I recount the days of old, When the streets were filled with laughter, When the hours were yours and yours alone, To do as you please, to wander. The lush gardens were filled with roses, The bees buzzed, The butterflies had time to break free from their cocoons, and turn into beauties that filled nature's paradise. The Mountain Dew turned into honey and filled the land with much manna, so the children could be fed, and grow in numbers. The time was yours and yours alone. Then the ways of the world turned away from innocence, And the proud gathered dusts of gold, Forgetting that nothing was as precious, As the peace they let slip unknowing, That golden peace, once inherited by their children, once upon a time, torn away, now beggars rummaging for food, dishevelled and dirtied, The children's cries are louder than the bombings, O, what sadness has befallen the world? Now, there is much heartbreak, the children are besieged in fear, They are fed no more, The mountains are filled with terror, The roars of the wild beasts are heard instead. There is much fighting and the stark rays of doom now fill the gardens, The bees and butterflies have disappeared, The children breathe the dust of war as they grow, to remember their lost right to peace. No more is laughter found, not even in the creaks behind closed doors, no more does the land belong - to you, A stranger walks the streets, as if, it was his and his alone. It is an arduous task I see, To revive your land and make it yours once more. Have you lost what was once yours? It is indeed easy to lose your heritage, to a world that glitters in gold. That Golden Peace that you have forsaken, Will remain in the past, history - a longing for peace in the shadows. -shobana-

What was yours was not just a name For it teases at the opening of my ears Faintly riding on the melancholy of the silence The cruelty of fate or so it was named as such My palms were as empty as the sky The feel of your face like clouds drifting I would hold them upward And they shall wait for a storm of you forever The seas await a departure that a heart cannot bear to witness The sound of a voice, the feel of a face, the sight of you It grows ever so vague and silent Like phantoms as the dawn breaks What was mine was not just a name For it sails distant lands but never drops its anchor Like a poem unspoken by your lips Parts of you that I could never touch again Shadows of you linger and stroll about Forever without the presence of a master They sit and lean by the rocks you once touched Your outline on the walls of a humble home Time was an enemy But for that moment it was my friend Like gasping for air, I traced your figure, your lips, your fingertips The final plead before the goodbye I am but an empty abode And on my walls are traces of you It yearns, it calls, it haunts How long shall it yearn How long shall it call How long shall it haunt For the sound of your voice, the feel of your face, the sight of you.

"Hope's Walk" I am here alone to the dark of a desolate beaten path, often traveled and packed by the weary tread of wayward soles. The path of heartbreak, the path of shame, a path so broken not cared to name. Time a wisp to lapse, pain no stranger to drive me through memories looked upon as wasted endeavors. Memories that do bring joy that fades to strife, and comfort that bleeds into remorse. I'm shut out and shut off from the world around me, portals closed and electric off, I peer through the darkness to shout against a storm of internal anguish. My soul a blackened lit candle suffering a tumultuous gale of doubt and ridicule. I strive to yield not to the hurricane of depression derived from what is and what may be. I struggle to lift myself from the well of the fallen to set my mind free, free from the torment, from the turbulent turmoil that festers within me. Faith, I keep, in me, my spirit, my light within. I will walk this weight weathered path that stretches before me, ever optimistic that my second chance will find me... or I... find my second chance. (Image courtesy of www.freepik.com)

