The sun will come out tomorrow – or maybe the next day. But it will come out.
Dear Readers,
The last week went by just like that, I could not gather the courage to work on myself, since I have been doing unwell mentally. I acknowledge these kinds of days with grace even so I know I might fail again in picking up myself. But I was working on my gratitude list when a smile spread on my face- it's Winter here. I know it's so very retributive yet this season gives a little hope somehow. With my mother being admitted to the hospital once again, I was living in a quiet world where my mind was in a constant battle with loss and grief. I even asked it on my Instagram- How do you all deal with grief? Do you just distract yourself? Or does something else help you?
Art, Poems help. They heal. Sometimes they linger in your dark corners making room for love and comfort.
Curating poems today about winter, warmth. Consider this the second issue with respect to my last newsletter.:)
The snow is deep on the ground-Kenneth Patchen
The snow is deep on the ground.
Always the light falls
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
This is a good world.
The war has failed.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the snow waits where love is.
Only a few go mad.
The sky moves in its whiteness
Like the withered hand of an old king.
God shall not forget us.
Who made the sky knows of our love.
The snow is beautiful on the ground.
And always the lights of heaven glow
Softly down on the hair of my belovèd.
Janet Hill
Winter trees-William Carlos William
All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! A liquid moon moves gently among the long branches. Thus having prepared their buds against a sure winter the wise trees stand sleeping in the cold.
Jeffrey T Larson
Calm day- Ghassan Zaqtan No dead on the streets today is a calm day, traffic is normal, there's ample room for the procession of yesterday's dead, room to add a dream, an idea, a little boy, an extra push for the beloved boat, a nom de guerre for the cell, a rose for a new love, a hand to a comrade Some room to stay alive for some time, enough time to shake your hands and reach the sun Today is a calm day, a pedestrian day in Beirut dancing in the streets, obstructing buses and not buying newspapers: the newspapers already went out to offices and the dead are resting on the Pavement of Martyrs at the outskirts of Sabra A calm day, our neighbor will step out in her nightgown to hang some sleepiness around us, some sluggish waking she's too lethargic to gather letters into words Where is life on this vast sauntering morning? We won't leave Out of the whiteness of her gown a reason will come to carry us down to the streets dead in her "Good morning"
The house was calm and the world was calm-Wallace Stevens
The house was quiet and the world was calm. The reader became the book; and summer night Was like the conscious being of the book. The house was quiet and the world was calm. The words were spoken as if there was no book, Except that the reader leaned above the page, Wanted to lean, wanted much most to be The scholar to whom his book is true, to whom The summer night is like a perfection of thought. The house was quiet because it had to be. The quiet was part of the meaning, part of the mind: The access of perfection to the page. And the world was calm. The truth in a calm world, In which there is no other meaning, itself Is calm, itself is summer and night, itself Is the reader learning late and reading there.
The river of girls- Tishani Doshi
.m. India's missing girls
This is not really myth or secret.
This murmur in the mouth
of the mountain where the sound
of rain is born. This surging
past pilgrim town and village well.
This coin-thin vagina
and acid stain of bone.
This doctor with his rusty tools,
this street cleaner, this mother
laying down the bloody offerings
of birth. This is not the cry
of a beginning, or a river
buried in the bowels of the earth.
This is the sound of ten million girls
singing of a time in the universe
when they were born with tigers
breathing between their thighs;
when they set out for battle
with all three eyes on fire,
their golden breasts held high
like weapons to the sky.
LINKS OF THE WEEK-
1. Lessons from Winter: Knowing+living the seasons you are from in
2.Live like a lotus: 5 stages of transformation after loss
3.Alternate route: Read the current poetry edition having a poem of mine: Download and read it over the weekend.
4.I stumbled upon this mind-blowing website consisting of art, paintings, and beautiful artwork. Check it out.
5. 5 mindful activities to do during this winter
6. Brittle paper is seeking submissions!
7. Enjoy reading poetry while you can look out for their submission calls even.- The White Review
WATCH-
On a dark day, a child seeks her balance in the Salish Sea. Tofino, British Columbia, Canada.
Morning meditation of gratitude to transform a challenging time
The power of mindfulness
Sesame syrup- cigarettes after sex- (I have been loving this all over again.)
CRIMSON SKINS- POTHI
CRIMSON SKINS- AMAZON(US)
I would love to read your reviews of my book and do spread the word if you loved this issue. Always trying my best to curate these. Stay well you all.:)
love and light
Devika