Issue XIV: March 2016: Poetry

Welcome to the March 2016 Issue of Ashvamegh! We have selected best poetry for you this month. The world has celebrated international women’s day on 8th of March. Having that in mind, we have presented you the writings of women poets mostly. We hope you will enjoy the selections.

Happy Reading


Featured Poets of this Month

Sneha Pathak

Read poems of Sneha

Colin Ian Jeffery

Read Poems of Colin

A Poem by Ananya Dhawan

Introduction to the poet:

Ananya DhawanAnanya Dhawan is an avid reader and writes poetry and stories in her spare time, which reflects her deep fascination for Literature. She has a cheerful disposition, believes in living each moment to the fullest and shows

Find below her poem entitled “Dewy Shadows”.

This poem will surely leave you with thoughts!



Dewy Shadows

Master folks
the black apparitions
hover unseen
in a neutral mind.

I philosophize
in seamless disguise
about the dark creatures
the moist shadows.

The perfect wings
with drops of nightly dew,
the faces embellished
with stony eyes.

An impeccable spell
of black and white
divides a blank mind;
exhibits the impressionable beasts.

And the intimate darkness dissipates.

Sanghmitra Baladhikari

Introduction to the Poet:

Sanghmitra Baladhikari is a student of Masters in English Literature, final year. She has been interested in writing and other forms of arts. She is an aspiring poet.



She hoped to break the shackles which confined her…
Binds her into the abyss of darkness…
She caught a glimpse of light in the midst of the desolate wilderness…
The illumination which would radiate freedom…
The expedition was long she knew…
Broken, she resolved to move into the realm of glee and gaiety..
She strides towards the sunrise…
She ceased to be conquered…
She knew she was going to conquer the sphere…
She won…



There was one broken shattered piece of that thing called Love within her…
It was a September evening she decided to drop it, underneath was an abyss of pain…
Tomorrow she thought would come again, but a Yesterday was what she wanted to eradicate.
As the wind gushed the twirled locks of her hair, she passed back within the mighty world of
her thoughts and had reminiscence of his playful hands toying with her beauty. When she mirrored herself she
let the touch of her eyes to be darkened, she unsheltered her hair to flow,
shining, and coloured her lips that waited for the touch of endearment.
She still resided in her enchanted dream of Love and Memories.


Michelle Noonan (Mishy) Poems

Introduction to the Poet:

mishy1Born and bred in Melbourne, Michelle has a passion for literature and music. Poetry has always inspired her.

She enjoys it in its various forms. It is always astounding to her how words can change lives and she finds that writing keeps her connected to life.

You will find below three poems by her.


Burning Inside

Her soul in tatters
Baring all from inside
Unable to comprehend
What she has just done

Her beauty escapes
From her harrowing eyes
She simply must face this
As the child within dies

Protected by sanity
The sheer will to live
Just a moment of fury
Nothing left to give

Desperate in her disbelief
Answers abundant
Screaming obscenities
From deep within her soul

This is the moment
When life takes a turn
Insanity creeps in
As her insides, they burn

Summer Breeze

As the summer breeze
Gently caresses my lips
You pull me toward you
Our very first kiss

I have longed for this moment
Played it over in my mind
Locked within your arms
Security, I find

As the summer breeze echoes
Beneath a perfect sky
Only truth exists
Between you and I

A moment to treasure
I feel only pleasure
As you whisper your want
In my ear, soft and tender

As the summer breeze beckons
Your lips on my cheek
I realize I love you
In that summer breeze kiss


The Infinite Symphony

The Infinite Symphony
Of blended voices
We Hear

Fills our soul with truth
Hope stems from fear

A lullaby that reaches
Deep within our heart

Silences doubt
Whilst we forge a new start

If the beginning is the end
And the end our dear friend

What we sense in between
Is the love we have seen

The Infinite Symphony
Blindly goes on
Determined to bring us
A life ripe with song

Betty D’Couto

Introduction to the Poet:

Betty D’Couto teaches English at the Lady Doak College in Madurai, Tamil Nadu. She is a people’s person with a penchant for
youth development. For her, teaching is more than a mere profession; it is her calling – one that she enjoys. Her passion for poetry has helped her feelings ‘recollected in tranquillity’ or on the edge of the moment, evolve into poetry -serious and witty. A strong supporter and lover of theatre, she directs Plays in college and have also acted in some. Above all, she believes that she have been blessed to bless.