Yng Tsina ampopa ing Rusya (China and Russia) (Chapter 1-5) (Part 1 of 2) (English Version) I. February 2022 II. San Fernando Train Station Museum III. China and Russia Sculpture IV. Metiorite V. My meteorite sculpture _____________________________________________________________________________________ I. February 2022 February 2022, I remembered one of my sculpture, I need to retrieve it, Before it might be neglected- I hope not. February 2022, I will get my sculpture at the San Fernando Train Station Museum, It has been to long it stayed there, Fully air- conditioned, Protected from dirt and moisture. February 2022, I remembered one of my sculpture, It is composed a Robot couple of War machines. One man and a woman, Both are riding on a gigantic Mechanical Robot Scorpion, The title of my sculpture piece is “China and Russia”. February 2022, I will retrieve my Sculpture piece at the San Fernando Train Museum, I need to get it because there is construction on going by the Philippine National Railways. I shall get my artwork- My sculpture might be have been transferred because the Museum's storage area has been removed. My sculpture might be scattered elsewhere, Stagnant, Full of dust, Exposed to the rain and rays of the Sun. II. San Fernando Old Train Station Museum Himpilang Daang-Bakal ng San Fernando, Daang bakal, Mettalic road, My English, I am being funny. My artwork is there, It is, I consider it as- One of my Major works, One of my major works in sculpture. III. China and Russia Since we had an Internet, I always Google both of those countries. Just like the Philippines, They are all located in Asia. Since we had an Internet in our place, I have the luxury to visit many places- Including these two countries. The C.G.T.N of China, The R.T. news channel of Russia, Various websites and Youtube channels, I always watch them, I keep on tracking on what is happening, Regarding their plans and agenda. IV. Meteorite In Kapampangan Language, “Taklang Batwin”, And if translated in the Filipino language- “Tae ng Bituin”. In the English language, “Star Shit”. Since I gained access through the World Wide Web, I let myself indulge to various online discoveries, Just to satisfy my bulimic curiosity. I virtually researched on various pebbles and rocks, Their patterns always fascinate my childish soul, That includes their texture, composition and color, There came a time that I started to collect pebbles and rocks, Especially Metal Ores- Sediment with various mixture of metals, These include magnets and meteorites. Maybe it is because that I was a sculptor, That is why I love their texture, I observe and trying to know their toughness. V. My Meteorite sculpture Three years ago, 2019, MY mom visited the San Fernando Train Station Museum, I was not with them, She is with my younger sister, And my nephew and niece. When all of a sudden, When they have had arrived in our house, Without informing me, They retrieved my artwork- My meteorite sculpture. My mother told me that she retrieved my work, because it was just lying around the museum. I told her that maybe my sculpture- was properly taken cared of. And maybe, there were other works- that are presently on display, “no”- and “ there are none”, My mother answered. It is because the guys, from the Philippine National Railways, had stated their work there, She added. That is why I finally decide, to bring back my Russia and China Sculpture.

VI. Limited Physical Properties of My Sculptures VII. Yng Cotchi Cung Mitsubishi VIII. Pate kareng Teritoryu IX. West Philippine Sea X. Yng estatua kung Tsina ampo pa ing Rusya VI. Limited Physical Properties of My Sculptures Peka-materialis cu kareng estatwa cu, Kabling bakal, Ampopang alambri, Gawamit cung Tansu, Aluminyu, Pundidung bakal, Ampopang Aseru. Potang kayi- Pinturan kula, Biyayan cula! Gamitanan kulang pinturang pang-Saken, Elamu basta pangkilub bale, Maliari lamu rin- Aldo't Uranan, Queng kilwal bale. Manibat angyang mica-Internet keni kekami, Karin cu aisip na- Alang permanenti tagana. Bisa cu't e Bisa, Reng estatwa ku, Mamilang cung mapilang dinalan a banua- Manga-disporma la, Kumupas la pintura. Lalu na nung pakyalaman dala – Panyaldak dala, Brusku dalang panalnan. VII. Yng Cotchi Cung Mitsubishi Kwanan ku ne ing kanakung estatua, Ini napa ing gamitan kung panakut kung obra, Ing canakung Mitsubishi GLXI, Model 1990 ya, Sariwa ya pa makina, Lampas 90,000 kilometru ya pa ing pilayan na. Mas makaba ya pa pilayan ing kekaming 2015 a Mazda. Basta gawang Hapon bilib cu, Alang duda, Quality la gawa. Kalupa da reng sasalwan kung nanu-nau king Japanese Surplus, Wa! Basura nala karela. Pero kekatamung Pilipinu alila, Quality la pa murin andyang luma la, Paniglon tala. Yng kontchi kung Mitsubishi, Bilib ku king makina na, Balang sasakeng ke, Manimadjin kung makasake king Jet Fighter. Pwera kareng kotchi, Sikat ya mu rin ing Hapon kareng eroplanu dang Mitsubishi. VIII. Pate kareng Teritoryu Mag Marsu na pala, Osimap mika-oras nakung kwanan ke ing kanakung estatua keng Tramu San Fernandu. Manga-paisip kumu, O bat mika- koneksyun la keng gyera reng a-iisip cu. Pauli siguru kareng ayayalben kung diskursu ampopang balitakeng Internet, Halus paksa makapa-tungkul kareng kada National security da- Kada Bangsa. Ali naman mismung Gyera ing isipan cu, Geopolitics ampopang amanu daring kada alben ku. IX. West Philippine Sea Aganaka ko reng aliwa kung gewa a makapa-tungkul keng panga-aliporis cu queng Kalalangan, Memag-public installation kung mapilan, patungkul keng Teritoryu tamu, keng West Philippine Sea. Meg-public Art Installation ku, Makapa-tungkul la kareng isla keng South China Sea- a tutu naming parti nala ning Bangsa tamung Pilipinas. Ginawa ku muring balamu bandera na ning Tsina, kaibat pepasilab ke king kabanda ku, kabang tutugtug kami banda keng Siudad Olongapu. Para kanaku agagampanan ku ing responsibilidad ku para apabaluan kula reng manakit kareng obra ku a eku buri ing gagauan naming Tsina, Kukwa yang teritoryu a enaman karela. X. Yng estatua kung Tsina ampo pa ing Rusya Uyni, Ikwa kune ing kanakung obra. Anyang disan ke king Museu, Makasapin ya kareng pala-pala- Sapak yang dinat ampopang alikabuk. Kalupa daring aliwa kung estatwang gagawan- Matibe la uning gawaa la king bakal, Ampopang pakabalut laking patung-patung a pinturang pang saken. Kalupa daring aliwa kung estatua, Normal lamung midinan alikabuk, Basan kula mung danum, Kaibat palangian mibabalik la postura.

