Friends come in many shapes and sizes. They come into your life for a reason. Some are as bright as the sun that rises, Others, are like a chilly, winter season.
Some friends are new, some are old, Some chatter nineteen to the dozen, Others’ quietness makes them seem cold. They’re not, they are just waiting for when,
Into conversation they can drop gems of wisdom, They spread like a soft, warm illuminating glow. Value all your friends wherever they come from. Those enchanting, and life-enhancing friends we know.
The Last Goodbye
rain drops on her face, mixed with tears, taste salty on his lips, as he says goodbye for the last time.
Letting Go
letting things go
that no longer serve you will make you rise
lighten your heart allow you to enter the flow of life
Unbowed
Fields of sunflowers. Like the courage of the Ukrainians,
survive the bombs and Russian artillery
unbowed by their enemy.
Violence
Violence is not the answer to problems. We must talk To each other, discussion Is needed for peace.
Consciousness
Universal consciousness means we are all joined together, one big connection. Born of bright stardust, we have come so far. We must travel in the right direction, Always seeking our Divine protection.
TheCelts
The Celts danced here in the wild, windy, woods. Painted with blue woad, they pranced.
Their bow strings taut, sharp swords and knives withdrawn. Solid sharpened stones for slings.
They surged forward with Celtic curses. Adamantine army merged.
Kalpna Singh-Chitnis has written a remarkable book conveying a profound sentiment of love to the Ukrainian people during this crucial time in their history. It is a volume filled with a sublime understanding of what it means to be loving without condition. These sixty-eight poems about war, love, and peace capture the tumultuous emotions felt by those dealing with the conflict as well as those witnessing it unfolding from afar. Volodymyr Tymchuk – a Poet, Translator, and Lieutenant Colonel of the Armed Forces of Ukraine – played an essential role in translating Singh-Chitnis’ words into Ukrainian.
The astonishing thing is Singh-Chitnis is an Indian-American poet who connects so thoroughly and intimately to the people of Ukraine with these pieces. She is a world away from the war zone, yet so beautifully conveys her heart yearning to lift those up who are suffering and lets it be known that she is an advocate doing her part. That is love, and it transcends borders when uttered in sincerity.
I highly recommend that you get a copy of this book. Singh-Chitnis has her finger on the pulse of this crisis and what it means to stand for and with the Ukrainian people with the compassion and empathy they deserve.
~~~
About the Author – Amazon
Kalpna Singh-Chitnis is an Indian-American poet, writer, filmmaker, and author of six poetry collections. Her works have appeared in notable journals such as “World Literature Today,” “Columbia Journal,” “Tupelo Quarterly,” “Indian Literature,” “Silk Routes Project” (IWP) at The University of Iowa, Stanford University’s “Life in Quarantine,” etc. Poems from her award-winning book Bare Soul and her poetry film “River of Songs” have been included in the “Nova Collection” and the “Polaris Collection” of the Lunar Codex time capsules going on the Moon with NASA’s Nova-C lander missions to Oceanus Procellarum and “NASA VIPER” rover mission to the Lunar South Pole in 2023. Her latest poetry collection, “Love Letters to Ukraine from Uyava,” River Paw Press (2023), dedicated to Ukraine and the defenders of Ukraine, has been translated into Ukrainian by poet and translator Volodomyr Tymchuck, a lieutenant colonel of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. Kalpna’s poetry has received praise from eminent writers, such as Nobel Prize in Literature nominee Dr. Wazir Agha, Vaptsarov Award, and Ordre des Arts et des Lettres recipient Amrita Pritam, and poet and Academy Award-winning lyricist and filmmaker Gulzar. She has read at the International Literature Festival Berlin (ilb), Sahitya Akademi, India’s highest academy of letters, Poets & Writers, AWP Conferences, and other venues internationally. Her works have been translated into fifteen languages and published in anthologies worldwide. She has been nominated for a pushcart prize, and her awards and honors include the 2017 “Naji Naaman Literary Prize for Creativity,” the “Bihar Rajbhasha Award,” given