A Treasure Trove of Incantation

“We live and breathe words. It was books that made me feel that perhaps I was not completely alone. They could be honest with me, and I with them. Reading the writers’ words, what they wrote, how they were lonely sometimes and afraid, but always brave; the way they saw the world, its colors and textures and sounds, I felt–I felt the way they thought, hoped, felt, dreamt.”
Says Cassandra Clare in one of her novels Clockwork Prince in the Infernal Devices trilogy.

But I wonder, do writers always feel lost or lonely? Is that composing a room of artwork really needs and looks for?

As a writer and poet, I feel in a way, we illustrate an alchemical elixir through each piece of our soul and seek what moves us. There are the days when a crowded coffee shop feels like a home, other times it’s the unaccompanied street in the starlit night where the moon guides us to the same. Writing is always beyond our soul, and we let it absorb us like an effortless intake of breath but at the same time, it seems like treading on this precarious path where you don’t know whether your writings will speak to someone or will it be seen as beautiful as from your perspective.

From the nuts and bolts of imbuing fragments of the art of everyday world into amusing scribbles of mindfulness, we always try to seek solace to dwell into, yet it's the stories that find us. The fact that what we bring on a blank page lies so much in what we’ve lived or born with, in the sense of what we’ve been keeping hidden inside, just like that moon-keeping a part of him always hidden away from us, till our artistic headspace finds a place of comfort to let it all out.

Our stories are stuck dead on the page unless we weave it with our threads of linguistic colors, to paint that musing of our sense, of being lost, in an abode of stories we live and the metaphors we are. For now, my words speak in silence but the story keeps growing with the melancholic emptiness that lingers within.
But I still wonder, do all sad people write, or if it’s the sadness that keeps the fire warm and let the words bubble up?

So with this presenting to you stories of our writers for the Friday edition:

I walk through the future holding your hand by Gabriela Marie Milton (Poem)

Nymph by Veronica Georgieva (Poem)

Use It or Lose It by Anish Ramjee (Fiction)

If you would like to contribute, read the submission guidelines here:

Submission Guidelines — Literary Impulse

Do check the website and give a read to the latest edition of “Hiraeth Anthology Series”:

HIRAETH - ANTHOLOGY SERIES (VOL. 1)

That’s all for now!
Keep spilling the ink, let the words seek your escape, and keep sending us more of your beautiful pieces. Do follow us on social media to stay updated and keep supporting us!

Happy Scribbling,
Sneha Mankar
Editor, Literary Impulse

Editorial — EIC Literary Impulse, Somsubhra, Priyanka, Bradley, Erica, Elisabeth

On writers Craft and Art was originally published in Literary Impulse on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

“If I only had one more day I would…”

Remember those good old times,
when you used to fix breakfast for us with a kettle of loose-leaf tea every morning,
when your dance and laughter in the driveway used to cramp my whole torso,
when silent-enchanted tears glazed from your eyes at our children births,
and when the touch of your hands used to heal my soul,
for your warm arms were always my home.
But there came that moment when grief made it hard for me to hear,
your words began to flicker, and the sound came in snatches,
I began to resonate with the emptiness between the stars,
like a cold dark matter fading in and out
and your absence echoed in every room of our house.
Under the sun-lanced sky, your dark shadow turned,
wanted to feel that tender touch of mine,
when my heart skipped a beat for at least one last time.
I wanted you to call my name and wanted to say how much I care,
without you to shore me up and hold to drape around my shoulders,
I sank into a world of wordless grief,
‘cos losing you was like having a rug swept from under me.
Now, my world is at an end as I hear you, grieving alone
If only I had one more day, I’d breathe your dark reflection
to live with my love one more time ‘cos I’ll be here for your spirit to hold
staying forever as a longing, between your shadow and my soul.

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

In response to Thomas Plummer “Blue Insights Cultural Prompts — October 2020”: If I only had one more day I would…..

Blue Insights Cultural Prompts — October 2020

The Road Not Chosen Of His Remembered Reflections was originally published in Blue Insights on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A One-Line Poem

Grotesque greed for black-gold,
drenched the corrupted brains
to clamor over senate seats,
for once entrusted
now painted with rust
decaying into blighted beds
of venality.