 Our India   

Out there in the wide world yonder,
You’ll never, never find a greater wonder,
Than India, my India, our India;
All countries have their dreams,
Of a place overflowing with peace,
Of friendship, of love and understanding –
You’ll find it: Here in India,
Where people live with no fear,
A heaven of heart is, what is India  –
A people that’s a harmony,
A land that’s a symphony,
A heaven of a heart is, what is India!

There’s war for peace all over,
There are bloodshed and love for power,
They’re all searching and pining forever;
The joy of peace abounds here,
Respect for one another,
United, one people, together –
Thank God for We are India,
Where people live with no fear,
A heaven of a heart is, what is India –
A people that’s a harmony,
A land that’s a symphony,
A heaven of a heart is, what is India!

Sofia Kiroglou

Introduction to the Poet:

Sofia Kioroglou was born in 1974 in Athens, Greece, on a beautiful Saturday morning. She is a writer, prolific blogger and poet whose work is included in several publications and antologies. Her work has won several awards and is internationally recognised. She believes in small kindnesses, daily.


Jarring disjuncture

As wide asunder from pole to pole
My Eastern and your Western
in jarring disjuncture I am breaking
laying to rest the yawning divide.

East is East and West is West
and never the twain shall meet.
In dissonant chords and yodeling voices
My North I cede to your South.

The ice is cracked open
melting our hemispheres’ differences
into oblivion, engulfed eternally
in an ocean of seamless convergence.

Utsav Kaushik

Introduction to the Poet:

UtsavUtsav Kaushik studies English at Zakir Husain Delhi College (Evening), University of Delhi. He has conducted research in wide areas such as: Literary criticism, 17th-18th Century English Poets, Victorian Era, etc. He is currently working on the U.G.C innovation Project, as well as on a research paper in the field of Post-colonialism. He has won First prize in an inter-college fest for best self-composed poetry for his poem “From Body to Soul”. His poem entitled “Leaves” got selected for the March issue of Londongrip. Also, has a deep interest in writing poetry, songs, short story and plays.


Fountain Pen

I have two spears.
A shiny one and less pointed;
But with curved sides.
That is pointed;
But has fewer curves – the second.

I ripped open an “I”,
Sliced his guts into several,
Threw the pointed one at his daughter’s only eye

Soaked in their Royal Blue blood
Their tips are such that’d write
And words flew…

As prisoners do

Almost saved from the margins of…

In fear, they fainted
There on plain white.

And now

The tip of the holy fountain stands in this nowhere.
This gushes forth
And drops of it fall here and there,
Bursting the page into life.

Words lying in phrases and long-lost sentences,
Are rotting away – a pile of corpses
Being peeled, scorched and consumed
By the twitching beaks of the critics
Who had gathered around to feast

Others left?

When in this desert heat,
Comes the sand-storm of standards and sophistication,
They run and hide themselves behind a Semicolon.
Those lone survivors travel tirelessly, on and on.
When it breaks their flow – a Colon
Leaving them deluded

They all die, one-by-one
This was killed, being bitten by a rattling Slash
That one died consuming a venomous Hyphen
Sadly enough, none of them reached their redemption –

Funeral of Self
The clock is waiting for me.
I’ll wait and see.
When the clock will strike ten,

Someone will come
To me; but then I’ll be numb.
Felling nothing inside – outside as well
What more is there left for me to tell?

I have done whatever there was.
Now my soul will silently pass.
Leaving her abode behind,
People will say, “He was very kind”.

What does that matter to me?
As if, I’ll wait here and see.
No! No! Nothing of that sort,
I have won my queen, who wants the fort.

Some will talk silently behind my back.
When, they have shrouded me in black.
What eavesdropping? Whose ownership?
Our captain is drowned! Alone sails his ship.”

