Written by Apu Mondal. Destiny stands still, A flower or two fall Before their time On mother earth's lap While the others Look on, How very heavy the air Breathes, And the trees sigh, The mother plant sheds Dew-drop tears Amidst fears Of more abortive events And a grey future How sad and hardened Is Mother Earth, Having seen destiny's Hand in these deaths Like death sentences. © 2021

Written by Dimple Lobo Corcino Opina Dimple is one of 16 "Biweekly Picks" we chose on September 17th to be published here, on ILA Blog. I'm feeling low but hanging to the hope that opportunity knocks, That giving-up is not an option for me to take, For I still believe that a man who has perseverance can fulfill a dream, Despite the difficulty on his social standing. If the poor can be rich and live in luxury, What more a man like me who has a reason to fight, To triumph a battle amid its strife and difficulties And fulfill the life I wanted to be. All this gives me a reason to keep pushing hard, Even though it seems impossible, But believing that the gate of chances would be open, And one day I shall be rewarded for my hardship. For to live is to see those who triumph, That despite life's adversities they achieved great, That even though the world was full of uncertainty, My life will turn around, goals will be achieved And I would never live as a church mouse. © 2021

Written by Amrita Mallik Amrita is one of our 16 Biweekly Picks from last week's Best Poems we have chosen to be published. Are your feelings hard, and troubling you much? Seek solace in a poem, as a crutch. The way you hold a brush to paint the white, or, the feel, when a chocolate you bite. Exaggerate it not, but make it soft, a poem shouldn't be a plunderer's loft. Compare giving your child a balmy hug, and you'll find, how no emotions can bug. Write a poem, and make it the hot sun, spreading warmth and light without any dun. An asteroid can't trip The Milky Way, observe how the planets manage to play. Astronomers can't detect all the stars, scribble on; it's only your mind that bars. A poem is like the resplendent moon, gracefully glistens and showers a boon. Just like you, your poem should be novel, don't worry, if you can't make it grovel. With your feelings it will flow like a brook, however, be assured, it'll never rook. Splash all the colors of your life in your rune, and, you'll create a melodious tune. Imbibe cues abundant, but never ape, be true, and you can be a welcome cape.

By Sarala Balachandran Sarala's poem is ILA's one out of sixteen BIWEEKLY picks we chose to be published on our Blog. In this vast expanse of universe I see myself as a tiny lamp in the midst of a dark forest which flickers every time giving a loving glance to the passerby. The little lamp I am. I am humble and simple but when it's about to blow out no one comes to pour little oil I struggle till the end to keep flickering! When soot gather around every time I see a divine little child comes with a bottle of oil sits next to me and with love pours the oil and I start burning again with happiness, spreading light around! She smiles and folds her hands in obeisance and goes away leaving me alone in the midst of the little forest! she promised to come again when I am about to blow out helping me kindle throughout my life! Soon, I see pretty flowers blooming next to me spreading fragrance to keep me happy, wondrous are God's ways. Small little snakes crawl by without harming anyone. They too, lift up their hood to the dim light I am, caressing me all over! Let me be a burning lamp throughout, in the dark to show everyone the path to brighter days!

