Ashvamegh: December 2015: Issue XI: Poems

We have brought for you the best poems to read from around the world. Ashvamegh is a platform for international authors, and while selecting the pieces for publication in an issue, we reflect it. For December 2015, we have elected Candice James, the poet laureate of New Westminster, as the featured poet. Moreover, we have brought Pulkita Anand, Mansi Maru and Hussain Abdulhay this month. Enjoy reading the selected pieces at Ashvamegh!

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The Featured Poet:

Read the poems of Candice James here.



Poem by Pulkita Anand



From the expressed to the unexpressed

expressed the undesired

desired the undesired

unexpressed the desired


wander lonely forever the forlorn

from one wilderness to another

from hope to hopeless

from hopeless to hope


what is unexpressed need to be expressed?

Let the expressed be unexpressed and unexpressed be expressed.



what is happiness?

is it killing?

is it raping?

is it mocking?

is it bulling?

is it cheating?

is it pollution?

is it treading?

is it threatening?

is it non-cooperation?

is it disrespect?

is it feebleness?

if at all it be these

i am a happy to be unhappy.



Introduction to the Poet:

Pulkita Anand Poems
Pulkita Anand

Pulkita Anand, a meritorious student of Vikram University (M.P) is currently working as an Assistant Professor of English at Banasthali Vidayapith in Rajasthan. Her areas of research are Indian poetry in English and British Drama. She is pursuing her Ph.D. on Arun Kolatkar from Vikram University. She is a poet and short story writer. She has participated in many national seminars and has written papers which have been published in national journals. She is also a member of the editorial / advisory board of the journal New Academia.





Poems by Mansi Maru:


Loss and Cries

The ball was in the air, and through the post,

Hands shot up in air, cheered, bellowed!

Stade de France fell silent on a louder screech! A win?

No! We lost, again! And we all cried, again!


Hommes and femmes in the heart of the city,

Dining with the loved ones, swirling to the notes,

Cracking sounds in Rue Alibert! Was it wine?

No! We lost, again! And we all cried, again!


Eagles of Death played and the 1500 swayed;

Fierce metallic energy filled The Bataclan Hall!

There they lay, the unfortunate 89! Did the Eagles feast on them?

No! We lost, again! And we all cried, again!


Will our lost games turn into victory?

Will our cries of loss turn into cries of joy?

I hope it does, we hope it does,

As they are ready to defeat us again!

And to make us cry again, may be louder!




The Swirl

I ogled at the white piece,

Unknowing of what it could be!

With no idea of my caprice,

She licked incognizant of me!


The rumbling sound in the pit,

And the mouth was a flow of water,

Made the sight that my eyes quit,

With a wish to be that daughter!


Startled was I with the scream,

Get up! It’s time! Said my pompous mom!

Consoling myself, was just a dream;

And that I am still a Strom.


Though it was plainly a dream,

Didn’t fail to abide in my head!

Spent the day in thought of that cream,

Had it been me… All the time in dread!


It was dusk when I had a glimpse,

Of my dreamy self in that girl!

Walked up to her, leaving a wimp,

And cut the half of my swirl!



Introduction to the poet:

Mansi Maru Poems December 2015 Ashvamegh
Mansi Maru

Mansi Maru is from Bhavnagar, Gujarat. She has a bachelor degree in technology (I.T), but has chosen to write as a profession. She has always been enthusiastic for literature and finds peace in expressing her views through the quill, or rather keys now. Currently, she is working as a full-time Content Writer and grabs any freelancing opportunity that comes up. However, her heart forces her to follow the creative trail in writing which she displays at her blog: Mansi loves to try her hand on haikus, tankas, philosophy, poems, psychology, and short stories.




Poems by Dibyendu Ghosal:


Image Of  The  Individual

 Like a chit of a girl being

Alienated, to the extent of feeling


Stress is being lost every second

In the welter of shambolic values

And objectives so misdirected.

Vibrancy is sold regularly

At a discount.

Altruism! really;

Explanation masquerading on Street Arabs

As theocraticism, a

Salivating breed and spread.

Image of the individualty, oh yeah!

Nothing’s at stake

True tenets are being technologised


The wrath of Earnestness.

It’s after all, ‘the march of the March’.

Ascence. spirit

Of conjoint

Snapping and flapping

Its wings to

What a trait!

Incision and cessation of that clay

Violin and barging, in faded confetti gruff.

