Cadences flow from the soul Meters, syllables, Squirting up and down the veins Twenty-six alphabets Render blood the red tint. * Verses ain't a captive of the mother tongue. It's the medium of expressing unvoiced feelings. Words are like magma, bubbling inside the pulpy chasm * A tiny fissure and the lava bursts hurriedly down the crispy world called pages, fabricating magical concoctions. It streams, unbeknownst. It tugs countless hearts, birthing endless hopes. * Poetry is a river, rising from a soul's frigid capes. The journey is a medley of myriad emotions, caressing hearts until it blends with the unsettled souls, evoking unbridled dreams! © Sonali Ray

During the entire month of July, we offered a Visual Prompt Challenge with one Best Entry to be picked and published on our Blog, however, there were six poets that absolutely touched our hearts, with their beautiful poetry, well deserving to be featured. Like an ocean, my pen flows endlessly, aiming to scribble the memoir of love and pain. © Imtiyaz Pandow The letters I write to you my love, are written and erased in mind. No words, no ink, no fingers to hold the quill. I write my words, like in water, erased as soon as I write. The words engraved in the softness of my heart, unseen to the world's eye, each word live as the heart pumps blood and drains it to reach each nerve of my body, takes along the words I write for you. © Indu Kilam You buried my ink, but the pen resurfaced on the brink, I had to maintain my sangfroid and writing dunk, I wanted to be frank, . . .and exude writings sweeter than the scent of frankincense. I got out of the murky waters and decided just to do it, like Nike exuding pink excellence in an emotional sink, expressions that could overfill a tank. You can maim my voice, but you can't tame my ink expressions. You can inculcate tensions and negate lesions, but I will be your silent lesson! © Kenneth Kibet Cheruiyot FALLING INTO THE ABYSS Drowned in the ocean of abyss, yet, the indomitable spirit fights, I pen down my reflections on the ripples, they travel to people and places, connecting dots, building bridges, some relate, some are inspired, some come to rescue me from the pit, real efforts entwine, pulling me out. How the world can change with a small step, a lesson well-learnt with a heart full of gratitude. In return, I write my stories for myself and all, to build a rapport, to find a companion, to experience that magical touch of compassion, to confer upon all, whatever I feel and experience, a shoulder each to everyone whenever in need. © Amrita Mallik POETRY'S TOUCH AT DAWN I write in shadows while you frown as rowdy music stabs my emotion. Now that the sun has come down, then I wholly lost my deliberation. Even the gentle spears of the moon strange voices had upset my mind tapered the fun that's coming soon entirely placed my fingers in a bind. I am now filled with empty thought the coldness that had gripped me. Overlooking everything that I wrote like the darkness of the deep sea. That magic touch I need to reclaim bring back the music and the smile. Let time, space, and love proclaim only then can I write again in a mile. © Elmer Romulo Valdez WRITINGS OF THE HEART I feel the intense passion, the strength that comes from my pen. I feel the impassioned emotions, the flames of my spirit and soul. I am the quill sharper than blades, borderless and without darker shades. I am the tongue, the weapon, unafraid, who whisper and awaken the dead. My soul is my endless pen. My ink will blot until the end. My writings will be seen, in the hearts of my fellow men. © Russel Edles Media image courtesy of Wix.com

Written by Scott Thomas Outlar I take a walk up to the local park every day about a mile from where I live. And on the way this morning I was thinking about just what in the world I would like to write a new essay about. Should I talk about recent projects and collaborations I've been working on? Or the state of the world where geo politics and local affairs are concerned dealing with the encroaching tyrannical forces that grow more authoritarian and inverted in relation to common sense and decency by the hour? Or some of the personal revelations I've been having the past month as different memories from various stages of my life continue resurfacing throughout the day, especially during meditation sessions? Or, perhaps, about ideas I've been mulling over from the books I've been reading when I wake up, and those I dip into in a round robin sort of way before going to bed? All these seem like swell enough thoughts to dwell upon and flesh out further, and I might do just that before this effort draws to a close. But the main theme still hadn't flashed through my synapses as I continued walking and listening to a podcast interview with David Wolfe that I'd downloaded before leaving the house. So I sent such considerations back to my subconscious and let them swirl around in that realm for a while, trusting the process and knowing that, sooner or later, the right flashpoint of energy would arise and deliver my answer at the most opportune moment. After trekking around the park a few times, I returned home and sent about the next part of my morning routine, which involves enjoying a bounty of fresh fruits for breakfast. I like to start the meal off