Back in May/June of 2021, we offered a Tetractys Poem Prompt Challenge for writers on ILA Facebook Group and the following poets and their beautiful entries were chosen to be published on our blog. Tetractys is a poetic form consisting of 5 Lines of 1, 2, 3, 4 and 10 syllables (with a total of 20). It can be written with more than one verse in (Double Tetractys or Triple Tetractys), following suit with an inverted syllable count, or, it can be reversed and written in 10, 4, 3, 2 and 1. Normal grammar rules apply, e.g., punctuation, etc., with no spaces between each stanza and the poem is usually written in line with left-handed margin (yet, it also can be centered), either way, it should somewhat visually form the design of a triangle. Paint my life with verses of your poem with passion that rhymes my deep emotion. © Concepcion Macuto 2021 Storyteller of My Life (A Triple Tetractys Poem) I Become Conscious of Multi-chaptered I, Dex, myself is the storyteller I Can trace Paradox Contradicting Versions of myself of which I create I Can see Myself as A creator Of my experience, of my own life's plot. © Dex Amoroso 2021 Life Is a Precious gift A one life chance Cherish every breath bestowed upon man To be treasured for a greater purpose Meaningful life Oh, I seek! To have One God Alone Knows when ends This life I hold For tomorrow is never a promise What we will become is our gift to Him Oh, walk wisely! Be grateful Always Too Live As if My last day 'Cause tomorrow May not come, am I ready anytime? If this life may end, do I keep the faith? Closer with God Everyday Til the End Live Worthy Life's so short Temporary But He promises everlasting life... And I believe, because He loves us so When called me home Eternal No more Tears © Lyn B. Pastrana 2021 Trust Futile Once shattered Takes time to build But can disappear in a few minutes It is that foundation of any bond For without it It's useless To stay True Faith In us We cherish Makes life complete As there's nothing more rewarding than this. It is often a give and take process Where credence rules, Firm belief And love Thrive Truth Inspires Sets us free In this harsh world Consumed by lies, indifference and pride Everything feels right if we have with us A trustworthy Gentle soul Always Pure © Sugar Zedna WARS Bloodshed Oppression When will this end? How can we live in harmony and peace? Peace will always be an illusive quest Wars will not cease Till we see No one Wins And Both sides Are losers Both will suffer Tragic deaths and damaged to properties Hopes crumbled and dreams turned into ashes Time to wake up Don't waste time End wars Now © Lyn Ramos V. Alfonso

Included and with permission, in the author's feature, are poems from his book, "The Universe." Also included in this feature, his recently published book with synopsis as well as his bio. Galaxy I see a cluster of matters Far in the imagination Filled with some pretty colours Scattered in the universe hundreds of billions of stars, enough gas and dust to make billions more stars, and at least ten times as much dark matter as all the stars and gas all held together by a force known and unknown to us Mother Nature I seldom find myself in times of sadness neither do I remember the last time when I laughed. The breezes over my soil are always cool. It's been the reason why I act like a fool. Dreams and desires are full of options and residues What remains, at last, is the silence of virtue. Mother Nature you are so loving and kind though human desires have ruined your surround There was a time when the sky was wary Your greenery was full of belle and spirit But look mother what we have done Our silly experiments have given you a lot of scars Mother Earth, Mother Nature we want to rebuild what we have ruined, we want to recreate. Give us one more chance one more day We want to correct all that went wrong We want to correct all that went wrong. Shape of Love Love is neither found nor desired, it is something, that a pure mind does on its own. Just like Ganga, even after losing every sin, she continues to flow in silence. Love also flows in the core of every heart while enduring the flood of pain. It is useless to control the thought it is useless to try to remind when it wants something. It does not see anything wrong or right I don't know how to move back or I don't want to say it to make it easier after all, what is love, what kind of emotions does it address? Does it have the exact meaning of the word? Or is there a picture that explains that yes, it is love that happens this is the shape of love. The Sea Lookout at the rough blanket of waves Curves and curls all around A dark shadow passing over those waters A rhythm of harmonic sounds. The sound of waves applauding and hugging the shore the internal sounds of the body out in the world's biggest swimming pool exceptionally blue with a slight green undertone. The surface looks as though covered with millions of diamonds crashing with the waves and kissing the sand. A dreamy sea has a rhythmic pulse to it unmatched by any other part of nature. It forges its sounds and kindles its symphony. The Road to Freedom Turn the pages and check the lines The mystery is within these files we learn, we teach a road to freedom is all we need All knowledge and all treasure they count none to the clock a deep secret, full of puzzle no one can define a road to freedom is all we need. Sandesh Ghimire is an author, writer, poet, editor and translator. As an author and writer, he has written articles for several international publications including Srujan Panicle (India), Meghla Hindi Magazine (India), Homo Universalis Magazine (Greece), Literary Portal (Balkan), Silk Road International Poetry Festival (China), ATUNIS Magazine (Albania), Reflectoem Litterateur Rw (India), Sala De Prensa Magazine, POETRYZINE Magazine, Punjabi Writer Weekly (Published from New York), NEUMA® Magazine (Romania), Dash Magazine UK, Enheduana's Literary Garden and The Poet Magazine (England). His literary works have been translated into several languages and published. He is the author of books, "Peace and Harmony", "The Universe", "Tirtha Raj Neupane: A Scouter's Memoir". Sandesh Ghimire serves as the chartered member of Chitwan Central Leo & Lions Club, International Coordinator of ScienceForum, International Coordinator of Srujanothsava and Coordinator of National Service Scheme (NSS). He is a life member of ARTDO International. He is currently the National Chief Secretary for Mother Teresa International Foundation (MTIF), Brand Ambassador and National chairman Nepal of Iqra Foundation. He is the director of Kalika School and an official convenor for the Kalika School International Advisory Board (KSIAB). Books by the Author (as mentioned above): i) Peace and Harmony ii) A Scouter's Memoir iii) The Universe Peace and Harmony is the immense joy of having the equality feeling in our hearts toward all the different people in this world, and treating them with respect and pure love. Sandesh Ghimire, the author of "Peace and Harmony", believes that peace can be maintained on earth when global leaders treat everyone equally and respectfully. Only then will people of this earth have a clear and explicit path of brotherhood toward all. "Peace and Harmony" is a poetry collection book. While writing this new body of work, the author revisited a sense of need for peace and harmony as his book is a messenger of both, to the whole world. Sandesh Ghimire's book, "The Universe", is a songbook. His book contains most of the very old writings from his teen days. The book revolves around the teen mind. While writing this new body of work, the author revisited all those diaries with pieces of words from the old days.

