It's the month of poetry and I'd like to share this poem with you. On Love: When I sought love I knew It smelled of roses Fragrant and sweet When I followed its scent I found you. On Life: A flower sprouted within the cracks of a sidewalk Not many noticed it But it withstood its ground Just like me it fought for survival Not the rain nor the blistering sun could destroy its resolve to find the strength to stand upright and live. For it knew the day it showed its weakness and let the rain drown or the sun desiccate and if it drooped to the ground the will to fight will end. Through its resilience a bee did find the sweet nectar and the cracked form of the ground radiate beauty. That gorgeous flower that sprang from the cracks one day caught the eye of a photographer and was soon acclaimed As the formidable Flowered pawn. Have a great month of April. Live & Let Live! shobana
A couple of weeks ago, I went on a holiday to France. Apart from doing some writing there, I wanted to visit the breathtaking and miraculous Lourdes. It was one of the most memorable moments of my life. I went alone and so, not only was it an overwhelming experience, but it also grew into a learning expedition. I stayed there for 13 days. Life is never predictable I can tell you. Even with all the careful planning, there will be a surprise or two in store for you. So, I guess we must always be ready to face all kinds of consequences and situations, take it within our stride and pray that in the end, all goes well, just as it did for me. I am putting together a series of videos about my visit to iconic France and I hope you will join me by subscribing to my channel to be updated on my journey there. Here's the link to my latest video: St.Bernadette and Me. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ezh3zoPKm-0 Christmas is coming around really fast too. It is always a beautiful, magical month and somehow there is always the light of advent to take you through the season with smiles and extra love. Wishing you a great month of advent. Shobana
Writing most of the time is exciting. It is a way to unlock the images from within your mind. Here you can give the readers a chance to experience something new from within you. Other times, writing can be intimidating. The first step is to not second guess yourself and to avoid comparing your writing to the works of another. Stay in your lane. What you have someone else does not and what they have you do not have. That is why on the writing highway you can reach the same destination as long as you continue to stay in your lane and enjoy the ride of writing along the way.
hi lovelys it's Janny, today we will interviewed Jacque de paula , she is a young artist , from Australia , she did a song " I don't need you who is on the London music , festival , hello ,Jackie so happy than you had accepted this interview 1st question :" things you love to do to your day !? Jackie :"I love to spend time with my friends and call my parents". •Thank you Jackie for your answer at this question 2nd question :what part of " I don't need you " you love the more!? Jackie:From the lyrics you mean? •Yes , Jackie "!! Jackie:The part I love the most is “I know you think that I don't care, maybe I just need some air”Because sometimes we really dont wanna hurt the other person, sometimes we do care but also its important to be a while alone in peace. Wow , that sounds to see , I wish be there (smile ) •Ok 3rd question :"do you are very closed with one of your fans "!? Jackie :Well, for sure. Specially because I see them as friends who support me. And only people that are special with pure heart can donate love to support other people's dreams • Yes I think it's amazing to got people like this on this world 4rd question :" true your song I don't need you Is on the London music festival ,!? Jackie : Yes! And happily we got in the top 5 in the popular ranking. My music video it was made by my best friends in Brazil. They are very talented and I think they deserve to have their work seen by the world. •thank you Jackie for this beautiful answer , lovelies show some love to Jackie , follow her on Instagram @j4ckie.official and show her some love thank you Jackie for accepted to answer at this interview
My dear children, let me tell you a story. A warrior princess who not just believed in empowerment but proved her metal by conquering her fears than just owning a castle of her own. An elegant soul with a pure heart mesmerized with the beauty of patriotism and valor, who adored her country so much that she decided to give it all. Myself being a coward tried to stop her but she had formulated her decision so firm, I just couldn't stop her. But…the day she wore her uniform for the first time, that very moment, a part of me felt proud of having her in my life. That marked the beginning of her journey striding through all odds. Soon, I realized that she was the one inspiring me and changing my perspective towards life. I took pride in the person I was becoming, all thanks to her! One after the other, badges were added to her uniform just like the feathers in her hat. One fine day, I decided to surprise her by joining the army. I wanted to show her, how blessed I am to have a companion like her in my life. The day I got the letter of my selection, I couldn't contain my excitement. The very next day she was going to visit me. All good things come to an end, my happiness was shattered when I received her, not in person but in a frozen box. My poor heart knew nothing about the pain experienced when you lose your loved ones. I cried all day. I was finally able to conclude that I am going to walk in her footsteps and make her proud someday. My dear children, I stand in front of you as a dauntless warrior who once used to get panic-stricken with every little thing. I have nothing more to say but one thing, your mother was my role model and her love kept me going. Even at night when I look at the stars, I feel her presence so warm, I sleep tight knowing that everything is alright. Go to sleep now. It's getting late!
