Special Edition: Music of the Soul
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| Bass Player (Photo by Robert Madox-Harle) |
Special Edition Authors: January 2025
Contributing Authors
Showing posts with label Music of the Soul. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Music of the Soul. Show all posts
Setu Special Edition: January 2025
Special Edition: Sushma Malhotra
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| Sushma Malhotra |
Unifying
A string below a finger
Touched to produce some music
Calm surroundings with motionless skies
Sleeping birds and hidden squirrels and rabbits
Bring a movement with stirring all.
I just needed one string not cello or harp
To break this silence
To create a connection
between Him and me.
In silence, this sound
Entered into my soul
Deep enough to pierce my thoughts
Brought old memories
Yearning for true love and a hug in quietness
To subdue the sad thoughts of missing someone.
As the string with a touch of my fingers
Gave way to break monotony
Merged with the twittering
Of melodious sounds around
Eventually became one with heart and mind.
***
Cycle of Music
Music of seclusion
Played in isolation
Filling the surroundings
With the emotions
Of joy and sadness.
Sweet enough to pierce
Merge with the soul
Be a part of the body
From mortal humanity
To the immortal nature.
Spreading in the enormous clouds
Touching horizon reaching the orbit
Echoing in the vacuum
Returning down to the earth
More melodious and musical.
***
Uplifting Music
Standing alone amidst the nature
Singing with her ability and vigor
Her soulful vocal cords affecting
All those feel lonely in the crowd
As offering an unfeigned company.
Approaching the swirling rivers
Falling from the high mountains
Splashing and spraying waterfalls
Thundering and producing
Soothing white natural voice.
Chances to reach a forest
Amidst the fallen trees
With crashing and cracking noise,
Snapping of the breaking branches
Or a thud of the trunk hitting the ground.
On a tranquil peak with serenity
In the placidness of Nature
Undisturbed and untouched
Echoing and resounding to
Reach back to integrate and merge.
Special Edition: Sri N Srivatsa
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| Sri N Srivatsa |
Bassist
She could have been
just a singer,
a solo vocalist.
She could have also been
a flutist, pianist,
violinist or cellist.
She could have been
a banjo player
or guitarist.
She could have been
a drummer,
a percussionist.
She could have even been
a clarinet player, bugler,
trumpeter or saxophonist.
She chose however
to be none of these
and became a Bass Player.
When questioned why
the strings she plucked
tugged at the heart
like they did,
that's the way she chose to play
and let her music touch the soul
than just the ears she said
Special Edition: Baijnath Gupta
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| Dr. Baijnath Gupta |
The Ocean of Symphony
Wrap yourself in silence
And be submerged in the pool
Of the music of your soul
And hear blissfully the first lullaby
That comes floating by.
Feel the ripples gathering in your heart
At the touch of a tight hug
Murmuring care and affection as they rise to your ears.
Cherish the rose still red, though dry, between the leaves
Bearing tender emotions,
Their abiding melody
Flowing over the brim of your soul
Making it eternally fragrant.
Perceive a pair of arms around your shoulders,
A promise singing of love and warmth
In all weathers-
All bathing you in the vast ocean
Of symphony rising from
The feet of God.
***
Bio: Dr. Baijnath Gupta is Associate Professor and Head Department of English, DSN Postgraduate College, Unnao (Affiliated to CSJM University Kanpur). He has edited an Anthology of Poems and has contributed twenty-nine research articles to various National and International journals of repute. He has published several of his poems in different anthologies, journals and magazines. A collection of his poems is under publication.Special Edition: Sreelekha Chatterjee
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| Sreelekha Chatterjee |
Letters of Music
O, beloved soul!
Your fingers intertwine with my strings,
as inextricable as the bygone from the living.
Slither, maneuver up and down my neck,
fitting to bridge both rhythm and melody,
symphonious chords reminding
of childlike waves on the seashore.
A slight bob of your head as if a duck on water;
your wattles jiggle when your eyes chortle,
tie your head to your heart.
You feel the soothing cadence of my voice—
rise and fall like a see-saw—
on a journey from my lips to your core.
Your heartbeats weave into my rhythmic texture,
while your soul takes a flight
that your heart withholds.
O, soul stirrer!
You are the bringer of joy,
conveyor of memories idolatry.
Your notes flurry to Nature’s pulse,
oscillating as leaves gently rustle,
shadows of dancers float,
while the sunshine peeks.
A spellbound bird somewhere forgets to sing,
flowers bloom early as if it’s spring.