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

Thanks to Robert Faron, Harper Thorpe, Kathy Jacobs, and the entire team of Chalkboard for the Chalkboard one-line poetry prompt Rust:

Rust on the Soul

The Rising Plume of Rust was originally published in Chalkboard on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

GiaB prompt #4 — Cooking

Morphing cookies from dough
to a mouthful-delectable treat,
oozing pure delicacies, will effortlessly
make you weak at the knees

So, grab a bowl and whisk the flour,
be it with baking soda or powder
mix it well, and grab on another
for the entranced buttery-batter

Remember, butter first, eggs next
with some granulated sugar pearls,
some mouthwatering vanilla essence
blessed with the bountiful snuggles

Now beat the batter,
till the creamier is the mixture,
Stir in some choco chips,
and toasted-chopped nuts to nurture

Roll out the cookie dough and
put the balls on a baking sheet,
Bake until golden brown to drool over
those caramelized-circular sweet

Serve on a splendid Austin spike-leaf platter
with ecstatic aroma waltzing,
surely, will swirl you in, into its
delicious dark-chocolate cravings.

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

May the odds be ever in your favor, may the cookies be ever of your flavor ;)

In response to the GiaB prompt “Cooking” by Victor Sarkin and Chirag.
Thank you, Somsubhra and Paroma for tagging me to participate in this delicious prompt. Navigate below to their beautiful pieces respectively:

• The Leaf’s Journey
• The Art of Cookery

GiaB will have a new prompt going live this Wednesday so, don’t forget to give it a whirl. Here’s a link to the current prompt:

Spice of Life

ChocoChip Cookies was originally published in Genius in a Bottle on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A One-Line Poem

a thread of your musings
lingers in my solitude,
for every night recites,
our tale of love to me
and every night weaves,
a garland of blooming stars for me.

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

Thanks to Cie Turvey, Harper Thorpe, Kathy Jacobs, and the entire team of Chalkboard for the Chalkboard one-line poetry prompt Bloom:

Bloom

Blooming Stars was originally published in Chalkboard on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A Letter to An Early Fall

Warm greetings to all the literary wanderers!

With another fall, another turned page, we’ve officially entered the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, that’s right, the jewel-toned season of autumn. As Alexander Smith says,

“In the entire circle of the year there are no days so delightful as those of a fine October when the trees are bare to the mild heavens, and the red leaves bestrew the road, and you can feel the breath of winter, morning and evening — no days so calm, so tenderly solemn, and with such a reverent meekness in the air.”

Autumn, the season of pensive beauty with a dazzling display of crimson leaves sparkling into wild colors and flowering ivy full of swallowtail butterflies, buzzing around, right before the silence of the bleak and bland winter. Just like my words lingering with the embracing sweetness entrenched in its melancholic analogies.

After all, autumn has always been a season of our soul, we, the poets who splatter the seasonal symbols from our palette of words and paint a rhythmical creation of beauty. When we pour our soul into something, we adorn and cover the empty spaces through our emotions recollected in tranquility and so we shine through it.

With this fleeting transition of the season rolling just around the corner, from days growing crisp to deciduous trees to Halloween, now is the perfect time to delve into some prime readings. And to induce you into the ambiance of fall, let’s celebrate this autumn’s arrival with some coruscating pieces of our writers which you can enjoy along with your seasonal drink of choice. Cheers!

Here are the stories of our writers of Literary Impulse for the Friday edition:

The one I ran away from by uneditedstories (Non-Fiction)
Mixed Emotional Journal by Suntonu Bhadra (Poem)
Of Your Eye by Jessica Lee McMillan (Poem)

Also, make sure to take a look at the whole new makeover of our website of Literary Impulse and let us know how it looks:

Literary Impulse | Quarterly Literary Journal

If you would like to contribute, read the submission guidelines here:

Submission Guidelines — Literary Impulse

Do check the website for all the previous editions of Literary Impulse:

Literary Impulse | Quarterly Literary Journal

That’s all for now!
Keep sending us more of your beautiful pieces of artistic words. Do follow us on social media to stay updated and keep supporting us!
Stay safe and Have an excellent fall!