Chopsuey version NAMBER TU Alas 8:19 na ning bengi- Dininan ku lang dice-dice a carrot.. Ampong sayoti, -reng adwa ming seseng malasian box turtles. Pengan da naman- Siyempre, Omnivorous la reng pau. Nanu-nanu na ing pepakan ku karela- Pindang damulag.. Strawberry.. pindang babi, manuk- miyaliwa-liwang style a lutu. Asan danum- -Sagiwa, miyaliwa-liwang style a lutu. Asan dagat- -Sagiwa, miyaliwa-liwang style a lutu. GULE- MIYALIWA-LIWANG KASI- NATIVE AMPOPANGIMPORTED, ORGANIC AMPOPANG GMO. PRUTAS- MIYALIWA-LIWANG MU RING KASI- NATIVE AMPOPANG IMPORTED, ORGANIC AMPOPANG GMO. Insektu- Kamaru, Ipas, Kuremut.. AMPOPANG NANU-NANU PANG KLASING INSEKTUNG AKAKALAP KU KILWAL- BABAGWA, SALAGINTU, LAIPAN, TREN-TRENAN.. DURUN, TULANG... APOPANG NANU-NANU PA. POST –ALMUSAL /BRUNCH Talibatab Chronicles No. 070719-10:01am Makabawu kung manyaman a asan danum- Pipritung bangus. A pakabalut king cornstarch. Ala na kung pakialam nung nukarin ya pa menibat… Ala na kung pakialam nun nukarin ya plasdan meragul. Ing balu ku namu ngeni- Paratang ne.. Saktu- Daratang ne ing danup ku. Saktu- Ikwa ku ring mipawas a normal. Saktu- Penamdaman ke ing pagal katawan. Saktu- Aliwang pamangan naman. 10:27AM …Asne kanyaman ing pritung iki- Iki na ning bangus  Dapot- ..mebitin ku rugu, Atin ya pang daya libutad. Uyta- Pepagbalikan ke king kawali. Bangkanta ma-tusta ya. 10:52am Lugud ng Kumander + Tustadung iki ampopang atchan ning bangus + 2 kutcharitang Aslam [Rose cane vinegar] + 1 malutung lara + .5 kutcharitang gisang baguk+ 1 tasang Nasi+ = Manyaman dapot makasuyang bagya Manyaman/Makasuyang bagya + Lugud ng Kumander (2) + 2 pritung ebun+ 1 kamatis + =Manyaman… Milako na ing suya.. Ayos! Soya! 2:09 ning gatpanapun Kapitulu 1 Ing pusang malarit Tantya ku, Atin ng milabas anam a bulan, Ating pusang babaing makulit, Balang maglutu ku- Tanud-tanud ya keng kilwal pasbul, Manyad yang pamangan. Eke man sikasu anyang mumuna, Uning balu ku nung pakanan ke- Lumo ya, Ampopang pota ene mako- A-ugalian na na kasing tatakla- ….ampong mimimi keng arap ning kweba mi- anyang kapitna ya pa maka simentu. Melunus ku murin bandang tauli- Aaahhh… Ampopang … In tutu nita sasawa naku keng lulutu ku, Nung ala yu I kumander… Ating tagan-tagan. Tutu pala ing kesabyan da reng mangatwa- Na makasawa mu rin ing lutu na ning metung a tau. Aliwa ku kasu- Sinawa ku keng sarili kung lutu. Uyta.. Keng malaguang amanu- papakanan ku ne mu rin. Panaka-naka… Papatad-patad.. Eke buring lumo. Mumuna- Tagan-tagan mu dapot, Anyang kelambatan- Didinan ku ne mu rin bayung pamangan. Kapitulu II Mumunang buktut na ning malarit a pusa.