You house a pied-├а-terre in my mind,
free from all the sorrow’s trace within,
buying my woes with your reverberating boom.
I can strum all day,
hear it, feel it like words close to my being.
As music sweeps into the cove of my heart,
it branches with instilled ecstasies.
Your wild wind rocks my spirit,
towers inside as an innocent pride.
It’s the inner harmony that unites,
witnesses my soul’s rebirth pristine.Special Edition: Neelam Saxena Chandra
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| Neelam Saxena Chandra |
I sing! I sing! The music makes me swing!
I sing! I sing! Look, I have a coloured wing!
Wing, in my mind’s imagination, soars,
The beauty in thinking big, outpours-
I touch the sky, I look at the horizon,
The world is such a beautiful creation!
I sing! I sing! The music makes me swing!
I sing! I sing! Look, I have a splendid toe-ring!
Tralala! I dance as if no one’s watching,
It’s more about spirits, than pirouetting-
Life is such a marvellous gift, you see,
The shine of happiness makes me move swiftly!
I sing! I sing! The music makes me swing!
I sing! I sing! Milieu seems to be so caring!
The gentle caress of the soft breeze,
Music fills the voids, gives my soul a kiss-
Tears have disappeared with the bass in hand,
Euphony and I, into each other, blend!
I sing! I sing! The music makes me swing!
I sing! I sing! The music has renewed my zing!
(A poem based up on a beautiful picture by Robert Maddox-Harle)
Special Edition: Avantika Vijay Singh
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| Avantika Vijay Singh |
Why Must My Heart Weep So?
God, the mighty painter
took a brush of silver,
and splashed greens and blues,
a symphony of hues
across a blank canvas—
Paradise must be thus.
But where He gave beauty
Also, came poverty
As if to balance scales…
Paradoxical tales.
Oh! Why must it be so?
Why can both, we not know?
Perhaps, because it needs
people strong to stem the bleeds.
People with courage grand
to match the richness of the land,
only those could harvest
seeds sowed by the artist.
Natural disasters
often visited her.
Stoically she faced
the tragedies that traced
broken lines on her hands—
Her life was in His hands.
For in the shades of green,
and waving tangerine
there was a confidence
born out of providence
that it would serve their need,
beyond that was plain greed.
But that was set to change
When people came strange
Viewing them from scarcity
and not the lens of plenty,
birthing inequity,
discontent and misery.
Why must the barrenness
of the inner compass
point the way to “riches”?
Is a decrepitude
of spirit and attitude
the way to plenitude?
Why is there scarcity
in lands with much beauty?
Why must the land be robbed,
raped, pillaged, and plundered
of its rare element?
Is this development?
***
Bio: Avantika Vijay Singh is a communications professional, wearing the hats of a writer, editor, poet, researcher, and photographer. She has authored two solo anthologies, edited three anthologies, and has been published in national and international journals. She received the Nissim International Award Runner Up 2023, WE Gifted Poet 2024, and WE Illumination Award 2024.
Special Edition: Satbir Chadha
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| Satbir Chadha |
DOES IT BEFIT A BEGGAR
Does it befit a beggar
To sing like a king
Chained legs
Hands tied behind
Flogged at will
Plastic rope tying
The mouth with
Parted lips
He cannot salivate
Let alone eat
Rotting morsels
Spitted at him
Hair all shorn
Tattooed scalp
Branding him rebel
Unpardonable
A big X painted
Against his chest
Marked to suffer
Layman's wrath
For those who don't know
Of his treason
A symbol to show
No kindness to him
Marched through the town
A lesson to teach
Kicked at every step
The other end to reach
But as he passes
People hear a rhyme
Of music so soft
Of words so pure
A voice so celestial
Gentle as the breeze
They forget to mock
As commanded to
They wonder why
So much torment
For such a simple man
His bald head shines
On his chest is a tree
Full of bounty
Harmony and peace
At each his step
Soft petals do fall
To soften his tread
On the road so hard
Gaping with wonder
They gather around
Marvel at his eyes
Full of compassion
Marvel too at
The beauteous sound
The voice streaming
Through parched lips
Parted with rope
And still he sings
The miracle man
The miracle child
Poor little beggar
Sings like a king
A miracle breath
Sings like a king
Special Edition: Irene Emanuel
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| Irene Emanuel |
Formal lounge filled with music
within warm wooden panels;
whispers of Louis, Ella, Brubeck, New Orleans waves of jazz;
classic collisions into Beethoven, Grieg, and Mozart's
art of concertos, symphonies and orchestral harmonies of joy.