When all this started, I saw a meme on social media. The toned lower half of a body hanging out behind a refrigerator door. "Me at the beginning of quarantine." Then the body is changed to show a really big fat one. "Me at the end of quarantine." I didn't want to be the fat one. So I've spent the last 10 weeks really working on my physical fitness. I'm fortunate enough to have a room in my home that is a dedicated home gym. It used to be my daughter's room, but she's now in her 20s and doesn't use it anymore and I was so tired of looking at it... And, I have a Peloton. In the beginning, I was already very close to my goal weight. So I switched it up and started focusing on doing more strength training and building my muscles. These ten weeks have made a big difference in my weight, shape, confidence, and the way I feel. So much better. This proved to me my dreams are possible. It just takes a little time and a lot of daily, dedicated focus.
I just read a story about a man who was incarcerated. Every night as he lay awake thinking of the horrible place he was in, he'd hear the whistle of a train in the far distance and wonder where that train was going. Here I am, walking down a random street in Queens and see this track. I am unsure of what train runs on it and don't believe I have an idea of where it goes but I stand here as a native of this city and wonder why I don't know. We all have heard the whistle of our own personal train at one point or another in our lives and the majority of us have never bothered to discover it's path. Most of us won't ... simply because, most of us don't have it in us to find out. But the man in the story did. I admire that. Life is a very difficult journey to tread but we all must believe that where ever we are, at any given point in time, there is a whistle being blown ... we could either just hear it for the rest of our lives or actually figure out where it's going. I heard my whistle in the middle of the night too. It told me to start writing. Where ever my words take me is where I'm supposed to go because that's where my train was always headed. I don't call myself a writer. I don't even know the rules of this game ... but I've never not played anything in life because I didn't know how. I'll learn along the way. I just know that if I am to be called a writer, one day, ... I'd best sit down and just start writing ... about, anything. So, here I am.
RHYTHM OF ANCIENT SONGS AND BEAT OF AFRICAN PRAISE POETRY My birth is a metaphor of bullet-traces and the ironic verse of Leninist style-songs for black liberation that reverberated the grey-mist clad red-mountains of home – Zimbabwe. My birthing was a stitch between the thud of war-time guns and a heave of pungwe jives. Young women of my mother's age were volunteer maids during the traumatic but zeal-oiled Chimurenga times, cooking and washing for the cadres of liberation. Chimurenga songs sung by these war-ironed peasant mothers and bullet-toughened collaborators in the red-hills of Wedza. These Mother-guerrillas endured the hard throbs of grenades and the thrash of midnight-rains in those village hills alongside bushy male combatants. They learnt the soprano of the gun and the tenor of death.These were heaven-echoing struggle hymns. On the day of my birth, heavy rains rattled the winter-crusted red-earth. Rivers sobbed with heaven's tears and sorrows of war. That grueling night, swarms of collaborators were moved from one base to another, my earthly goddess was among those pilgrims of war. …her heartbeat thrilled my tender ears and her blood-ripples lulled my faint soul to sleep. And somy foetus spirit rode along with waves of echo and beat of verse. Ingenuity. I am the blessing of the trip, the child of war song and rain. A mystery. I am a child of song. I was birthed during the exodus. That rebel's war was characterized by death, wailing, stampede, bravery, shallow-graves, song and continuous walking. A trailblazing Africa reality show. My earthly goddess was a dedicated collaborator, volunteer and songstress. She carried freedom in the sacred cave of her womb. After their strange overnight long walk to freedom base of Mbirashava – rains ceased fire, war-drums paused and their echoes got trapped into the blankets of early day mist. Then came my birth cry they say like an exclamation engraved on the yellow-disc of the smoke-bruised African sun. Claws of dawn caressed the sorrow-soaked red-hills. My goddess wriggled in a thick volcano of red-clay mud, ochre-red blood and dead grass. Her womb groaned from labor pangs and suddenly the wind was cold. June dared the earth and everything in it. Cold-winds whined ferociously to disobedient flora and delinquent vultures. Winter, fast clicking a pause button to the jungle's daily festivals. I was born. Cadres and collaborators dribbled a liberation jive for my homecoming. They called me Gandanga. I was initiated into this earth by the alto of howling winter-winds, baritones of barking-baboons and the ease soprano of hooting-owls. A child of song. I was introduced to the festival of sounds, loud and low, good and bad, discordant and beautiful. Upon arriving at the village homestead, the earth trembled, the air got electric with ululations. My paternal grandmother fervently recited a traditional totemic praise