Talibatab chronicles NO. 06072019 01:57pm Chopsuey version NAMBER ZIRO DICE-DICE A CARROT… Ampopang sayoti… …CHINESE PECHAY, AMPOPANG SAMPAGANG “CAULIFLOWER”. ATIN YANG muring MARAKAL A PAYUNG-PAYUNGAn, ASNA KANYAMAN . Meng-gisa- Metipid mu… Siguru (?) king bawang… Ampopa king sibuyas. Mate la man ngan ding siping kung bale, Ala ku mang abawung megisang gule. Dapot manyaman, Malyari na. Map king ala kung paugtuan.. Kanan. Osimap.. Kayantabe ke I mang Miguel, Mamangan.. Ampopang miminum. Me-kumpletu ne ing kapitnang aldo

Pintalan ke i Miguel Pineda, Kalupa cung eskultor keti San Fernando, Pinwalan keng litratu, kabang kakawa yang obra, mig-document cu- Gamit ke ing Samsung A22 kung smartphone- Digital photografi! Ua! Instant digital art mu rin, foto, GIF ampopang video editing namurin, Mekarakal ku- Ua! Pwera kareng inisketch cu ampapang sinulat ku.

I only saw what I hoped to fix Never meant to lead you on Only wanted you as a friend You went overboard in your Dreams for me. I swear I never meant to hurt you I just wanted to keep you from falling Giving you my hand to help you You only took my time throwing it away Thinking, I would be yours. I am not yours, I never was Can't stay on your highway Let me breathe, please Taking a new road away from you Sorry, can't hold your hand no more. I can see you are angry with how this went Your words of hate took a toll on me You didn't get what you wanted I am only a falling star in your eyes Just the dirt that falls on your shoulder at night. Go ahead brush me right off While you move on to another Who believes your sad tone lies, You take words of innocence To just twist them to fit you. Your words beat me black and blue It is okay because I am still standing You can't twist me to fall for you I won't be broken as you So, tell me how does it feel? Standing there alone in the dark It is only your fault that you built it Cause I will never hold your hand Anymore as you fall so hard.

Flowers and Silences The dim darkness-the diffused light-dimness of one merging into the other-imparting more length to the long trees that are standing like stretched out shadows wearing stars in their hair- silence is imparting more depth to the darkness in this advaita where darkness is merged into silence, my mind wakes up, now not only sound but even a ray of light is a violent disturbance to the profoundness of peace- in such moments deep truths unveil themselves-now I realize it is not sound but in silence melody lives- I am born out of flowers and silences- while passing my hand brushed against a flower, I asked 'are you bruised? ‘‘Me or you' smiling, the flower questioned back- the heart of my pen broke and split blood; - I do not know which paper can bear this pen- In the gigantic silences of forests, which touch the blue skies, the carpenter bird pecks at the trunks of great trees which echo, far reaching sounds-what can he do among the tiny crotons? I ate days like fruits-now I eat drops of tears like grapes- frightened by the sun took refuge under shades-sitting on the pavement eating dreams from eyes like ice cream with spoons- measuring my life with dark evenings- I distributed my wealth once with metres, now I scatter with handfuls my future letting it fly in all directions-I washed my heart in tears and dried it over poetry- walked past wearing people on my body like shawls-in the assemblies of flames; in countries abroad I raised my gypsy voice and sang mixing earth and sky- this country is the graveyard of my genius- however fast I walk the distance remains the same. This land is thirsty for my blood, it is snoring in the little shades of pigmy trees- I picked my pen and dipped it in the sun to write a summer song for my nation- - Seshendra Sharma http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com