Piteous sultry blinking at the midnight

Sun, like those unsold tombs.





Finding the scapegoats —- those

Yellow blossoms

Measure my evil against.


To dissect all my vicissitudes.

To negress.


Death takes away vanity.

White flame —- not clear, of course.

Frozen into ‘placidity’.

Thought’s a luxury in a newbie intellect,

Depositing ‘bad conscience’.

Being jealous of the dead.


Sweet dark tranquility settled upon

My soul.

Upon its dark uneasiness.

Solicitous one



Eyeducts dry

Bedaggled from illicit Forays

Hammering my pain into myself;

Intellectual stands for an individual.

No ‘credit balance’ this time

For redemption.

Internal treachery.


Queer calvinistic protectionism,

Forcing me the ‘other way think’.

That cup of tea on an abbot’s platform


Desire to choke and rend and crush.


Leeching my strength

Leer smile

Trying to pull my inner self——


From muck.

The fishers’ fragile cranes hovering over.

Mistress of my shuffle —

Those white trousers, mauvre patters slit up

The thigh….. I really feel.

Death is absolute.


Only absolute.

Canal full of bodies, of carcasses

Irish stew — too much meat.

How quick, simple and anonymous its impersonation

When i die and my body lay in a doorway.

After all, nobody is ever betrayed by enemy,

But friend.


Like Silence of the Invisible



Introduction to the Poet:

Dibyendu Ghosal
Dibyendu Ghosal

Dibyendu Ghosal is a poet and author from Kolkata, India. He is the author of NIGHT OF TEN … A DETECTIVE MYSTERY THRILLER and an upcoming book THE MITTERS OF KOLKATA. He is a degree holder in Computer Science and Engineering. He loves to write what his instinct says away from the trends of popularity and others.






Poems by Hussain Abdulhay:

Sunny Bask


Sun is shining on Florida’s sands

He’s donning disguise mask

So silly it’s of me if I ask

Why in this sun shall not dance


He’s thinking of giving gumshoe cast

I’m making out of him a master-past

He’s dodging to tan basked

I want for him to nail his colors to the mast


How fast is turning today into past

He wants to mount up every other rung of ladder of the ranks

By hook or by crook he recruits to his band

His concern is splurge to outlast


Tremor is patent in his gasps

His tempo is tenor before mass

He cannot enact the role of righteous man

An off-key dissonant act does not sound jazz


Real sham leads nowhere but in Morass

His temper is on launch pad for giving out wrath

His sting is not stuck fast

Wasp bites, but never hurts like give vent to in rasp


Winter is on the verge of collapse

Jekyll & Hyde are one guy, two-barreled gun, dual in guile, split bi by ampersand

He could not trespass finish line, would capsize on last lap

Sun is shining on Florida’s sands






Trapped in the wreckage

Bid au revoir to the golden age

Wish I was never raised up under patronage

Could I retrieve from my shipwreck any salvage

One day awaken to the world in the morning and you’re being told at the forty aged

This is the end of your peonage

You are taken from orphanage!

Don’t you take umbrage?

From such a bilious lineage

Excruciating pain is on leverage

Heavy champion begins to feel lethargic

Iron bones are taking cleavage

Heart at the verge of spillage

Fortified castle on brink of breakage

Rising from ashes to a translucent visage

Now an expired stamp for not any postal postage

Totipotent vessel incapable of rendering any cleavage

Ostracized, short of any suffrage

No longer of any familial linkage

But he still pays his homage

No choice but flit his home village

Once he was in there the vassalage

What a bitter heritage

Feeling like a strayed partridge

Bullet spotted its prey leaving up cartridge

Where should he commence his rummage

Which either sides he should take on the bridge

Life is on the stoppage

Nothing in the world propitiate this great pain even palliative beverage

Why they should leave up their luggage

My appurtenant gone on pillage

What presage!

Would it be for paying their mortgage,

Preventing from further power outage

Or should it be for the ingrained nature’s outrage,

Divesting of their storage

These are questions he shall evermore engage

Words reek of savage

His parents but he’ll never disparage



Introduction to the poet:

Husain Abdulhay, born on August 26, 1979, is from Iran and holds a Master’s degree in TEFL. His first poem was conceived when he was doing his Master’s degree at Kashan University, Iran. He currently serves as a lecturer at Payame Noor University, Iran, teaching on the BA in English Language Translation. He has three other poems appeared on other journal.