked questioningly at his wife: — And where is mom?

Dildora, shrugging her shoulders, looked at the door of her mother-in-law’s room.

— Mom is sleeping. She visited a friend, returned recently and has not left her room since.

— What? Visited a friend?! — Exclaimed Nodir. — After all, it’s quarantine now! It is forbidden to visit! Every day in the country, at least half a thousand people are infected with coronavirus! The hospitals are filled with sick people, every day several people die from this damn disease. After all, I explained to my mother that you can’t go out, you can’t visit and all the time you have to wear a mask, treat your hands with an antiseptic. Dildora, you’re a doctor yourself, don’t you understand this?!

— Why do you blame me all the time?! — Tired all day from homework and the hassle of having a small child, Dildora cried. — I’m a doctor on maternity leave! Moreover, I am only your mother’s daughter-in-law! I can make my mom stay at home, but my mother-in-law cannot, you know?! If the son cannot explain to his mother the seriousness of the situation, do you think the daughter-in-law can do it?! Your mother walks on the street as much as she wants, does not wear a mask, and when she comes back from the street, she not only does not wash with soap, she does not even treat her hands with an antiseptic.

Nodir fell silent. The always cheerful, perky guy for several days of quarantine became withdrawn, gloomy, his swarthy face darkened.

— Okay … — Nodir kissed his daughter on the chocolate-stained nose, stroked his wife on the shoulder. — Tomorrow I will talk to my mother, as a last resort I will come up with something … — He, looking at his wife, added in an imploring voice. — Let’s eat, the pilaf will cool down. You know, I’m so tired, I can’t speak anymore. There were a lot of patients today. After the appointment, I went to the patients who were at home. Every time I enter a patient’s house, I think: “Is he infected? Will it infect me?” After all, at first this damned disease is difficult to distinguish from a simple cold or flu … You know, I’m not afraid for myself, I just don’t want to endanger you, our daughter and mother!

Dildora nodded silently…

— You know what? — Nodir looked at his wife for a few seconds then nodded his head to something that only he himself knew. — This is what I think … Just don’t worry, don’t cry and don’t try to persuade me. Tomorrow do the cleaning, wash, pack your daughter’s things and clothes. I’ll take half a day off and take you to your mom’s house. Since my mother does not comply with the quarantine rules, then you and Shahzoda are under great threat. And I don’t want you to get sick with this damn virus. Well, at least your mom lives nearby. After all, we have to go to her on foot, and I still have to return to the clinic.

— What will you do with your mom?

— Don’t worry about my mother, — Nodir replied coldly. — She does not care about her health; let her do what she wants. And I will go to work at the infectious diseases hospital. There are not enough doctors there, and the number of patients is growing day by day. Many doctors and nurses got sick, someone has to replace them. And I cannot sit on the sidelines and calmly watch people die…

Aunt Halima, lying in her room, of course, heard the conversation between her son and daughter-in-law. When Dildora began to complain that her mother-in-law was walking freely down the street, did not wear a mask, and when she returned from a walk, did not wash her hands with soap and do not treat them with an antiseptic, she was very angry!    “That’s what my daughter-in-law is! — She thought. — Look how she slanders me, turns her son against me!”

___________________

The post Offence – A Short Story from Uzbekistan first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Suhina Biswasmajumdar

Suhina Biswasmajumdar is a writer from Kolkata, Bengal. A life-long devotee of Swami Vivekananda, Suhina is against any discrimination. Two significant life-forces propel her – ‘love’ and ‘writing’. Suhina’s book ‘Tumi’ (you) and Songs of Silence (A Journey to Love), are collections of her poetic thoughts.

Eyes

Eyes’re reflection of her soul pure and true

True and indifferent, indifferent and absorbent

Who cares what those eyes perceive or what message send

What they hide in smiles and tears

Do they feel … sense or only convey like those messengers

From broken yellow pages,

Don’t know, though who knows hardly open their mind

Like the curse of Cassandra eyes only see can’t change

Can’t break or make the spell

The spell of life that forces the race to move,

Blindfolded…. with pairs of visiting eyes.