lately by standing outside barefoot, moseying around in the grass, absorbing the rising sun's solar energy, and entering into a deep state of thankfulness and gratitude for how beautiful life and the wonders of nature truly are. That's when the epiphany for this piece popped into my head with a rushing cascade of intense, fervent emotion. Because my first bite of the morning happened to also be the first Rainier cherry I'd tasted so far this season. And, my Lord, what a way to kick off the celebration as the flavor danced across my tongue! What do I want to speak about and express right now? At this point such a riddle seems easy to decipher. The magic of fresh fruits and living foods. The miracle of the sugary sweet plants that pulse with electromagnetic energy and feed our bodies at a cellular level, exploding through the blood to light up the mind. The divine garden of earth's amazing harvest. So simple, so perfect, so alkaline, so hydrating, so nobly structured in their DNA, so inherently blessed with the blissful nutrients necessary to ensure each moment of life is field by a pristine source sent straight from the nectar. Hallelujah. Amen. The excitement evoked from the Rainer cherries was followed up by a perfectly ripe Georgia peach. And then I moved on to a navel orange and a few mandarins to round out the delectable feast. This course of events put me in the mood to sing the praises of health, love, peace, truth, and all other aspects of life that align with the resplendent frequencies of the Holy Spirit Vibration. So, yeah, I guess you could say I'm in a euphoric and elevated state of consciousness lately. Because the natural foods, along with several other habits, are helping me realize higher degrees of health and well-being on many different levels: mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. My motto when it comes to such a concept basically boils down to this: clean blood leads to clear thinking. Which, in turn, creates a more fine-tuned focus on those aspects of life which are most important. Chief among these being the relationships we cultivate with God, self, family, friends, and the community at large. Also of paramount importance is establishing a more balanced perspective of staying aligned with the conditions which are directly within one's own control, while releasing from circumstances and events which are not. I cannot control the choices and decisions that other people make in life. Which system they choose to give their power over to, what they choose to put into their bodies, which sources of disinformation and propaganda they choose to ingest, which ideologies they choose to follow, how they choose to treat those around them, what state of fear and hysteria they choose to dwell in, and all the rest of it. But I most certainly can do my absolute best to establish a strong core and foundation within my own soul. A center point that will not be shaken or shot down no matter what sort of outside circumstances are going on in the world and society at any given time. A space of mindfulness that can flow and flux in a natural rhythm with the ever-changing currents of the Tao River. A state of Christ Consciousness. An alignment with the source energy of God's creation and the primal patterns of unconditional love and light from which this physical manifestation in time and space operates. So that's exactly what I'm seeking to do. Day by day. One step at a time. With periodic quantum leaps sprinkled in along the way as the path unfolds. I'm looking forward to what lies ahead as the Roaring Twenties and the Age of Wuhan continue speeding along on opposite paths. Which train we choose to hop aboard is all a matter of perspective, courage, resolve, and will. As for me, I'm as intent as ever on welcoming in the coming renaissance revolution that will culminate in a new age of freedom, liberty and individual sovereignty. About the Author: Scott Thomas Outlar lives and writes in the suburbs outside of Atlanta, Georgia. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He guest-edited the 2019 and 2020 Western Voices Editions of Setu Mag. Selections of his poetry have been translated into Afrikaans, Albanian, Dutch, Bengali, French, Italian, Kurdish, Persian, Serbian and Spanish. His podcast, 'Songs of Selah', airs weekly on 17NumaRadio and features interviews with contemporary poets, artists, musicians, and health advocates.

A collaboration of Carl Scharwath's photography and poem by Subrina Rubin. My world spins When I am broken Failing to get you beside Falling from unknown heights Failing you to trust I no longer believe in faith High to be higher Round and round Move down to top All inside my head My eyes whirl Dark vision I lost you Inside the black hole Of my heart. © Sabrina Rubin

Be foolishly with me Once you know me, Depart, Gather the blood shrouds Take me home, And depart Adorn my ugly face With eighty veils, And depart Come merge again Live again, love again, And depart Tear apart my nails For I have peeled my secrets, And depart Give one more face With a new attire, And depart Like a poison destroy my existence Then heal my being, And depart Go deeper yet exiled Burn our tales, And depart Be here, all alone When I am died, And depart Come after you come Be still after you go And depart.