Sneha Mankar
Editor, Literary Impulse

Editorial — Nachi Keta, Somsubhra Banerjee, Priyanka Srivastava, Bradley J Nordell, Erica N, Elisabeth Khan, Sneha Mankar

Season of the Poets' Soul was originally published in Literary Impulse on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A One-Line Poem

As two string of souls intertwined
melting in each other’s embrace,
a splice of incense magic tied them
in the cocoon of love;
forming an amalgam of hearts.

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

Thanks to Michael.Trent, Harper Thorpe, Kathy Jacobs, and the entire Chalkboard team for the Chalkboard one-line poetry prompt Splice:

Splicing Delicious Dissonance

Intertwined Souls was originally published in Chalkboard on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

Paper Poetry Prompt#3

Shackled between a rock and a hard place
in the hopeless state of inadequacy,
a warrior and a pearl of timeless wisdom,
Prince Arjuna reinforced his power of choice

the choice to commit sin or to let the peace prevail,
to wage war upon the hearted-ones
or to gain the rulership over them

Sitting on the fence of trembling motivations
with fleeting emotions and dubious sensations
far from the fear of defeat and the greed for power,
his wise and immortal soul kept dwelling in the mortal body

for him to follow the path of one that endures
humanity and honor, of morals and values.

for him to not to despair over the deaths
but to fight for the eternal value of justice.

Footnote: This piece of poetry interprets the dilemma of the Prince Arjuna to choose between the alternatives having moral conflicts.

The Bhagavad Gita (also known as Gita) is part of the epic Mahabharata.
The epic describes the war between the Pandavas and the Kauravas on the battlefield of Kurukshetra. The Gita is the discourse given by Lord Krishna (identified as God) to Prince Arjuna (one of the Pandavas) just before the war is about to begin. His words contain the essence of Vedic wisdom and the keystone of Hinduism.

Here’s what Lord Krishna advised to Arjuna to convince him to fight in the battle:

“You have the right to work, but never to the fruit of work. You should never engage in action for the sake of reward, nor should you long for inaction. Perform work in this world, Arjuna, as a man established within himself — without selfish attachments, alike in success and defeat.”

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

In response to Paper Poetry Prompt#3 ‘Between a rock and a hard place’ by Amy Marley. Thank you Suntonu Bhadra for letting me be a part of the amazing Paper Poetry journey.

Paper Poetry Prompt# 3

Mystic Musings of Battle was originally published in Paper Poetry on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A Series of Tanka

sing to me, summer
when air hums with butterflies
and golden sands gleam
in bloom, making blue skies dance,
on a summer’s splendid tune.

sing to me, autumn
when leaves begin to flutter,
carpeting frosted
lawns, forming a Tom Thomson’s
painting, in a dusky-dawn.

sing to me, winter
when hills adorned in shades of
silver kisses the
sky’s lavender glace, in
an eve of winter’s embrace.

sing to me, the spring
when footprints of winter melt,
with musky fragrance
awakening earth, and lifts
the wild gusty breeze with mirth.

sing to me, seasons
like a song of colorful
waves of delight, from
the sun showering blessings,
finding calm, in the twilight.

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

Thank you for the tag, Imad :)
Here’s his beautiful piece of a response to the prompt:

A Seasonal Song

Sing Me, Seasons was originally published in ILLUMINATION on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

A One-Line Poem

a void within,
sings the curse of a sacred womb
left with slicing emptiness,
for once filled with a baby spiraling in,
now carved into a hollow of nothingness.

Footnote: Miscarriage or abortion may leave a permanent hole within the soul that never really closes. Grief is a process. Learn to acknowledge the strength of the alteration of your being.
Peace be with the bereaved ones 🙏

© Sneha Mankar
Thank you for reading :)

Thanks to Jennifer Marie Gady, Harper Thorpe, Kathy Jacobs, and the entire Chalkboard team for the Chalkboard one-line poetry prompt Spiraling:

Spiraling Out of Control

An Empty Womb was originally published in Chalkboard on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.