© Koitsu Tsuchiya, Manazuru Port, c. 1912-1926 (Taisho Period) Silvery moonlightIn the silence of the nightTwo lovers weave dreams Harbour verdant …Spotlight Poetry – Haiku – In the Silence of the Night – A poem by Anita Bacha and Goff James
© Yogamy Ferreras-Farley, Hibiscus, 2019 Red hibiscus bloomsPalm trees sun-kissed catch the breezeWaves crash on the shore Braced by tidal …Spotlight Poetry – Haiku – Red Hibiscus Blooms – A Poem by Anita Bacha and Goff James
© Pamela Gatens, Summer Sun Spots, 2019 ☀️ Hues of midday sun🔥 Flaming burnt orange roses💙 Cerulean sky☀️ Wonder golden crowned🔥 Silence furnaced …Poetry – Hues of Midday Sun – An Emojiku Poem by Anita Bacha and Goff James.
© Maha Rukab, Seasons and Purposes, 1999 🍂 Between yellow leaves🥀 Withering red rose petals📖 Crumbled poetry book.🍂 Autumns’s hues embraced🥀 The…Poetry – Between Yellow Leaves – An Emojiku Poem by Anita Bacha, Cindy Georgakas and Goff James
a person should be honest in the first instance
no matter how harsh the truth is
Once, the mother of Mahatma Gandhi, Putlibai Gandhi was fasting and she let it be known that she would break the fast only when the she heard the song of the cuckoo.
She waited a long time but, alas, the cuckoo did not sing. Gandhi Ji was a small child then and he felt very sad that his mom would not take a morsel of food.
A brilliant idea crossed the mind of the adoring child. He rushed to the back garden and imitated the song of the cuckoo. He came back to the house, went up to his mom and said-
‘Maa, you can eat now; the cuckoo has sung!’
His mom unfortunately would not be fooled and she got very angry.
‘I am ashamed to have a son like you!’ she said.
’How can you speak such a lie? A lie is a sin!’ she added.
Gandhi Ji was heartbroken. He realized that his mother was extremely upset. He also understood that he had made a big mistake by lying to his mother. From that moment, he vowed that he would never tell a lie in his whole life. He never did.
Mother is, undoubtedly, our first and most important teacher. The bond of love between mother and child is sacred. It is the purity of this relationship that makes every lesson, that we learn from our mother, a lesson for life. We may forget what the school master teaches but, not what is taught by our mother.
Gandhi believed in honesty. Trying to conceal a lie may require a person to lie even more and this becomes a vicious circle. Therefore, a person should be honest in the first instant, no matter how harsh the truth is.
Lord Shiva is the All- Compassionate Hindu God, who swallowed the deadly poison ‘halahala’ to save the world from annihilation.
It is told, by munis (wise men) and sages, that when creation was complete, Lord Shiva and His Consort, Goddess Parvati went to live on the top of the Kailash Mountain in the Himalayas. Parvati Devi, one day, asked Lord Shiva-
“O Lord! Which of the many rituals observed by your devotees please you most?”
Lord Shiva replied-
“The fourteenth night of the new moon in the dark fortnight, during the month of Phalgun, is My Favorite Day. It is called Shivratri. My devotees give me greater happiness by fasting rather than ceremonial offerings of flowers, sweets and incense. They observe strict spiritual discipline in the day and worship me in four different forms during each of the four successive three-hour periods of the night. The offering of a few bael leaves is more precious to me than the most fragrant flower and the most expensive jewel. They bathe me in milk in the first period, in curd in the second, in clarified butter in the third and in honey, in the fourth and last period. In the morning, after the prescribed ceremonies, they break the fast. No ritual can compare with this simple routine in sanctity.”
It is interesting to note that the bael leaf that we offer in the ceremonial rituals to Lord Shiva is considered sacred as the bael tree grows near the Shiva temple and the leaf has the particularity of blossoming in the shape of a trishul- three small leaves in a tiny twig, one in the middle and, one on each side.