DEVOTION I'm asked to write about "devotion", Then there will be no single emotion. "Poet" tends to talk about moods; No limits when he harks and broods. A poet is like that lone bird, Acutely yearning to be heard. His words tweet a soft melody; To our aches, that's a remedy. He writes about love and passion, Together evokes women's fashion. His sole theme is about women, In their seas, he keeps swimming. I, to my theme, am devoted. In love, I am self-promoted. Only to my wife, I indite About our sorrows and delights. © Written on 07/19/2017 Published with permission by poet. IN THE SHIMMERING GREENERY Scrounging an instant of silence from time, Seeking around in the stream of events, The wind was making an exquisite old rhyme, And the leaves were falling off so intense. She was staring at the green, old Oak tree, Brisk wind was stiffly wagging its branches. The ground was grassy and insect-free. The tree stayed flinty on farms and ranches. She was shedding tears down her rosy cheeks, Like the Oak tree when shedding its dead leaves. She may sometimes keep weeping hours and weeks, Her tears of gloom, a simple flower deceives. Despite greenery, the grass and its splendor, Dejection overwhelms her with pains and aches. Yet her two hands were still warm and tender, No one would ever know the sorrow it takes. © 07/21/2017 Permission granted to publish by Poet. Author Bio: Walid Boureghda is a 42-year old Algerian poet, working as a training executive at Sonatrach-ENI Group. He holds a B.A. degree in the English Language and Literature from the University of BATNA in Algeria. He draws inspiration for his poetry from the unceasing love of his beloved wife. He also writes about spreading peace over the world and dispelling hatred and bigotry.

لچّہ کار: انیتی نسر ۔ امریکہ رجانکار: اُزیر مھرؔ ۱۔ گُمسار اِے کوٹی ءَ من ایوک آں جیڑگ آں پرچیا؟ منی گرنچ بستگیں سینگ ساچشتکاريں دستاں داریت ھیال ءُ لبز زورآوریں مُجے ءَ پیڑاتگ اَنت پاد پرش ءِ سر ءَ گران اَنت، ارواہ ءِ جھگ ءَ دارگ ءَ انت فون ءِ نیمگ ءَ چارگ ءَ آں بلے لنکک سُنّ انت ڈائل کت نہ کن آں یک پرشتگیں گُلباگے ءَ یک توارے بے چڑکھی ءَ چہ نیموناں کپ ایت ءُ کیبورڈ انگت یک اجبیں ازبابے اے روچ گُشئے بد اِتگ اَنت ءُ بیکار درا بنت اگاں یک چیزے ءَ مانا بہ داشتیں بگندئے گڑا بگندئے وت سریں لبز شتور گِپت اَنت ءُ تو اِے کوٹی ءِ تہ ءَ درا بوت ئے من ایوک آں انچوش بے برمش آں انچوش کہ اِے سینگ ءِ تہ ءِ بستگیں گرنچ اِے مجگ ءَ وَ گْوش آں شموش ئِے بلے اِے دل گُمسار اِنت۔ LOST In this room, I am alone, wondering, why? My knotted chest stops creative hands from writing, prevents an avid mind from thinking clouded thoughts and words into an overwhelming fog. Weighing feet to the floor, halting soul's escape staring at the phone, I cannot dial as fingers are numb. Once breaching paradise, a voice without volume, falls short of reason, and keyboard is still a foreign object. These days seem frozen, unproductive. If but one line made sense, perhaps, just perhaps, stubborn words would flow and you would appear in this room. I am alone. I am silent as the knot in this chest tells this head to forget, but this heart is lost. © Annette Nasser Balochi Translation Written by Uzair Mehr

I Am Not Alone I pass every night without you. I feel you in my dreams everyday. In my relaxed soul, I feel you in the smoking because I complete this time And I feel I am not alone. The Old Man When his wife is dead, he goes to her grave for visibility every night. He knows her peaceful love. He always carries asunder flowers and, He always goes without shoes because he is crazy for her love he just feels her soul has a heart and also remember her bravery, her certainty. Then he feels relaxed when people ask him to his circumstance, he smiles and says, "The world is unfaithful, remember that." The Burning Civilization (For Hayat Mirza) We can't discuss about the society. Everything is perfect but in our life, you can't avail my scalded words. Some words discuss to your faith in loyalty. But fears we have in our hearts when we come to your memoranda, we write everything to your soul, we burn candles to your blood and, remembered your smile, delighted your charming face but fears will be gone. We still can't discuss about your blood because I can't express your faithful dream when you observe me too deeply. Please forgive me because we are also burning in this circumstance. The Wilderness They disappeared her flower because he knew the truth of truths. Everyday some flies came for it because he knew the flavor of truth but one day casually, indocile flies came in that garden and destroyed that flower and gone to wilderness. About the Poet: Asghar, son of Umeed as famous by his pen name, aka AR Arman, is a student of Balochi Literature Department at the University of Turbat. He is a passionate literature lover based in Turbat City. Arman is a Balochi poet mostly writing Balochi Ghazals, prose poetry and beguiling poetry on different topics from love, death, revolution, rights and justice to name but a few. He sporadically also writes Urdu and English poetry.