The wooden panels gleam with pulsing tempo,
drawing out operatic majesties of Carmen, La Traviata, Rigoletto;
then segueing into Gilbert and Sullivan.
This continuum of sounds, styles and crescendos
send my senses into scenes of sadness, gladness
and shivers of delight that draw out
the melodious memories of my musical childhood.
Embedded in my soul are the piano lessons;
my big brother's tonette, my sister's soprano;
shadow dancing in front of the gramophone.
I, too, sang and dreamt of being a recording artist.
The wooden panels are the echoes of a life
filled with music twined within my soul,
responsible for my survival.
***
Bio: IRENE EMANUEL
Born: 07-11-1943, in Johannesburg. Lived in Durban, now live in Port Elizabeth.
Winner of the “Hilde Slinger” cup for poetry in 2009 and again in 2013, winner of the “Fay Goldie” cup for General Success in the World of Publishing in 2011.
These awards were presented by the South African Writers” Circle.
In 2008, Nine of my poems were published in “Signatures” an anthology of Women's poetry. I represented "Live Poets' Society in "Poetry Africa" in 2008.
In 2006, "A Scorpion Sings" first anthology published.
Other anthologies published between 2006 and 2015 are "Count Catula of Shadoland & Friends."
"A Peace of Me" and "A Scorpion Sings Again"
I have also been published in other notable journals, such as:
1) Agenda Issue on Gender based violence
2) Poems for Haiti Edited by Amitabh Mitra
3) Unbreaking the Rainbow---voices of protest from new South Africa edited by A. Mitra
4) New Contrast South African Literary Journal
5) Fidelities Contemporary South African poetry
6) Speech and Drama Association of South Africa Suggested poems for schools.
Special Edition: Nivedita Roy
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| Nivedita Roy |
Music for the soul
My crescendo erupts with my sweaty forehead
The cello echoes the harmony across the earth
The foliage plays hide and seek with the azure
Earth has its own musical opera to play
I raise the decibels to hide my pain
Searching for solace in the musical notes
Staring into nothingness aimlessly
My throat reverberates with pangs
The aches vibrate my rib cage
Breathless, I go on crooning
Wiping my unseen, unshed tears
Pushing away my unknown fears
Swaying with the shaky melody
Listeners create their own parody
I drown in my self-written notes
The din in my ears feels remote
Enthralling the audience
The strains subdue the aching tunes
Finding my oasis in the vast sand dunes.
Special Edition: Meghna Kaul
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| Meghna Kaul |
She Plays Her Heart
Her fingers
tilt on the beautiful lays
as she
plays her heart on familiar beats
the
mesmerised air blows as it sways
Oh! what
agony of heart she cheats
As she
plays her heart on familiar beats
a deep
sadness perches on her soul
Oh what
agony of heart she cheats!
to keep
enthralled was her goal
in spite a deep
sadness
perches on
her soul
burying the
hurt she plays her notes
to keep enthralled
the world was her goal
a void of
loneliness she quotes
burying all
her hurts she plays her notes
he was
leaving, his final words
a void of
emptiness she quotes
a crisp sheet,
where he wrote
he was
leaving , his final words
didn’t she know
this was coming for sure ?
it took
just a crisp sheet, where he wrote
she denied
the reality, but not anymore
didn’t she
knew it was coming for sure
her heart bled
through her fingers
She couldn’t
deny reality, not any more
but how to
erase all, it still lingers
her heart
bled through her fingers
the benumbed
air blows as it sways
but how to
erase all, it still lingers
as her fingers stray on melancholic lays.
Special Edition: Sankha Ranjan Patra
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| Sankha Ranjan Patra |
She Sings
She sings and the sky rings
I walk to her
And her essence around my sense
It touches my melodious heart
It reaches all subjects of earth
And ignorant many maybe.
Will she care
If I leave without talking?
Her melody in my memory
Will remain with many,
Her moment without my comment
Will revive with many.
She sings and the sky rings
I talk with none
And her violence around my silence,
It ceases my hideous art
It pleases all objects of earth
And stagnant many maybe.
Will she dare
If I heave without balking?
A sigh of relief
As if much have I,
A sigh of belief
As if much have I.
She sings and the sky rings
I balk at others
And her view around my sinew,
It teases my tremendous flirt
It eases all objects of earth,
And poignant many maybe.
Will she fare
If I reave without walking?
Every note and every quote
So unique within her,
Every sort and every thought
So universal Within her.