Oleksandra's poem was featured in Issue # 4 (August/September Edition) of ILA on Editor's Choice Section yet, thought to feature also on the Blog for those that might have missed reading her poem. The pain is unbearable, the pain is patient, the pain is adult, the pain is childish, the pain is bodily and it's sighted, and spiritually blind. All the brothers are from the same bosom, and the trees are from the same crown, which bears so much fruit, the whole world has eaten enough of it. The fruits contain seeds, from which a person suffers, this is a werewolf plant, not viburnum, not raspberry the body pricks like bramble and scorches like a piece of burning coal, the whole middle smolders in agony and fades away like a day. Death mows people like a meadow, the world is sad, the whole earth is washed with tears, trouble is shrouded in pain. © 2021

Written by Bernadette O'Reilly Last Thursday Thirty second anniversary of absence I sat in the dark watching Riverdance. You danced into my heart I was seventeen You're dancing there, still. © 2021

Poem is written by Barbara Suen. Barbara Suen retains all the rights to her poem. She is from Mishawaka, Indiana, USA. She is an internationally published Poet. The YouTube video was produced/created by Mr. Alan Johnson in 2017, and narrated by him as well. Alan is from Manchester, England. Barbara reached out to me and asked if ILA could post her tributary poem in remembrance of 9-11. She mentions that this year, is the 20th Anniversary of this devastating tragedy on the Twin Towers. On that day of 9-11, there were many heroes who died...The people in both twin towers who were working, the families that lost their loved ones, the first responders on duty and who volunteered and all the other people who decided to sacrifice their lives to help others rather than escaping the flaming heat and smoking dust....