Here, we present a Special Feature, including poems and Interview with Author Haroon Rashid. ILA Magazine: Please give a brief introduction about yourself, i.e., your educational background, family background (optional), and what you are currently working on. Author Haroon Rashid: I am recognized worldwide, for various writings, a Post Graduate in English Literature and a Post Graduate in Public Administration with a Bachelor's Degree in Commerce, and presently a writer. ILA Magazine: What was your aim as a student, and did writing change it? Author Haroon Rashid: As a student, I always loved to interact, explore, understanding every creation, and now my writings are reflecting that love, all around. ILA Magazine: When you began your journey into writing, what was your first genre of literature? Author Haroon Rashid: I was writing since school as an amateur, perhaps professionally, I began in 2016 and social causes referring to humanitarian aspects was my first genre. ILA Magazine: Are there any interesting areas of literature you would love to write about at present time? In the future? Author Haroon Rashid: There are many unexplored areas which I am looking forward to, and some I have already published, hoping to bring new light and new perspectives to beautiful readers all around the world. ILA Magazine: What is the inspiration behind your writing? Author Haroon Rashid: Everything coming to my way is an inspiration, perhaps the oneness, the harmony, the belongingness and love for each other is an inspiration that drives to invest my blood in ink so that humans recognize each other with love, respect, honor and equality. ILA Magazine: What helps you become a better writer? Author Haroon Rashid: Understanding, realizing, exploring, observing, interacting, learning, reflecting, are some of the attributes that help me become better, everyday. ILA Magazine: Have you written any poetry or other forms of literature that made you (or your readers), think twice? Author Haroon Rashid: Readers all across the globe have showered me with so much love, respect and honor to my writings and I have realized people have framed my writings on their tables, walls, paths, and conducted essay writing competitions upon them, environment sustainable development forums use it for enlightening, people including celebrities across the globe shared and re-shared it in more than 148 languages, now chosen for textbook poems for next generation to understand, used for donation campaigns and there is so much more that made readers and I, not only to think but also act upon, the poems written by me, in real practical spheres of our lives. ILA Magazine: Do you have a favorite author/poet? Please explain further. Author Haroon Rashid: Yeah, every writer is a blessing upon us for making aware and understanding life, its phases from better perspectives. Every writer I have read, is my favorite and there are endless names, there are so many yet to read, few among the ones that I have read and loved are Socrates, Aristotle, Plato, Rumi, Shams, Tagore, Ghalib, G. B. Shaw, Bronte, Virginia Woolf, Jane Austen, Shakespeare, Faulkner, Tolstoy, Mahatma Gandhi and so many more. ILA Magazine: Tell us about your best experience you've gained through your writing. Author Haroon Rashid: Since my childhood, I was looking for a profession where I can see humans as humans and not humans through their descriptions, my writing is an asset upon me which everyday makes me realize that we all are souls at the end and whenever I meet any person, the only thing that comes to my heart is that we all are passengers in this body which we have to leave at anytime, so I always pray for every human who meets or whom I have met in the real or virtual world, my writings are the heart that I have and realizing this, I feel honored that I could have been anything, perhaps nature chose me to be a writer and I feel blessed this is the best experience I've learned through my writing. ILA Magazine: What types of literature do you find yourself writing the most, and do you have a favorite form/style? Author Haroon Rashid: "A good writer is not who conveys his/her emotions but the one who invokes." - Author Haroon Rashid. So, as long as one can invoke, I feel, one can write any form/style and there are so many yet to explore and bring to light, concluding on one or two particular form/styles will be little early. ILA Magazine: Have you published anything recently? Are there any books in the works for more future publications? Author Haroon Rashid: "Author Haroon Rashid Quotes" is already published and at present there are more than 3500 poems and endless quotes I have written, will be publishing them along the way. Writing novels and stories will be published soon. ILA Magazine: What do you expect readers will obtain after reading your poetry/literature? Author Haroon Rashid: A new and better perspective toward their own selves, their surroundings and the world