THE BURNING SUN I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun Rising from the hills of human sinews, Hearts are my friends I live in the city of sufferings Although in my fist, I hold an ocean of history I sculptured man silently – Wings that carried birds Did not bring them back; I am drinking thick darkness In the haunts of those forests Which cry out in agony for the birds That did not return; Clutching at the garment woven of memories I twine myself to the feet of my country. Heads that were hanging to the trees Smile as flowers today in the branches Hearts that received the bullets Ring in temples of our land like bells; Blood of theirs nights squeezed and offered By how many to bring forth this day; They are hanging like icicles On the ridges of our roofs; Look, it is an iron fist I have; I shall excavate the flame of light From the rocks of time – I will set fire to the sleep of resisting centuries – To the rivers that run in passion after the sea I cry halt, command them To paint the colourless arid lands in green, Invite back the smile which fled away In terror from this land, To the butterfly trudging hungrily for a flower I shall give a garden – Come children, eat Bits of nights dipping them in moonlight, I shall not allow the sun to cheat this sacred day; If he wakes not on the horizon of this land I shall tear my burning heart And put it in its place With the scarlet of my living flesh Illuminate the earth I am the drop of sweat, I am the sun Rising from the hills of human sinews – - Seshendra Sharma http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/ -This is the 1st poem in Seshendra Sharma's second anthology of prose poems titled “The Burning Sun “ - In his intro to The Burning Sun Seshendra says there has been an uninterrupted undercurrent in his life as a poet , that is his life nerve and that has assumed total expression in this poem

Visionary Poet of the Millennium An Indian poet Prophet Seshendra Sharma October 20th, 1927 - May 30th, 2007 http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com/ https://tribupedia.com/seshendra-sharma-memorial-tribute/ https://seshen.tributes.in/ https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/ eBooks :http://kinige.com/author/Gunturu+Seshendra+Sharma I could not rescue him from the clutches of that nymphomaniac and vampire. There may be an exception or two but an average Indian woman desires from the depths of her soul that her husband should live long and she should pass away before him. She performs prayers and fasts on auspicious days for this purpose. She in spite of being 3years elder to him did away with my father in a planned and premeditated manner and I was a silent and helpless witness to it. He suffered 1st Heart attack in November 1997. Cardiologists performed angiogram and advised open heart surgery. Because there were blocks in vessels and one valve was damaged. But she successfully thwarted it and without my knowledge or informing any one got angioplasty done in Mediciti (Hyderabad: AP; India) her plan was to do away with him and live long, and establish herself as his wife through his books. He was succumbing to her blackmail. My overwhelming hunch is that she was threatening him with social insult and humiliation if he parts ways with her. Between 1997-2007, she played football with his body. He used to be hospitalized every now and then with swollen body and heart pain. Because of damaged valve pumping was impaired and water used to accumulate in the system. Every time I used to force her to hospitalize him. He used be in ICCU for a couple of days and recover marginally. After each visit to hospital he was getting debilitated gradually. He was put on wheel chair. He was virtually under house arrest. He was not allowed to speak to friends and family members. Visitors were kept away. He was taking Lasix (Tablet: is a diuretic that is used to treat fluid accumulation, caused by heart failure, cirrhosis, chronic kidney failure, and nephrotic syndrome.) to flush out water accumulated in his body. This creates a painful dilemma in me whether my interference in his health matters was just. As his son it was my moral duty to protect him. But I sometimes feel if I were not to interfere she would have put him to death long ago and thus he would have escaped from physical and mental torture quite early. Towards perhaps end of the month of March she withdrew medication. He got swollen suddenly and that condition continued till the last day i.e. 30th may 2007. Each time I visited I used to tell that witch to take him to hospital. But after a couple of visits I got convinced that she made up her mind this time to do away with him. I requested a bastard who was feigning to be a friend of mine, who incidentally happens to be a legal luminary of this region to send a doctor friend to that place and ascertain the exact condition of his health. But of no avail. I kept on telling him to come out of that place and lead a normal and healthy life. Her blackmail gained an upper hand and I lost in my efforts to restore health to him and bring him back to civilized society. O God pardon me for not being able to outmanoeuvre her machinations. Pardon me father.