The Peace of Angels I will release to recieve the peace of angels. I will count the changes as realizations, tip over the radicalized, and be singular in my transcendence. Purpose is a translation. Within are experiences discarded or validated by memories. Floating or being summoned are counterweights, dangerous to stand anywhere but in the middle. Loss is a hot vapor - burns as it first rises and then, no more. Love is everything - fills a moment with the breath of eternity. I will find the color that draws me the closest and I will choose it. I will release the rest, know this surrender as an exhale, a baptism to witness that splits the sky. Although ILA Magazine first published Allison's poem, "The Peace of Angels" in the Editor's Choice section of Issue # 3, May/June Edition, it was a choice to include it into her feature here, as well. DOWN STREAM Savage poison eclipsing the Wolf moon. Time is putrid, embracing me like an impending slaughter. Can't stop the attack no matter how hard I strain, or promise to defend the purity of my thoughts. It will come to no good end, going on to this end, head in a block wrench, dreams staggering crippled out of sight. Come back before I smash my back on a long fall down the stairs, into the darkness, past purgatory, past the tragically resigned. Come on, enough of this fated disaster. For months now I've held my own, held my head high, praised every morning with directed action. I can't go back, picking through the rotting carnage, pretending, giving energy to the pretense, when my energy is sacred, belongs to you O God and nothing else. Please save me from this hissing atrocity, this lethal succubus and the flashing behind my eyes - the gigantic war inside, knife wielding, piercing, rein-less and the dark blood pain. Please O God and Jesus, breathe your light into me, fully. Let me love you the best I can. Is there anything I can do? Is there any chance for a miracle? The shades are being pulled. The dungeon steps are steep and I am heading down, into that familiar filthy chamber. Please take my hand, O God, lead me into the open air and say "Go on your way - you are mine, no longer a stranger. CONSECRATED In a murky limpid place you speak to me, vanquish my anxieties with your radiant flame, speak and say the circumference is the sphere, is the line and the space beyond the sphere. Cruelty is natural, mercy takes effort, choice, consciousness. Accepting mercy takes even more, a leap out of the perpetual karma-shadows, a daring to be without a past or a people or pebble stones in your shoes. You speak and say succumb, and I will take your greed of self - knowledge, all of your knowing, intelligence, reduce it to vapor, collapse your preconceptions with the tranquility of the first morning, and you will praise me with the wonder of all who are newborn, without guise or storages. Fall down, you say, to your hands and knees. Look up, you say, to the charity of the sky. Your being that was before is burned. You say, love, and I will be your restitution, your water, your vortex, your art. Allison Grayhurst is a member of the League of Canadian Poets. Four of her poems were nominated for "Best of the Net" in 2015/2018, and one eight-part-story-poem was nominated for "Best of the Net" in 2017. She has over 1, 260 poems published in more than 500 international journals and anthologies. In 2018, her book, "Sight at Zero", was listed #34 on CBC's "Your Ultimate Canadian Poetry List." In 2020, her work was translated into Chinese and published in "Rendition of International Poetry Quarterly" and in "Poetry Hall." Her book, "Somewhere Falling", was published by Beach Holme Publishers, a Porcepic Book, in Vancouver in 1995. Since then, she has published sixteen other books of poetry and six collections with Edge Unlimited Publishing. Prior to the publication of "Somewhere Falling", she had a poetry book published, "Common Dream", and four chapbooks published by The Plowman. Her poetry chapbook, "The River is Blind", was published by Ottawa Publisher Above/Ground Press, December 2012. In 2014, her chapbook, "Surrogate Dharma", was published by Kind of a Hurricane Press, Barometric Pressures Author Series. In 2015, her book, "No Raft - No Ocean", was published by Scars Publications, as well as her book, "Make the Wind" in 2016. Her book, "Trial and Witness - selected poems", was published in 2016 by Creative Talents Unleashed (CTU Publishing Group). More recently, her book, "Tadpoles Find the Sun", was published by Cyberwit, August 2020. She is a vegan. She lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay, in her spare time. You can read more about Allison on her website at: https://www.allisongrayhurst.com Vancouver-based singer/songwriter/musician, Diane Barbarash, has transformed eight of Allison Grayhurst's poems into songs, creating a full album entitled, "River - Songs from the Poetry of Allison Grayhurst, released in 2017. Some of the places Allison's work has appeared in, include Parabola (Alone & Together Print Issue, Summer 2012); SUFI Journal (Featured Poet in Issue # 95, Sacred Space); Elephant Journal; Literary Orphans; Blue Fifth Review; The American Aesthetic; The Brooklyn Voice; Five2One; Agave Magazine; JuxtaProse Literary Magazine; Drunk Monkeys; Now Then Manchester; South Florida Arts Journal; Gris-Gris; Buddhist Poetry Review; The Muse - An International Journal of Poetry; Storm Cellar; Morphrog (sister publication of Frogmore Papers); New Binary Press Anthology; Starlight Literary Magazine (print); Chicago Record Magazine; The Milo Review; Foliate Oak Literary Magazine; The Antigonish Review; Dalhousie Review; the New Quarterly; Wascana Review; Poetry Nottingham International; The Cape Rock; Ayris; Journal of Contemporary Anglo-Scandinavian Poetry; The Toronto Quarterly; Existere; Fogged Clarity; Boston Poetry Magazine; Decanto; White Wall Review. All submitted poems are the author's work and she owns the copyrights. Allison Grayhurst Toronto, Canada Email: allisongrayhurst@rogers.com