_____________________

The post Eyes – A poem from Bengal first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Nguyen Thanh Hai

Poet Nguyen Thanh Hai, born in 1970, hails from Vinh Huu, Go Cong Tay, Tien Giang, Vietnam. He is author of three books – Bowing at noon to pick up wave (Poetry – 2013); Season to open arms to forgive the return (Poetry – 2020) and Tears do not lighten the twilight sky (Poetry – 2020). He won First Prize: Poetry award of Mekong River Delta region in 2020; Second Prize: Dong Nai Poetry award 2020; Second Prize and Consolation Prize: Poetry award of Mekong Delta Region 2013, and some other literary awards.

Another fact

I received a thousand wishes for myself

And maybe yesterday was the most wine day

I suddenly realized a truth

Is another fact                   

So sweet!

But your miss was thrown at me

By sharp words

If stepping foot on thorns and says it doesn’t hurt, then you’re probably not telling the truth

Honestly I don’t know since when my soul has been hardened

I can’t see the scratch in your heart, maybe it’s by the shirt

The button, the knot, the belt are dignified

Wrong when hearing the sound of beer to congratulate each other so beautiful

Until coming home alone at night to take off the sadness, I can feel all the pain

There is only a wide and long river, not a square one

You are back and what kind of nice word is left

On the other side hanging half a full moon

Half-life’s mouth inclining to my zone!

With valentine

Tonight the mind returning to my small zone

Forever with memories that can’t be erased

Tell each other about the joys long time ago

But you said that we meet again unexpectedly…

The smell of lilies from the room

What to have after a wake night

Spring hasn’t said it yet to forget, but seems like it’s not remembered

Thank you for giving me a little bit of silent sunshine

No more excuses dropping a button to looking for

The fireworks you brought back have been withered

So keep your doubts down in prayer beds

Who knows, it can keep a little bit of a purple day

Can’t let the coddle leaves become addicted to the wind

I borrow the crunch to blow my heart

If can’t get valentine, then to be a little bird

Standing on the porch singing for the dawn…

The heart anchored, don’t know which side of the river to erode

That you left all these memories

No matter it is said, yesterday can’t return to open the door

The road passing too far, though it rains, I get wet

Don’t know what to do when the mask covering the face but can’t cover the loneliness

As where did you leave this afternoon without foretelling me

The last station, alone in dilemma

Regardless of who say flying words?

The blue bird has flown away, what for keeping the cage

There is no anger to say shady words

The blind cicada can still be presented in summer

We are not so young

To grow old in the limpo afternoons

That day come back and stand by the river to think

As if the rain doesn’t care

You left all these memories as I just flew out of bubbles

The heart anchored, don’t know which side of the river to erode…

Hanging afternoon on a wind

I hang my afternoon on a wandering wind

The old shadow of time seems old in stale photo box

A sunbeam at the end of the day climbing over my shoulder and falling asleep

As if it’s a bit faded…

A face that intending not to talk about the shadow of time

But in the dream, many times still see myself in high school

The wandering wind confusing the hair

Wiping the top of reed flowers

This afternoon why does the sky keep thinking about the day-blooming flowers?

Enduring the waving sun words 

The mushrooms just blooming in the garden are not visible to anyone passing by

I’m like the afternoon hanging out of your memory

Sunbeams at the end of the day finally left the afternoon yard

Yesterday wind blew differently

I see my tears also knowing how to cheat

Afraid to cry in the afternoon forgetting everything…

_______________________

The post Hanging afternoon on a wind – Poetry from Vietnam first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Bang Ai Tho

Bang Ai Tho, the Vietnamese poetess, was born in 1958. She is also the musician and painter, and the member of Vietnam Writers’ Association. She is author of six volumes of poetry including The Silent Eyes, The White Candle and The Rose. Bang Ai Tho is winner of two national awards of literature.

Good Morning

Could you sleep last night?

Have a nice day, little guard

Bustling in sleepy grove

The birds call for the dawn

Another day of sickness every day

So many times life often exhausting

Morning, afternoon, time mixed into a bun

I remember myself at night when leaning back.

A world in harmony with illusion

Your dream follows the wind blowing

Every day traces disappear

Sad fluctuations suddenly die

I dream about the cool blue river

The moon is thin on high

It looks like a silver sickle

Vaguely harvested on star field

Wake up, the beat starts again

Day comes to wake up every hair

Night curled up, sky gradually noise

Why is it like a drop of water not falling?

