Three Poems by Jyothsnaphanija


Abandoned Music by JYOTHSNAPHANIJA Every evening that house sings in suffocation. They welcome the night with worships. Their memory is a big city to relocate hundreds of scales and intricate rhythm combinations. They have a tempo meter. The wind heavy with that chanting reaches the garden, Hits his tumbler filled with water for the plants, Compels him to pick up some lines, Some difficult words, and some more notes. For some years, his learning reaches the peak. He thinks of revealing their skills and get applause, But the day before, he gets a violent dream. His voice becomes stone-hard when he wanted to talk with his wife. He couldn’t move any scale, he loses the beat meter in the backyard of his home. The terrific part of his dream is, All the difficult words he learnt, Dissolve in his chicken soup. He could never know that the dreams Are planted successfully by the house, Who has the key of it, And can shut his voice forever By constructing shackles  of endless myths, Fears and differences, Echo in the lyrics “You, the unclean”, Script the complexity of simplest words. Sayori by JYOTHSNAPHANIJA The evening wind schlepps Sayori’s dreams, Sings happiness. In her festive presence, When the glittering women focus their eyes, She blushes  like melting seasand. The seashore roar chants blessings. The redwind wears colours for her. Everything appears only for her when she changes her hut. Sayori, whose colour was taken by the salt air, Whose voice was echoed in the seashells murmur, Now shines like a pearl, In her bridal life, cheerful and positive. Her primary words, Were erased on the ground beneath her feat. Her watery eyes, Saw sunshine and dark noise, Only when the sea showed. The glittering pearls start losing their colour, She unveils her innocence, Soon she starts imitating the other tired  women, She even imitates the way of their waiting. When the Radio is silent, But the sea is red, Her only hope sails to bring life for her, And for her unborn son. She waits  for long, Talks with women who can interpret signs, Cajoles herself for a while and again  mused over the doldrums. The lonely nights, Sayori cooks, The rice before the son can actually wake, Near the banks of the sea, Waits for the boats, When they come she stands with hope  and searches, She doesn’t cry as the tears may blur her sight. Hurls the sushi sweet stuff In to the sea with anger. Repeats this every day. Her eyes ooze When the glittering women confess, “Sea killed your father, your husband, And it’s not sea but you, The unlucky girl. Unlucky girl being cursed by the sea Goddess, Came to our family like a hungry fish”, “Let she be starved, the curse would fade” She prays for ours and ours, That her son shouldn’t be afflicted by her curse. Years and years, She offers herself to the Goddess. Sayori’s bridal dreams, elapsed and offered To the young seagirls eyes, To repeat the tales, To relive her life, As it was the life That was lived by many other women, Which the sea has swallowed before the earth can actually hear. The Flute Woman by JYOTHSNAPHANIJA The trickling dew between the leaves, in the tacit morning storm, The twilight windwood tunes, when she walks over the river, Singing with her flute when the river adjusts the rhythm, She fills the sorrows with forgetting, Wherever she sells, When her glass bangles sharpen the pitch Of that fluctuating flow, every morning and every evening, The other times too, she burns in wind. The sensitive tunes of the bamboo flute, The delicate facets of her bamboo life, The falling music and her starving   hunger, For the others, the sweet honey feast. The folded hands shivering, The flute she plays in  the  solitude, The wind enticed, with the finger technique perfection, The halted breeze,, the raining clouds, The speaking thunder, the wordless river, The gazing eyes, at her breath, When the beads of her shell necklace were blazing, The peacock feathers in her hair betrayed, Feelings unreturned, Opening and closing the eight-holed flute when her eyes Are blinking with the charcoal fume, Cutting the woods, shielding from harm, When her life, brittle and empty, Carrying the snatches of old tunes, saving from the fracture, Of the cruel shadows of those winter hues of wet sand, From those sweet coloured sandal wind, The days growing shorter, She counts on all her notations. Fragile as her flute, She conceals her tears in melting the rocks. Compressing her desires, She preserves her breath for the another life. Jyothsnaphanija is a PhD research scholar in English Literature at EFL University, Hyderabad, India. Her poetry has appeared in Melusine, Muddy River Poetry Review, Coldnoon, Luvah, Kritya, just to name a few. Her short storey has appeared in eFiction India. Her research articles have appeared in Subalternspeak, eDhvani, Wizcraft, Barnolipi and in several books. Currently she is on the editorial team of The Criterion, fiction editor for Miracle.   Editorial Note: (Please Read Closely Before Submitting) Poets Basement is now on Facebook. Find us as http://www.facebook.com/poets.basement. To submit to Poets Basement, send an e-mail to CounterPunch’s poetry editor, Marc Beaudin at counterpunchpoetry@gmail.com with your name, the titles being submitted, and your website url or e-mail address (if you’d like this to appear with your work).  Also indicate whether or not your poems have been previously published and where.  For translations, include poem in original language and documentation of granted reprint/translation rights.  Attach up to 5 poems and a short bio, written in 3rd person, as a single Word Document. Expect a response within two months (occasionally longer during periods of heavy submissions). Submissions not following the guidelines may or may not receive a response. Poems accepted for online publication will be considered for possible inclusion of an upcoming print anthology. For more details, tips and suggestions, visit http://crowvoice.com/poets-basement. Thanks!