as a whole. People are not blind, but they don't have a better thing to reflect upon, so reading my writings, they have better things to reflect and better ways to love their own selves in order to love all. ILA Magazine: Do you have a poetry page, blog, website or narrative channel, if any? Would you mind sharing it with us? We will gladly feature anything you would love to share. Instagram (@authorharoonrashid) Facebook Twitter (@AuthorHaroonR) Medium https://www.authorharoonrashid.com https://www.muckrack.com/authorharoonrashid ILA Magazine: What are the hardships you have endured, if any, through your journey of writing, and how do you deal with the challenges? Author Haroon Rashid: Writing is a blessing upon me and I in my journey, have been skilled well enough that I don't find any hardships or struggles while writing, yet, perhaps the struggle and hardship I have as a writer, is when some ill-intended people have tried to imposter me, imitate me, plagiarize my writings, bluffing others', taking away my works as their own, damaging my mental and social health, are some of the pertinent hardships I've been through, I would like to request all that, there's a lot of struggles n lives of creative people, please don't put unnecessary burdens on the shoulders of creative people by snatching their art. Nature gives us thoughts and nature is the sole protector of it, so avoid doing wrong tactics and celebrate the originals in order to cherish more blessings coming from them. ILA Magazine: What advice can you give the emerging writer of today, who is just beginning their journey into writing? Author Haroon Rashid: Read enough to write enough, before you begin to write, make sure you have read, understood and analyze different perspectives. If you will not find pleasure in reading, then you will have pain while writing. ILA Magazine: Is there anything else you are willing to share with us, beyond what has been asked above? Author Haroon Rashid: The great thing about writers is that they already have so many questions in their minds about everything in the world and a writer should not wait for other's to make them respond, rather on their own, become a stimulus in order to make others respond to the need of the times. Whenever something wrong is happening somewhere, mind will bluff you with logics and logics are the perspectives that are brought to light to make others believe in, but it's the heart which shows us the real light, real truth, real perspective. Before you make up your mind and take sides to things happening around the world, make sure to listen to your heart, it will always lead you to the right path. - Author Haroon Rashid. Below, Author Haroon Rashid has shared some of his poetry with us.... There's a lot of joy, lots of adventures and lots of destinations to explore but there's a lot of suffering, there's lots of pain, pain in our hearts of not meeting the ones who can be a part of our journeys ©Author Haroon Rashid We arrived to an age where we don't need discussion anymore nor we need to seek any guidance. We are very much wise at this age. All we need is a space where we can make ourselves a better version. We should understand the time frame of our life to make our life according to time. The goal should be focused as we have to behave like a professional. Time is precious, refuel and refine and redefine. Chill, but don't make it a habit. Be disciplined and make a life of worth by adding a worth to it. Have an orientation and stay focused. Our focus will decide our success. Be prepared, be ready, our time is about to come. © Haroon Rashid Once again I let my heart fool myself. Once again, I'm going to fall in love. Once again, I'm going to feel everything that I have felt before, but this time, it's totally new. Once again, I'm going to feel all those things that I haven't felt before but now I am going to live, more and more. Once again, I am going to feel love that I haven't felt and now this time, I am going to rise in love, in love, that will make me feel alive. © Haroon Rashid I have to be what I am. I have to become for what I am made for. I have to rise again no matter what. The time is right, the moment is right. I have to show the courage to lift myself up from the petty downfalls. © Haroon Rashid We fell asleep in one world and woke up in another. Suddenly, Disney is out of magic, Paris is no longer romantic, New York doesn't stand up anymore, The Chinese wall is no longer a fortress, and Mecca is empty. Hugs and kisses suddenly become weapons, and not visiting parents and friends becomes an act of love. Suddenly, you realize that power, beauty and money are worthless, and can't get you the oxygen you're fighting for. The world continues its life and it is beautiful. It only puts humans in cages. I think it's sending us a message: "You are not necessary. The air, earth, water and sky without you are fine. When you come back, remember that you are my guests. Not my masters." © Haroon Rashid Author Haroon Rashid is a writer, hailing from beautiful Jammu and Kashmir, India, (also known as 'Heaven on earth.'), and the author of 'We Fell Asleep in One World and Woke Up in Another.' 