Visionary Poet of the Millennium An Indian poet Prophet Seshendra Sharma October 20th, 1927 - May 30th, 2007 http://seshendrasharma.weebly.com/ https://tribupedia.com/seshendra-sharma-memorial-tribute/ https://seshen.tributes.in/ https://www.facebook.com/GunturuSeshendraSharma/ eBooks :http://kinige.com/author/Gunturu+Seshendra+Sharma Seshendra Sharma is one of the most outstanding minds of modern Asia. He is the foremost of the Telugu poets today who has turned poetry to the gigantic strides of human history and embellished literature with the thrills and triumphs of the 20th century. A revolutionary poet who spurned the pedestrian and pedantic poetry equally, a brilliant critic and a scholar of Sanskrit, this versatile poet has breathed a new vision of modernity to his vernacular.Such minds place Telugu on the world map of intellectualism. Readers conversant with names like Paul Valery, Gauguin, and Dag Hammarskjold will have to add the name of Seshendra Sharma the writer from India to that dynasty of intellectuals. Rivers and poets Are veins and arteries Of a country. Rivers flow like poems For animals, for birds And for human beings- The dreams that rivers dream Bear fruit in the fields The dreams that poets dream Bear fruit in the people- * * * * * * The sunshine of my thought fell on the word And its long shadow fell upon the century Sun was playing with the early morning flowers Time was frightened at the sight of the martyr- - Seshendra Sharma B.A: Andhra Christian College: Guntur: A.P: India B.L : Madras University: Madras Deputy Municipal Commissioner (37 Years) Dept of Municipal Administration, Government of Andhra Pradesh Parents: G.Subrahmanyam (Father) ,Ammayamma (Mother) Siblings: Anasuya,Devasena (Sisters),Rajasekharam(Younger brother) Wife: Mrs.Janaki Sharma Children: Vasundhara , Revathi (Daughters), Vanamaali ,Saatyaki (Sons) Seshendra Sharma better known as Seshendra is a colossus of Modern Indian poetry. His literature is a unique blend of the best of poetry and poetics. Diversity and depth of his literary interests and his works are perhaps hitherto unknown in Indian literature. From poetry to poetics, from Mantra Sastra to Marxist Politics his writings bear an unnerving pprint of his rare genius. His scholar ship and command over Sanskrit , English and Telugu Languages has facilitated his emergence as a towering personality of comparative literature in the 20th century world literature. T.S.Eliot ,ArchbaldMacleish and Seshendra Sharma are trinity of world poetry and Poetics. His sense of dedication to the genre of art he chooses to express himself and the determination to reach the depths of subject he undertakes to explore place him in the galaxy of world poets / world intellectuals. Seshendra'seBooks :http://kinige.com/author/Gunturu+Seshendra+Sharma Seshendra Sharma's Writings Copyright © Saatyaki S/o Seshendra Sharma Contact :saatyaki@gmail.com+919441070985+917702964402 ------------------------ GunturuSeshendraSarma: an extraordinary poet-scholar One of the ironies in literature is that he came to be known more as a critic than a poet HYDERABAD: An era of scholastic excellence and poetic grandeur has come to an end in the passing away of GunturuSeshendraSarma, one of the foremost poets and critics in Telugu literature. His mastery over western literature and Indian `AlankaraSastra' gave his works a stunning imagery, unparalleled in modern Indian works. One of the ironies in literature is that he came to be known more as a critic than a poet. The Central SahityaAkademi award was conferred on him for his work `KaalaRekha' and not for his poetic excellence. The genius in him made him explore `Kundalini Yoga' in his treatise on Ramayana in `Shodasi' convincingly. His intellectual quest further made him probe `NaishadhaKaavya' in the backdrop of `LalitaSahasraNaamavali', `SoundaryaLahari' and `Kama Kala Vilasam' in `SwarnaHamsa', Seshendra saw the entire universe as a storehouse of images and signs to which imagination was to make value-addition. Like Stephene Mallarme who was considered a prophet of symbolism in French literature, SeshendraSarma too believed that art alone would survive in the universe along with poetry. He believed that the main vocation of human beings was to be artists and poets. His `Kavisena Manifesto' gave a new direction to modern criticism making it a landmark work in poetics. Telugus would rue the intellectual impoverishment they suffered in maintaining a `distance' from him. Seshendra could have given us more, but we did not deserve it! The denial of the Jnanpeeth Award to him proves it The Hindu India's National Newspaper Friday, Jun 01, 2007