Indeed, depth encumbers me now.
Now, no one will tell me to bow,
To those before me.
They have come, for my sake to mourn, see!

Who’ll cry and who’ll blink,
Death is philosophical”, they all will think.
That’s when he’ll light my pyre,
I’ll meet the sun and play with fire.

The hour will be striking for me;
But I’ll wait and see;
Whether I’ll be burnt to ashes
Or the fire will spare me.
But will it matter to me,

Dead by then, will I be able to see?

Mahima Roselin

Introduction to the Poet:

MahimaMahima Roselin Varghese, a post-graduate student of English Language and Literature at St. Xavier’s College, Aluva, Kerala.  Areas of interest includes drama, films, gender studies. Has published works in college magazines and has presented research papers.


Find below her poem on child psychology.



Mama, Am I Bad?

Mama, my friends are fair
with rosy cheeks and golden hair.
But mama, I am dark,
my lips are brown and hair is curly
Why is that mama?
I look so different!
Nigger! Here comes the nigger!
Mama, they call me not my name
but something called nigger,
and they scoff at me.
Mama, tell me, what does it mean?
Is it something so bad?
No one loves to talk to me.
No one wants to play with me.
Mama, I feel so lonely
when I am left alone.
They sing and dance, so can I
They play and have fun, so can I
They read and write, so can I
Then tell me mama, what makes me different?
Mama, I feel so frightened
when I look into the mirror.
I see a black monster staring at me.
Mama, tell me, Am I that bad?

Dr. Sukarma Rani

Introduction to the Poet:

Sukarma_tharejaDr  Sukarma Rani Thareja is an Associate Professor of chemistry in , Christ Church College, CSJM Kanpur university, Kanpur, UP, India. She has teaching and research experience of several years. Her works has been published in National/International conferences/Journal. In order to inculcate personal and creative interests in students she engages them in summarizing lectures after finishing a chapter in their own words and their own ways. On her part, to make students enjoy attending classes (academic or co curricular) she composes small poems, educational collages to introduce /recapitulate her lessons. This way students have an opportunity to combine chemistry information with their personal reactions.


Little Quanta

We know,
At the,
Macroscopic level have,
Fixed trajectories here,
Fixed trajectories there,
But some thing
At the,
Subatomic level has,
Quantum this,
Quantum that.

All race,
All caste,
All creed,
Have no boundaries,
As we are ,
All made of,
The same stuff,
As we have same ,
Basic organic chemistry,
We are,
All connected of,
Space and time domain,
By little little quanta,
Our creator
Almighty! GOD

Dr. P. Saraswathi

Introduction to the Poet:

Dr. P Saraswathi is working as the Head and Associate Professor of English at J.K.K.NATARAJA COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCE, KOMARAPALYAM.



Gone were the Golden ancient days,
When prevailed joint families,
The love and care
Always a blessing
Did had an impact positive

Never felt alienated.
Affectionate grandparents
Children into a realm magic.
Aunties, uncles, nieces and nephews,
All caring, sharing and loving.

“Liberated” –This tag has cast me a lot.
Living as a nuclear family,
Much regrets do I have
Away from near and dears
I do miss their physical presence.
Caged children with none to entertain
Except the P.C or the Idiot Box
I know a double yoke I carry,
A paid servant at job; unpaid at home
(Can one pay my work at home?)
My doubt is
Claiming equality and freedom
Have I become a bonded slave?

A gentle zephyr blows mildly
Certain am I
This double yoke provides privileges
The positives outweigh negatives
Blessed with a lovely profession
Even tiresome days flip off
As lively ones.
With financial freedom
Bliss springs from wallet drilled.
This yoke is a burden
A pleasant one sought willingly.


Melting moments usher in
The next hour, day, week, month and year
Time flows…

Looking back,
I realize
The past has become
shrunken memories
The pleasant outweighs the unpleasant
Joys outnumber sorrows

I am aware
That in this world,
Pleasure leads to pain,
Youth to old age
Love to loss and
Life to death.

I thank the ALMIGHTY