'We Fell Asleep in One World and Woke Up in Another' became the fastest, most popular of poems, teaching leadership all across the globe, translated into 148 languages. Many people, including celebrities, have shared his poem on social media platforms and fundraising events, making him globally renowned with an unusual success story. Among his world-famous writings are: 'Suicide Poem', 'Come Back from the Heaven', 'Skin', 'Will Meet Again', 'Human Trafficking', 'Humanity Poem', 'Faith', 'Mother', 'Spiritual Love', 'The World', 'Media', 'Human in Uniform', 'Get Up', 'Kashmir', 'Meet a Person', along with endless quotes. He has a book titled, 'Author Haroon Rashid Quotes', available on Amazon. Author Haroon Rashid has been interviewed and featured on various websites, journals, magazines, religious online blogs, art pages, newspapers and publishing websites. Every writer is different, but he is one of those who can touch souls with even the simplest expressions of words. In Haroon Rashid's earlier days, he was much into sketching and drawings, along with a mix of his playful and fun-loving nature, maintaining a good brain in his studies and academics as well. Since the beginning, he has been drawn toward fine arts. He took an interest in painting, music and dancing, during his school life. After school, he pursued his higher education, completing a Bachelor's Degree in Commerce and a Double Post Graduate in English Literature and Public Administration, including the aforementioned, he also took an interest in Science, Psychology, Anthropology, Sociology, Geography, History and other fields of study. His graduation was a life-turning experience for him. He began gaining interest in writing as his art was mixed with world affairs and eventually his writings spoke to his heart at global levels, making him a renowned writer, par excellence. He is currently working on International Projects while spreading his aura and glory with the magic of his words, and shall continue until he takes his last breath. He may be contacted via email at: authorharoonrashid@gmail.com

By Indu Kilam She lies beside him, on the big walnut bed which came with her when she made her entry into the house. Oblivious of the warmth of his arm, which lay on her shoulder in protective warmth, she searchingly looked towards the bare wall, for some change, some sign. The wooden latticed window. Tightly shut and bolted, as if afraid to let in the cool breeze. Some deft and talented fingers had painstakingly crafted the intricate mesh. The beehive and, perhaps to let in some life to help her breathe. The moon beams stealthily entered through the honeycomb, bringing with it, silvery light to illuminate the room. it fell on the bed, the dead walls and suddenly brought to light, the whole room. He continued to sleep, snoring peacefully, but she arose, as if in a dream. Noiseless were her footsteps, as not to disturb the sleeper, she moved towards the window. Gently, opened the bolts that shut her from her secret desires and dreams. The intoxicating zephyr flowed in gently, playing with her loose hair and brought to disarray her diaphanous white dress. The scent of the soft breeze tempted her. She needed no cajoling for her craving was immense and she stepped out with a firm step. She rose up among the silvery clouds, conversed with the moon, desired the fiery sun, drank to the dregs, the waters of the mighty oceans, along with its venom and nectar. She burnt in the fires of hell and sang with the angels in heaven. She dived into the dark Hades and found the lost treasures. She lulled the naked orphan on the street, she held her own in front of the mighty, fought battles like a warrior, unconquered and unwavering. She loved the way that only she could, returning back right in time to enter in her destined world. Closed the window, tight shut. Tiptoed to her side of the bed and lay down. He continued to snore, mindless of her desires, and the sun shone through the meshed window. Professor Indu Kilam taught English in various colleges of Jammu and Kashmir, for more than 3 decades, and retired as Associate Professor from MAM Post-Graduate College from Jammu. A translator and a social activist, she has been working for the cause of women and children. She has to her credit, the translation of Ms. Naseem Shafaie's Sahitya Academy award winning collection of poems, 'Neither a Shadow a Reflection.' She has also translated a number of Dogri poems. Holding a brilliant academic record, she has a Masters in English and a degree in Law, and has been living in Jammu since 1990. Her poems are nostalgic and she moves with ease from the past to the present, penning memories with a delicate touch, making all, beautifully poignant.