Weekend Edition
October 2-4, 2015
Henry Giroux
Murder, USA: Why Politicians Have Blood on Their Hands
Mike Whitney
Putin’s Lightning War in Syria
Jennifer Loewenstein
Heading Toward a Collision: Syria, Saudi Arabia and Regional Proxy Wars
John Pilger
Wikileaks vs. the Empire: the Revolutionary Act of Telling the Truth
Gary Leupp
A Useful Prep-Sheet on Syria for Media Propagandists
Jeffrey St. Clair
Pesticides, Neoliberalism and the Politics of Acceptable Death
Joshua Frank
The Need to Oppose All Foreign Intervention in Syria
Lawrence Ware – Paul Buhle
Insurrectional Black Power: CLR James on Race and Class
Oliver Tickell
Jeremy Corbyn’s Heroic Refusal to be a Nuclear Mass Murderer
Helen Yaffe
Che’s Economist: Remembering Jorge Risquet
Mark Hand
‘Rape Rooms’: How West Virginia Women Paid Off Coal Company Debts
Michael Welton
Junior Partner of Empire: Why Canada’s Foreign Policy Isn’t What You Think
Yves Engler
War Crimes in the Dark: Inside Canada’s Special Forces
Arno J. Mayer
Israel: the Wages of Hubris and Violence
W. T. Whitney
Cuban Government Describes Devastating Effects of U. S. Economic Blockade
Brian Cloughley
The US-NATO Alliance Destroyed Libya, Where Next?
Karl Grossman
The Politics of Lyme Disease
Barry Lando
Syria: Obama’s Bay of Pigs?
Andre Vltchek
Southeast Asia “Forgets” About Western Terror
Jose Martinez
American Violence: Umpqua is “Routine”?
Vijay Prashad
Russian Gambit, Syrian Dilemma
Sam Smith
Why the Democrats are in Such a Mess
Uri Avnery
Nasser and Me
Andrew Levine
The Saints March In: The Donald and the Pope
Arun Gupta
The Refugee Crisis in America
Robert Fantina
The U.S. Elections and Verbal Vomit
Dan Glazebrook
Refugees Don’t Cause Fascism, Mr. Timmermann – You Do
Victor Grossman
Blood Moon Over Germany
Patrick Bond
Can World’s Worst Case of Inequality be Fixed by Pikettian Posturing?
Pete Dolack
Earning a Profit from Global Warming
B. R. Gowani
Was Gandhi Averse to Climax? A Psycho-Sexual Assessment of the Mahatma
Tom H. Hastings
Another Mass Murder
Anne Petermann
Activists Arrested at ArborGen GE Trees World Headquarters
Ben Debney
Zombies on a Runaway Train
Franklin Lamb
Confronting ‘Looting to Order’ and ‘Cultural Racketeering’ in Syria
Carl Finamore
Coming to San Francisco? Cra$h at My Pad
Ron Jacobs
Standing Naked: Bob Dylan and Jesus
Missy Comley Beattie
What Might Does To Right
Robert J. Burrowes
Gandhi Jayanti, Gandhi’s Dream
Raouf Halaby
A Week of Juxtapositions
Louis Proyect
Scenes from the Class Struggle in Iran
Christopher Washburn
Skeptik’s Lexicon
Charles R. Larson
Indonesia: Robbed, Raped, Abused
David Yearsley
Death Songs
Jon Hochschartner
Does Word Policing Actually Help the Left?