Now, I'm not going to write on thee, anymore, I'm not going to write on thee. You have cussed me enough, By your wrenching decrees. If you are a virgin of beautiful heart, Can move me through your love and art, And if you will smooch me perfectly well, Love me through the sluices of thy heart, Lady, not only shall I write on thee, For I swear upon my bestower muse I shall kiss thy forehead and taste thy lips, Every night unto every noon. And the verses grand, I shall erect on thee. Babe, don't be selfish, don't you be so coy, Grudges all tonight we shall together destroy. Play with me, walk with me, Lady always be next to my every sight. If you won't, then don't be ever, Don't play, don't walk with me, But always be the colorful subject of my eyes. Now, I'm not going to write on thee, anymore! I'm not going to write on thee. I shall have other duties to excel, Then to sing about thee, days along. Some values necessary to live on, to love on. Hush, hush! Your infinite reflections, Born countless, all the clocks 'round. I've some daily chores ado, Go away on the shore of separation and wail Incisively like a djinni and djiniri - in woods [moaning always for her lost elfin grot] And stop knocking the flimsy door of my heart. Because I cannot forget i's empty love, These letters of foul imagination; Thy loaded memories in my smithy anymore. Now, I'm not going to write on thee anymore! I'm not going to write on thee. O' heart, insane heart, be patient, be brave! As she is not in promising love with you, Then to whom dost thou art imploring for? For the moon like the wolf-man does I pine for her as wolf does beseech for The moon, under the portentous nights. Ah! Yesterday she was there, next to me in the department, For we have the same batch, same classroom, same tutors. Despite the aforementioned profile, I dread to stretch my hands fore, To open her heart's crystal door. The same does mirror diplomatic manners, snobbish style, Seated there, as anciently; the woman glued to the throne. Unable to do anything that day, For why, the binding of my T-shirt did bind My hands certainly under control, by telling; Don't stroll among the realms of sovereign princesses. Clothes were sumptuously on, but For my heart too sufficient to be naked. So, I dread to face her, quite nay that day. Now I'm not going to write on thee anymore, O' Mermaid, O Houri of heavens! I'm not going to write on thee. For I don't want to baroque the wall of my room, via syllables; 'THAT'S MY LAST DUCHESS PAINTED ON THE WALL.' * Tis the hour of centuries! For, where shall I summon the 'Fra Pandolf' from? * Attention! Ravishing ladies mustn't interlock with fools, The tramps are lurking for the fissure, May devour you up ravenously. It's deracinating from thy part, Which pinches me fundamentally. Thy acts are rough, so does my heart black lash; refuses To take your rough, wrenching decrees anymore. Therefore, I made up today not to write on thee anymore, Not to write on thee, unto thou will not sympathize: Love me truly, as I'm loving you, Like a devotee to any abstracted deity. * Notation: 'That's my last duchess painted on the wall' is the first line of Robert Browning's poem, "My Last Duchess" * Notation: 'Fra Pandolf' is the name of a painter in Robert Browning's poem, "My Last Duchess." Firdous Bahar has done his Masters in English Literature from the University of Kashmir, Srinagar.

Long ago, people stopped loving others around them And what is it worth to fall in love with someone's eyes When no one will recognize them anymore. Humans remained still, stone creatures rolling All for little use as always. One thing is done behind the back, but another is said You can't fix some things so easily. Years pass for love to fly again. It fluttered its wings, made a croaking noise And dropped dead like a phoenix Because she also wants to be free, eager for partial love. Benefit is more important to everyone today than anything. It is unfortunate that everything done is because of the bed. The more you give of yourself, the more you get lost in the sea Because nothing is holier than what we give away. Someone else, try to understand us As we are, ordinary people. There is no measure that can take us anywhere. Love is a vicious circle that is given And we do everything more than necessary. We cry in tears because we are used to pain And cannot learn to love ourselves. Certainly, love is everything that gives birth and cultivates. One should not give much of oneself to others today, By giving ourselves, we lose part of our mind map. Joy is greater when we have a reason to live And if we weren't just another stupid one Partial love. Maid Corbic from Tuzla, Bosnia is 21 years old. In his spare time, he writes poetry that repeatedly praises as well as rewards. He also selflessly helps others around him. He is a moderator of the World Literature Forum WLFPH - Bhutan, a social media group for humanity and peace in the world. He is an editor of the First Virtual Art portal led by Dijana Uherek Stevanovic and the selector of a competition at a page of the same name, aiming to bring together poets from around the world and back. Many of his works have also been published in anthologies and journals (Chile, Spain, Ecuador, Bosnia and Herzegovina, San Salvador, United Kingdom, Indonesia, India, Croatia, Serbia, etc.) , printed copies of the anthology of poems "Sea in the Palm of Your Hand", "Stories from Isolation" and "Kosovo Peony" as well as many others.