Written by Shahid Fayaz Saqi, Author and Poet from Gundbal Mohd Pora Kulgam Rambling in the wild-open fields With broken and effetled legs Like God wholly mortified me The gusts of wind picked me up To gratulate the diadems of nature. The reflection of nature's bride Mured and shut my eyes Like unpleasant clouds seized my vision Put off the black and inky cascades On jocund faces of hilly universe. Now I put my eyes on rest and Unfold the fingers of imagination. Blindly, with fast fist and feeling The music of hill tops When divine flags flapping with The breeze of celestial munificence When birds breezily twittering With nodding of head All round roaming of astute birds, Entangled I was absolutely alone with speechless fowls Like I committed an irredeemable felony But I think it was delate My fellow travelers, tenders and Confidants were birds Hardly steps were getting up Falling of tears like shower of March. It was corporal punishment, All parts shivering like fast quake. Another sky fell on me, sun goes Behind the dark clouds Like someone stole it from my fissile lap Darkness covered the taken roads Looking back, I could see horrible Shapes and shadows of fay. The birds also began to search for their nests. The doors of my city were shut on me, No inning for spending nights in Calm and Peace. Friends also turned out to be Enemies Like every door was pushing me with belittling. The caretaker of the mosque also kept the door locked. Now my head rests on the land of dead men And fighting its own battle in abstract flashings. As soon as eye to eye fell, Dreadful sounds of snakes began to revolve around me Like the heinous screams of the dead Coming out of the graves. Insects spread their fearful nets Like snakes were humming me With the screams of hell. I fell asleep in the snake's lap And went to the world of dreams. In dream, the viper tormented my soul With vigorous bites and dragged me to hell When fangs grabbed my thin and whimpy neck, A scream came out and I woke up. It was the same snake in whose lap I had fallen asleep. I was helpless and did not have the courage. Dark clouds released the sun with a hope I saw a large crowd and flocked of kin. They were staring at me with unknown eyes. I saw I was lying down on the sepulcher of beloved Who annihilated herself in my love. About the Author: Shahid Fayız is a B. A. Student who writes under the pen name, "SAQI". He hails from Gundbal Mohd Pora Kulgam. Born on the 18th of October 2000, the Author depicts love, loss, separation and divine power. Though having an extraordinary hold in different forms of writings, Shahid Fayız has been writing doleful poems and short stories in both English and Urdu. His latest works are: My Foretaste At Dusk, Nightlong Wailing, Nest At Heaven 1, Nest at Heaven 2, Long Tales, Wandering Through The Shadows, Sunset in My City, God Has Given Me Such a Nature, Sensational Accent, Soul of My Heart, The Ocean of Oceans, Colorful World and Saqi. The Author also writes for newspapers and magazines. He began writing at his tender age of 14, though the subjects of his writing have always been way beyond his age. As a young poet, he has a belief that nature can heal every person better with Broken Hearts. The main purpose of his writing is to bring a reformed society by writing on present situations like social evils, etc., that have engulfed the society of saints. He is always in a black mood, as his life is beset with anxieties and sadness. He treats with others quite well, in the way he speaks, smiles behind, impressing others of that which has made them affectionate. He is used to melancholic life and has welcomed his problems as the relation of life because these problems generate activism, creating such heaviness in his life, that he feels the presence of death in his surroundings. Owing to alienation from his noble beloved, sheds his tears which later he collects and drink in the name of precious wine. He describes all of his problems created by people in his work. The Author relates back, his success to his Mother 'Dilshada Banoo", who inspired and helped him in shaping his life. The Author can be reached at: shahidfayaz432@gmail.com

By Mushtaque B. Barq PROBE He was looking at the micro screen of his cell phone. Occasionally a faint smile like a guest from remotes and frequently a sigh like an excruciating gust after hitting the frozen peaks were pulling his dull cheeks. His eyes like his face were clasped between stares and blinks to amplify his agony which was like a polished mirror reflecting even the feeblest ray. His wrinkled forehead like a rejected canvas of an artist looked dull. His pale face melted waxy hills of my endurance. I stepped into his gloom and found he was probing an old photo of wife. SCHOOL BAG She was arguing with a vegetable vendor when our school bus stopped at Alamgeer Bazar. Something made her run away. I shouted "stop", but she was not meant to listen to anything, at least that time. Why on earth our school bus had compelled her to run away like a thief. I stopped when a bag slipped out of her