Joanna Svensson

 A LETTER TO ALL THE POETS IN THE WORLD

I am a poet

From the bottom of my heart

I am a poet

From the bottom of my soul

And it happens quite often

That I find myself

In another world

In another time

And there I lead

A different life

Far, far away

from daily strife

It happens that I miss the time

It happens now and then

It happens I forget to eat

I can't say that I remember when

I disconnect the phone

The e-mail overflows

Don't know if I've slept or not

Don't know if either way

But still I don't feel tired

Since I'm in another world

A world where all

forgotten worlds

Comes back to me

Like old time friends

Where all my poems

My elder poems

Once again

Will come to mind

They all want new clothes

Tailormade

Styled for new tidings

With colors in all new shades

So I sip on a drink of knowledge

And drink to all of you present here

All who lives in our little library

Side by side on every shelf

I am alone - although I'm not

Of each company - I'm in the best

A brother hood of leading poets

Gathered here in volume thick

And I know they understand me

When I only write and write

Far away from normal weekdays

Far away from daily strife

So please forgive me when I forget

To say THANK YOU for nice awards

You understand me when I don't have

Time to answer all your likes

You understand me when I'm dreaming

You understand me when I forget

To do all this - to do all that

And all that others - expect of me

You really know me

My way of living

'Cause they have also

lived like me

We have lived

Like friends and artists

And not to others

Wants and needs

So, understand me

O, dear poets

When invitations

From you I've missed

To festivals and anthologies

To all events of special kind

So, for give - dearest poets

I am not here - although it seems

Right now I am just there

In my world of poetry

So when I'm in this

Creative phase

I haven't time

Enough for both

I can not split myself

Between two worlds

One imagined

And one for real

So you must know

Quite honestly

All dear poetes

I love you all

Highly worship

All your poems

And adore

Our friendship so

High asteemed and gentle poets

I am forever in your de

So, once again

Please, forgive

But it happens

Quite often now

That I transcend me

To my other

Imaginary

Kind of world!

©® Joanna Svensson

© Private collection Joanna Svensson

 SHASWATA  GANGOPADHYAY

A ballad on estrangement

You're not easily available ,for me very tough to meet you

On the Nilgiri mountain, Kurinji flowers blooming

in autumn, every twelve years gap,

you resemble the very identical species

You've bloomed once again during this season, all over the valley

those suffering from leprosy, assemble there and believe that

they'll be cured if they paste grinding petals of

a rare species like you, on their wounds

all their old maladies'll be gone for good.

Following the equator, I've also come here

we are belonging to the same planet, but rarely meeting each other

I'll climb to search you, using the worn-out staircase through mist

will lie down tiringly on the notch of a stone, you just cast off upon

my body, open your petals from head to the fingers of your two legs

let the storm dash out, if you put your lips on my lips

You're the sanatorium to me, the secret panacea

During the night of Insomnia

Sleep is such a mythical creature who before being extinct

has left upon my eye-lids the shadow of its last descendant.

It only lashes its tail restlessly during whole night,

dry dust flies with the strokes of its prickles, fibres fall of

I shut my eyes,try to visualise a silent temple made of white marbles,

situated at far off sea,- whose every bit of tenderness and grace

has polished its floor and walls.

Imaginatively upon those smooth walls I touch my cheek,

lie down on the cold floor of the temple,

turn my body on the other side in fanciful wet wind

Still I can't fold my two eyes

Have the watery vapours of my eyes gone dry?

I' am afraid, is it then called : Dry retina syndrome?

Even now finny fishes play round and round my deep eyes,

the dreams do not bend to search them out

Only night,after finishing its run,

brings the shinning sun back.

As if a Negro athlete after winning the race is returning

with the gold medal in his hands