A day like that

There is a summer day like that

Like the lover’s kiss that lingers

Take me wandering through the sunny and windy region

Loneliness is marginalized

There is no gaze to the abyss

Sad eyes through clumsy time

Because you don’t have much difference

Because your wisdom has not yet popped

There are steps that have not reached the top

Where heaven and earth not border

Linger on your legendary face

A little day tinged with love

The song of the sun in the afternoon

Moving through each leaf finger

Your hair is loosened through the wind

My singing in the middle of the treble

There is a day the sun rushed over

The sun shines as autumn is near

Listen to humanity suddenly praise

Praise a little love that has not yet been named!

Love!

Lover’s nightmares

Or a peaceful glow

Love of husband and wife in pillow and blanket

Or the beautiful male screaming humiliation

The day of marry to rely on

Injustice stalks the princess curtain

Bowing the heads to recite the naive body

Phoenix appointment date for reunion

King father, how wise

Lost palace is by only a magic crossbow

Get lost in death, love life

The spirit converges for judgment

Red tide surges, angry waves

Paternal love crushed grimly

Crying and looking up at the father last time

Spiritual wind and rain sighed

Dear Father, My Chau is sacrificed

Feel father’s pain

Daughter’s blood was red

Father’s body was full of mourning

The East Sea has let go of its bolts

Foolish madness devil cries love

Bright turquoise hidden deep well

A pair of green souls

Ancient words turn back to ancient city

Red silk covered the body with smoky incense

Mossy rock banks rained and shined

Exculpated the lives to rebirth the flowers!

Delusions Dream

I dreamed of something strange

Good people and evil people take together

And a starry sky sings white night song

Leaves whispering in silence

Startled the little birds

I dreamed of something strange

Someone cut my soul in frustration

My body is numb with smell of incense

The sound of young felt seeped into my skin

I drifted wildly back to heaven

Don’t dream anymore, gray dreams

The high sky has set the stars

Morning in the mist

Birds jump on high trees

A light knock on my door so happily

Come on, wake up! Beginning of a new day

Come on, wake up! Outside the door

What is it – not a dream!

____________________

(Translated from Vietnamese into English by Khanh Phuong- English version edited by Bruce Grey)

The post Good Morning – Poetry from Vietnam first appeared on Sindh Courier.

Apu Mondal

Apu Mondal is from Kolkata now settled in South India. He is an English teacher by profession. Passionately dedicated to poetry he has written over 700 poems in English. He holds an honorary D. Lit in Poetry. Some of his poems are published in national and international anthologies. His poems deal with human concerns and nature as part of life.

Lay down the guns

Before the earth,

Lay down the guns

Lower your glare,

Bury the blind hatred

And the prejudice!         

At once the smoke

Be made kind and visible,

And those who are

Considered enemy,

Are our mirror beings!

Bow down before the

Dead resting peacefully,

And vow to live to be

Their voice, their way,

Shoo away blood spill thoughts.

 _________________ 

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Ramina Herrera Arteaga

Ramina Herrera Arteaga, born in Luya, Amazonas, Peru in 1979, is a Business Administrator by profession. She graduated from the National University of Trujillo. Her poetry “Memories of Unborn” was published online by the magazine “Voices” of Spain. In 2006 it was included in the anthology “Caminos de Poesía” (Editorial Fund of the Provincial Municipality of Cajamarca. ”In 2007 it published the Poemario“ Nocturna Soledad y otros Poemas ”(Katequil Editores). She has been awarded many prestigious recognition for her writing.

Drop of Love

A drop of love

Makes a difference that tips the balance

Brightness or darkness in eyes

Concave or convex crimson lips

Walk or dance in the middle of the street

Drown your name or shout it out loud.

A drop of love

Brand

A tattoo

In the soul

That remembers

Beauty

Or add

In nostalgia

A drop of love stamps lines

On snowy ink starved paper

Hungry for words that girdle a heart

Or temporarily turn off the light in your marrow

Sacred center of the divine essence

Where it resides in the soul … which is everlasting.

_______________________

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