by the government of Bihar, India, “Bihar Shri,” and the “Rajiv Gandhi Global Excellence Award.” A former lecturer of Political Science and the Editor-in-Chief of Life and Legends, Kalpna Singh-Chitnis is the Translation Editor of IHRAF WRITES and an Advocacy Member of the United Nations Association of the USA. She holds a degree in Film Directing from the NYFA and works as an independent filmmaker in Hollywood. Her sixth poetry collection “Trespassing My Ancestral Lands” is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. www.kalpnasinghchitnis.com https://twitter.com/AccessKalpna https://www.instagram.com/kalpnasinghchitnis/ https://www.facebook.com/KalpnaSinghChitnisOfficialPage
You can also find her book at these international sellers
two fighter jets looked down on the destruction they created the war zone now resplendent with white and grey tangled shards of concrete building remnants in the streets the bodies of the innocent dotted with bright red blood limbs splayed and everywhere black patches of unearthed greenery rejoicing in the colors of war claiming a supposed victory
One Sky above Five oceans bind us The one air we breathe comes from Trees
Behind The Stone
When looking for home If you roll away the stone You won’t be alone
Lost For Words
lost worlds lost wars lost objectives lost subjects lost children
Cold Nights
Empty, I return unsold The sheets are cold No crease to hold Nor unfold
~~~
Ivor Steven was an Industrial Chemist, then a Plumber, now retired, and has been writing poetry for 19 years. He has had numerous poems published in anthologies and online magazines. He is an active member of the Geelong Writers Inc. (Australia), he is a team member/barista with the online magazine Go Dog Go Cafe (America), and a writer with the Coffee House Writers magazine (America). You can read more of his work on his blog – Ivor.Plumber/Poet. Ivor was originally featured on The Short of It on March 4th.
Submissions are now closed but if you’d like to be featured on The Short of It in the future, click here for the submissions guidelines.
Matteo had the power to sway the people with the mesmerizing cadence of his Italian lilt. He wanted to free their downtrodden spirit to rise above the rubble surrounding them and the unrelenting agonies they experienced. War was hell, to be sure. Food was scarce, their homes obliterated by the wicked enemy, and their realities were no longer recognizable. Nothing was normal anymore. Every forceful explosion, one after the other, had decimated their city.
He lowered his head and began to sing, “Bella Ciao.” The people, with proud emotion, echoed back to him the fight they had left in them.
traitors have no heart oppressing others at will resistance will win
NOTE: My gut and my head tell me that good will triumph. Our world is reaching a tipping point where the destructiveness is being called out and pushed back on. I do hope I’m correct.
The carving on my wall is some African devil mask that I picked up on my travels. The hollow eyes stare all day, all night, at the crucifix on the mantel. There is good and evil in everything… even a room.
LOOK, UP IN THE SKY
Crows on a tree branch, DC-10 heading south.
One gets roadkill, the other, peanuts and a beverage.
They both fly but the cabin service differs.
IN THE NURSING HOME
Each confined to their own room, the sick can no longer suffer together.
No communal TV. The tables are silent. Cards put away.
Here is an exile inside another exile. Even thoughts can’t find their way through to other people.
THE FIELDS SURROUNDING THE MONASTERY
Day flips open the land this morning. Some fields lie fallow. Others are anxious to grow. Monks move about them, praying and sowing. In a world made brilliant by the beneficence of the sun. it never once occurs to them that they are the only shadows.
THAT POET IN THE FOXHOLES
He was a soldier. Made it to sergeant. Three stripes. Wore them proud. He wrote poetry too. Mostly in foxholes. Never composed one before he went to war. Nor when he came home. Only when the bullets were flying, did he think a bloodroot worth saying something about. They bud, bloom barely a day, then die. They never ask for any of this.
~~~
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Sin Fronteras, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in West Trade Review, Willard and Maple and Connecticut River Review.
I Write Her 