Special Edition: Toolika Rani
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| Toolika Rani |
Notes Original
Why do you want
To listen to the sounds
Of the outside world?
There is music enough
Fiercely Coursing
through your nerves.
No, no you need not mimic
The cackle of birds, or
The rattle of hulls on the shrieking seas,
Neither the susurration of the breeze
Not the humming discourse of the bees
You know, rather what you really need?
To delve in the heart of the sleeping seed
Seep in the soil and quietly peep
And put your ears to the throbbing pulse
That deftly expands its tiny world
On some unspoken, unheard command.
The rhythm of life that unfolds itself
On the pulled strings of a huge instrument
Is different for you, and different for your friend.
So, lets just dance
To the song of your heart
So what it if feels a little awkward?
I hear you say, “What of the audience?”
Oh, my love, fling worry to the fence!
The discerning are forever enthralled
By the notes original.
***
A Solo Performance
No, it is not going to be a chorus
For once, you got to stand alone
And sing to the world
The music of your soul
Your voice aloud, unmingled words,
On a rhythm you own
Your chosen verbs
The tunes emanating from your core
Your navel forming your singing bowl,
Render it high, and hurl to the moon
The deepest desires that made you swoon
And let them descend on the listening hearts
As sparkles from the heaven to earth.
***
The Sweetest Music
The sweetest music I have ever heard
Is the pulsating beat of my mother's heart
And the crackling laughter of a joyful child
With a merry clapping of two tiny palms
In the excited hour of the impending dawn
The twitter-tatter of the chirping birds
Arising from a source unknown
The stirring notes of a cuckoo's call
The gurgle of water in a river's form
Gushing with force to her lover's home
A wind whooping in a forest calm
The sensuous quivering of the leaves of a palm
A dance to the tune of the sylvan song
A soothing melody dripping from the lips
For the rosy lady of the besotted man
In the silence of the soul, in the depths of our own
Energizing vibration of an eternal Ohm
Over the succulent petals of life
The constant humming suckle of a drone.
Special Edition: Snigdha Agrawal
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| Snigdha Agrawal |
Music to elevate
sitting in the audience, they feel the healing process
an unseen salve soothing wounds, time refused to mend
of those with souls ulcerated…
their scars absorb the melody
like thirsty earth; unquenchable!
an unseen salve soothing wounds, time refused to mend
the notes carried by the wind, feel like antacid
cooling the fires of regret and grief
silencing the clamour of memories too loud
filling the void with something profound
of those with souls ulcerated…
heads bowed, feel her magical presence
eyes closed; she plays for all
her voice soaring in a symphony of solace
yet, no sound reaches her tympanic membrane
their scars absorb the melody
proving that souls have ears too
deaf to the echoes of her music
she gives of herself wholly
she heals, yet cannot be healed
like thirsty earth; unquenchable!
her music nourishes and revives spirits
a melody she would never hear
unknown to the audience who cheer
her gift she shares with no fear
***
The Song of the Bohemian Girl
She sings when the mood overtakes her
Not bound by the clock or the crowd
Her voice a wild, untamed river
Rising soft, then soaring loud
At street crossings where strangers hurry
Her notes cut through the city's din
On deserted beaches, under starlit skies
She hums to the waves and the restless tide
On hilltops crowned with whispering tree
she throws her song to the wandering breeze
she sings of love, of loss, of flight
her soul laid bare in the depths of night
The world gathers wherever she stands
The Bohemian girl with fingers on strings
Her song, a gift, untamed and free
A mirror of life, as it’s meant to be
***Special Edition: Marjorie Pezzoli
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| Marjorie Pezzoli |
Baseline
There are many sorrows and joys in life. Music is always there, found within the silence, the pause before the next note. It is a time to breathe in lingering melodies caught in mid-air. The keen eye of Robert Maddox-Harle creates moments by his observations. “The Bass Player” brings juxtaposition to the stage. One can imagine this harlequin performer’s broad range. She can sing a requiem with jazz beats, or angelic odes to joy. Desired emotions are conveyed with string and vocal cord vibrations. Bold command is how she creates music her way. Nature adds to the score, leaves are willing percussionists, wind deliverers the notes. This black and white photograph with stunning gray scales has its own musicality that compliments the subject.
stage presence
the image in emulsion
trees begin to sway
***
Matinee
stage presence
baseline
upright progression
quantum string theory
the image in emulsion
gelatin holding
silver crystals
she searches for gold
trees begin to sway
soul music
the pizzicato pluck
a simple symphony
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