poem. “Chirasha, Chikandamina, Weshanu uri pauta, Mavsingo a Govere, Vari Zimuto, Mukwasha waMambo, Vakafura bwe rikabuda ropa” A lone drum thrilled them into the audience into another dancing routine. The echo of the tinkling drum resonated with the beat of my grandmother's recitations. They said that my eyes winked in response to their merriment. Even up to this day, I beat my chest with pride to that ceremonial reception performed by an elder qualified to be my ancestor. My old singer-grandmother usually bundled me behind her old but steely back. Lullabies caressed me into dreamland until my goddess returned from her daily errands. I was raised by extraordinary songs, sweet and mellow to every infant's senses. I enjoyed the ear-tickling ancient poetry. They say I slept to the rhythm of that beautiful lullaby. My grandmother was Gogo in African – she would fall asleep too. Mother returned from the red-clay fields to find us under the watch of spirits and snores. After some weeks my umbilical cord wilted and fell. They buried it under the hearth near the main fireplace. Thus how we are bonded by our departed clan spirits. And so I grew up in a highly strict African traditional clan. My father and fellow clansmen brewed ceremonial beer for traditional rites. They supplicated to ancestral gods to end life-tormenting ailments, ravaging hunger, abject poverty and bad omen. Their usual incarnations, totemic praise's performances cultivated the griot in me. Praise and protest poetry became my official language. After my umbilical cord rites, my father gave me a name. He named me after the most powerful battalion of Tshaka Zulu, a battalion that never lost even a single battle – Imbizo.
The LGBT in Russia are constantly threatened, murdered, and isolated. For them I became a writer. I believe in writing the way people believe in god. Literature is as banned as religion was in the Soviet Union. My first novel is set in my hometown of Saint Petersburg, Russia. When I learned of queer men being put on a hit list database in Russia, I was unnerved. Coming from a country with few human rights, I imbue my work with representation most personal to me. Writers inspired me with their wisdom. I want to inspire the younger generation of readers who have no mentor. The survival tactic for being ripped from Russia and dropped into Kindergarten in the United States: Understand the aliens around you. Figure out how you can fit in, fast. I've always been trying to understand people; I write entire books about them. I was raised travelling: Speeding through Israeli cliffs and surviving when the bus behind mine didn't. Crying when the plane bumped into Leningrad Airport and I was home in Russia for the first time since I was five years old. My experiences with diverse cultures drives everything I do. I have had lots of jobs. One of my favourites was being camp counsellor on Vancouver Island for high schoolers from the Philippines. I could pee without wiping, make smoke with my hands, and watch a mongoose skid and fall into the river in fright from our kayaking crew. Not to forget, my taste for adrenaline. The flow of typing; the skid of skis, a desperate attempt at friction, force against force. My mind's always lived in the fast lane. Though it had kickstarted my intensive writing, not a word of my journalling ended up in the novel I finished six months later.
We are in the age of social media. It is everywhere, around us, mostly pictures and videos. Not enough words, sentences, paragraphs... To communicate with clarity and depth, nothing is better than the real language, with words. Biopage, a new social media platform, is giving people a different option to do their social media: more writing, less digital content, to make social media more meaningful to their life. Biopage is for writers. Biopage lets you first write your professional bio to describe who you are, and why you want to come to the world of social media. You may portrait yourself as a freelance writer, an entrepreneur, an aspiring artist, a world-traveling photographer, or a young professional starting a career. You can write your bio in a few words, or a few paragraphs, up to 5000 characters or about 1000 words. People are frustrated with the little amount of space that other sites gave them to write bio for expressing themselves to define and build a personal brand. BioPage lets users post "Updates" in a mini essay style, to have a title and multiple paragraphs, and to include a properly chosen photo or short video. BioPage provides a space for simple, clear, and more meaningful communication. It lets users really dive in and tell their story, and be successful in career and social life. There's a focus on writing, which provides many benefits related to social ability, mental health, and general happiness. People want a more meaningful side of social media, when more thoughtful, mindful, and longer lasting messages are being shared. With writing. Biopage Update also has a feature to let you add tags and keywords to your post. Biopage also hosts a mini-essay writing contest to offer $1000 award to the top winner. For more information and sigh up for a free account, please visit https://www.biopage.com. To download the BioPage mobile app, please visit the App Store for iOS or Google Play for Android and search for “Biopage”.