Harry and Krishna
Once there was a little boy who lived with his poor, widowed mother in a far away village.
His name was Harry. During school holidays he had no friend with whom to play. His mother was a loving woman and played with him when she was not busy with her household chores. One day, however, she fell ill and Harry became very lonely. His mother consoled him and told him to go out and play with Krishna.
‘Who is Krishna?’ Harry asked his mother.
‘Krishna is the friend of all!’
Harry rushed out eagerly calling ‘Krishna! Krishna!’
‘Hello!’ said a cow herd boy coming from behind a tree ‘why are you calling my name?’
“Let’s play!’ Harry uttered with joy.
They played together during the school holidays.
Back to school, Harry told the school master about his new friend, Krishna. The school master listened to his story but did not believe a word of it.
Soon it was the birthday of the school master. Harry became very sad; he had no money to buy him a birthday present. His mother then reminded him of his friend Krishna.
‘Go and talk to your friend Krishna’ she told Harry, ‘he will surely help you!’
Harry did as he was told and Krishna gave him a pot of butter milk.
‘Here! This is a birthday present for your school master!’
Unfortunately, the school master was not happy with the present. He scorned at it and asked his servant to throw the milk curd away. The servant complied but amazingly, the pot was filled with milk curd again. After several attempts to empty the pot, he ran to the school master to tell him about the incredible happening.
‘What!’ the school master exclaimed ‘it must be a magic pot!’ He immediately summoned Harry and asked him about the source of the pot.
When Harry replied that his friend Krishna gave it to him, the school master asked him to take him to Krishna immediately.
‘I want to see your friend!’ he exclaimed.
The school master followed Harry to the place where he met Krishna. At the top of his voice, Harry called for his friend but Krishna did not appear. Then from behind a tree, they heard another voice:
‘Why are you calling me Harry?’
Harry recognized the voice of his friend Krishna. He replied:
‘My school master wants to see you.’
‘The school master cannot see me, Harry, because no one can see me unless he believes in me!’ said the voice gently but firmly.
The school master was bowled over. He returned to the school with his tail between his legs.
Going down High Street,Olympia,
My heart overflows with nostalgia;
On tree tops, I behold,
Blossoms of green and gold;
At the London Book Fair,
Writers and poets fare;
In the pages of each book,
I delve and I look,
Your name is engraved,
By the invisible hand of God.
Sad to learn that the world greatest book event, the London Book Fair 2020 is cancelled. I have been visiting the fair stoically for the last five years to exhibit my poetry book and this is where I met the publisher of my debut children’s book The Princess and the Crow in 2016. I was craving to see my book on the shelves of Austin Macauley London. As we say in French ‘l’homme propose, Dieu dispose!’ I, however, salute the decision of the Reeds Exhibition to cancel the event.Better safe than sorry. I look forward to the London Book Fair 2021 with added zeal and ‘ si Dieu le veut’ with a brand new book.
Couldn’t be happier to be featured as one of the authors in the newly published book of Her Place. My debut poetry book Soul Poetry is my pride. I believe we all writers feel the same about our first published book. It’s a first born, the apple of our eyes.To cut a long story short, the American writer and poet Dana Vilandre spotted my book on Amazon and…hold your breath…the stories I were posting on WordPress! She fell in love with my writing and I was chosen as one of the 33 women to be featured in Her World. Beauty, thy name is Woman!
Her Place, Any Region, introduces you to Her World, Creative Collections. Enjoy a literary journey through the experiences, hearts, and minds of 33 women from around the world. Compiled in one single readable book, view life from the eyes of phenomenal female artists and authors in the form of photography, song lyrics, book excerpts, personal life experiences, prose, and poetry. We hope you enjoy this incredibly broad spectrum with which these stories are written, bringing women together to share a glimpse into each other’s lives, during a time unifying the population of women is more important than ever