Soniareads

Teacher, I failed this chapter of Life

I was nice- he said

I shared

I cared.

I was nicer everyday.

Then Teacher looked at Old Nilly and said softly- Did you read the questions? Did you write right answers?

To these question, little man got mad.

“I said I was good.” Came a thunderous reply

“You saw I did what I could.

I was better than the Rogue-

Who scored, more than what he deserved

he must’ve cheated.

He is a deadbeat,

He is a beast.

He is selfish,

He knows no sacrifice,

Cannot compromise.

I- it should have been I, I should succeeded“

Cried old Nilly.

The Teacher then asked firmly-

Did you read the syllabus? Did you take the test? Did you learn from your mistakes?

Though your attitude was all good and you meandered from your purpose.

Cared too much to be polite?

Popular and loved alas.

But my child,

In this assessment ,

The Rogue may have his way of life,

Selfish indeed, brute and filled with vice.

He knows the lines and rhetoric;

Is very specific

With punctuations and grammar of this chapter.

Maybe he knows the games and plays by the rules and abiding by invisible laws,

He seeks answers rather than pleasing others.

For sometimes in this chapter of life, he may have won alas,

but the world behind the door awaits cruel.

The metaphor dissolves here

Old Nilly feels betrayed by life and now thinks

The Teacher is bias.

Sonia

12th March

The Quiet World

BY JEFFREY MCDANIEL

In an effort to get people to look

into each other’s eyes more,

and also to appease the mutes,

the government has decided

to allot each person exactly one hundred

and sixty-seven words, per day.

When the phone rings, I put it to my ear

without saying hello. In the restaurant

I point at chicken noodle soup.

I am adjusting well to the new way.

Late at night, I call my long distance lover,

proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.

I saved the rest for you.

When she doesn’t respond,

I know she’s used up all her words,

so I slowly whisper I love you

thirty-two and a third times.

After that, we just sit on the line

and listen to each other breathe.

BGM- Mia & Sebastian theme by Hauser

Many years ago people living in rural Nepal and some living in Nepali communities in India engaged in musical game where two singing groups engage in lyrical (couplet) interaction. We called them Juhari" (जुहारी) and "Dohori" (दोहोरी). Although "Dohori" is the more common term,it is also called "Juhari", particularly in the context of live performances or competitions. There is no specific date marking the origin of these folk songs, nor a single place it can trace back to. It has lived as an oral tradition. I have taken a bold decision to introduce it into my story. From what I have heard, my paternal grandparents used to sing Dohari and I still remember a few lines my late grandmother used to hummed. I hope my audience will embrace my creative choice and enjoy thìs narrative.

Sound editing- Pankaj Shastri

BGM Flute: Sujan Lama; BGM Sad Flute: Selim Reza

Kanchi Hai Kanchi- Part 1

A young woman crosses invisible border to seek freedom and hope in a new sanatorium . Clinging on to her is her toddler son and a past she cannot escape. The tale of Muglan retold, through Dohari and Jhawre songs.

This time I took the liberty to introduce a historical figure into my story.

Sound mixing courtesy - Pankaj Shastri

BGM- Fate Believer

PC- Das Studio, Darjeeling

Dreams by Langston Hughes

Trees by Joyce Kilmer

Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

By Jack Prelutsky

As an ESL teacher teaching English to non native speakers, poems are the essence of language. Any language that be, poetry holds beauty of that language. I make this poem mine for a minute and hold these words in my mouth. I make this language mine for a minute and return it back to its owner. Xoxo

Did I tell you that I have fallen for Edna

Or her words

Or her art,

Or just a fragment

A part.

Does it qualify as an inclination

Or a crush.

To say fallen- is defeat.

To love someone

Is indeed.

A loss of self-

To deplete.

So much so that

We human can only empty ourselves to a limit.

To the last brink.

I must confess-

We come back to fill ourselves to brim.

- S. Thapa

Years ago I heard a wonderful recitation of Sonnet no XVII by Tom O’Bedlam and yesterday the night sky compelled me to read this sonnet. You can hear the thunder at the background. It’s time to revive this channel