hands which she tried to hide before being recognized by my colleagues. A tremor of worry branched over my body when she whispered into my ears: "I was carrying your school bag to cart vegetables, when abruptly your school bus stopped." SURPRISE Ahmad never invited us for a cup of tea. And we often discussed it whenever he was not around. It was raining heavily for last two days and Ahmad had missed his classes. We decided to give him a 'surprise'. After struggling for an hour to find his house, we knocked the door gently. An old man greeted us after we introduced ourselves as friends of Ahmad. He pushed the door of a room where a basket, a cane and a tin copious with rain water greeted us. We realized why Ahmad never invited us for a cup of tea. SKILL "You stitch well", praised Naseem. Tailor master sensing the current behind admiration. "Thank you", he responded. "I need you to stitch my shirt like you stitched Roshan's", she hesitantly requested. "That is not possible", tailor master reacted. "But why, I liked the way you had stitched the neck area", she asked. Nazir only knew under what circumstances he had crafted that piece when his assistant had spoiled the neck of that shirt by placing hot iron on it. "For that you need to take help of my assistant", Nazir informed. She looked at his assistant smilingly. He lowered his gaze. MURMUR She boarded the already overcrowded mini-bus with a hen under her Pheran. Farooq attuned his bulky frame to let her feel a bit comfortable. She straight away responded by showering blessings to him. The hen suddenly started to stir. Farooq innocently requested the old lady to hold the hen properly. "Don't worry, my gentle hen won't spoil your clothes", the old lady informed. "I am not at all worried about my clothes, but....." he responded. "But what", old lady asked. Farooq looked around, and then whispered into her ear, "I hope your gentle hen shall spare all my delicacies." AND HE ASKED Prakash Ram was alone in the bunker when a nine year old boy stood before him. Through that little outlet he tried to address the boy, but failed. "Uncle, can you come out of bunker", the boy asked. The man from the bunker immediately came out to deal with the boy. "What do you need?" he asked. The boy only sighed. Prakash Ram lowered his gun as a mark of respect for his innocence. After being persuaded by the man in uniform, the boy opened his heart out. "Uncle, why don't you military men go back to your own country?" PHOTOGRAPH Rashid was watching his class fellows from the third floor where he was stationed by the head boy to monitor the proceedings in the ground. He slipped into his class room to fetch a suitable note book to copy notes. The pick of the bunch was Rizwan. His blood stopped running down his veins, his heart almost clogged, his hands trembled and his words dried when he found the photograph which was missing in their new family photo album. He picked the photograph and dumped into his own bag. At home, he found Rizwan's photograph in her sister's writing desk. DRAMA A wise man in the heart of city started hunger strike against atrocities. People from all political parties flocked around, but failed to convince him to break his fast. A wiser man sensing popularity from Delhi, joined in. After the exchange of views that night the two were seen on the table eating comfortably. Next morning the wise man was selected as Chief Minister of the state and the wiser one as Prime Minister of the country. Fools celebrated, simpletons chanted slogans and party workers danced. The only one who wept was the wisest who was ONLY sold for nothing. Mushtaque B. Barq is a columnist besides a poet and short story writer. His earlier translation work: Mystic Voices of Kashmir was published by Jay Kay Books. His poetic collection is available on Poetry Soup and PoemHunter.com He teaches English Literature and is associated with various literary clubs and forums. The author was awarded 'Editor's Choice Award' for outstanding achievement in poetry presented by Poetry.com and International Library of Poetry in 2007. In 2017, the author was awarded a Certificate of Appreciation in recognition of his poetry being published in The Criterion: An International Journal in English in February 2017 and September 2018. The author's publications are available in New Age Islam, Shabnama.faiz-e-zabaan-org., Kashmir Lit (On line journal of Kashmir and Diaspora writing) and The Tibet Journal. The Author is a regular columnist for Daily Kashmir Images, his column 'Creative Beats' is a regular feature of his writing. His upcoming literary works include: A collection of short stories and 'Shades and Shadows', a novel and translated version of Sochkral, a Sufi poet of Kashmir, translated version of Veshi Syed's Urdu short stories, Kashmiri Wanwun translated in English, and Withered Pearls, an anthology of poems. The author has contributed a chapter: Location Tibet, Dalai Lama Lineage and Tibetan Muslims: A Brief Commentary in Tibetan Refugees in India. The author was awarded 'The Alamdar Award' for his translations.