Dear Simon, You were in a play my 7th grade year when the high school put on The Outsiders The image in my mind, is you in the scene, third from the end lying in the hospital bed and from then on I couldn't imagine you any differently They say you “failed” your mission and I'm writing this letter because you laid empty for a week before we went to your visitation They told us to write down what we wanted to say to you You were my sister's friend I didn't know you, but I cried I felt I knew you better dead than I ever did alive A beanie pulled low, long blond hair, and a smirk I bawled my eyes out in the corner of a church I cried over you. My sister cried over you. 16 years old and a sophomore in high school When we saw you in the play I was proud to point you out “That's my sister's friend! He sits with her at lunch.” A month later I drew flowers blue, black, and shining silver I put your name in each petal and taped it to my locker I'm sorry I never knew you but I feel I understand you now Please let Grandpa know we miss him if you happen to see him around Dear Simon, It's four years later, and my mom is on the phone A friend called, asked for advice, because we've dealt with death inside this home She's afraid to instill an illness in her child's mind a fear of her's imprinted on his skin, as it has on mine She asks me how old I was when I drew flowers, silver and blue I was twelve I say, Seventh grade, "Oh," she says, "him too." She asks if I remember questions that I had I remember asking why your casket was closed I remember your mother pulling me close I remember how your friend screamed down an empty hallway that she was the one who found you "I think I could be of help", I say She says he understands death but she's worried that he doesn't understand grief that he doesn't understand hatred In the ways that it exists I do I could teach him I could pull out that paper of yours That I kept from your funeral I could show him the photo of you in the play I could explain how hopelessness feels, show him how to draw his own paper flowers I could fold the paper with him small fingers wrapped up in my own Were mine that small? When I folded yours for you? This is the last note I'll send for now I hope you're doing well Please let Grandpa know we miss him if you happen to see him around - Josie Sparks -

My life is easier than most during this time. It's hardly changed at all. Three times a week, we try to untwist my spine. Leaving the house is no issue at all. Wake up late to load my laptop, yet I log onto school on time. The only issue is homework refusing to load, but that hasn't changed anything at all. My routine has stayed the same, yet an overhanging cloud slowly starts to fill the air. My family's concerns over something unseen seeps into my own worry. No one there seems to care for the safety of others. Nothing has changed there at all. A slight anxiety gnaws at me. It bites and it tastes yet its teeth don't sink in. So nothing has changed there at all. With more corruption coming to light, more hatred and anger, the cloud starts to grow, and the fangs grow longer. But I'll stay silent about it, so nothing has changed there. They talk about it more - my parents, I mean. Politics and illness and people who don't make sense - every day, every hour, and the news is always on. That's new. I keep picking at my skin, slight anxiety seeping in. I bleed without feeling it, the pain far away. My fingers are chapped, my lips torn apart. But it will heal, so it's fine. Nothing new there, anyway. Things are happening around me. Friends of family dying, family being reckless, family not understanding the danger they're in. Family wanting to be blind to it all. I eat more skin off my fingers, more off my lips. The scent of lavender is calming, soothing, and I give in. Keep trying to unwind my spine, but excuses prevent my family from helping me get help. It's happening more than usual, but it's not really anything new. I can't watch anything without my family referencing politics, or anything really, that I'm trying to escape from. Don't they know it's to escape? To get away from this world, even just for an hour? So that's new. Everything else is the same for me. I don't feel trapped in my house. I just don't want to go outside. I leave three times a week. My homework is lagging, but it stays the same. I keep scratching and picking til I bleed, but bandages and lavender are there for me. Nothing is normal, but it's all the same.