Author Archives: Rohini Sunderam

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About Rohini Sunderam

Semi-retired copywriter, writer, poet and occasional blogger
Sep16

Is there a place in this world?

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From Rupali’s blog to FictionPals.

rupali66's avatarwordsofhope

Is there a place in this world

where there are no wars, only peace?

Where happiness soars in the sky

and people love each moment of their life?

Is there a place in this world

where no one is big, no one is small?

Where no one’s heart is made of ice

and everybody speaks in one voice?

Is there a place in this world

where there is no corruption?

Where every life has sweet beginnings

and, free from sins, has happy endings?

Is there a place as such?

Or is it just a dream?

Like a bubble in the stream

which bursts at the softest touch.

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Sep14

Job 28:1

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Two things happened. I received, as i regularly do, a reading from the Bible Job 28:1 (There are mines where silver is dug; There are places where gold is refined. 2 We dig iron out of the ground And melt copper out of the stones) and found the imagery wonderful and truly quite awesome. Then a day or two later I read about the Onegin Stanza also called a Pushkin Sonnet.  With these two influences buzzing around in my head I have created the following piece with two Onegin stanzas ending in a set.

I hope it works for you, although I think a modern free verse attempt may have captured the grandiose emotions a bit better. Perhaps another day.

There are mines where silver is dug, and found

Places where our gold is refin’d

We dig for iron right out of the ground

And stones we melt for copper to find

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Sep2

The Miracle

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Another poem from Rupali!

I looked up towards the sky

To where the great eagles fly.

The clouds were passing by

In shades of grey and white…

Read it on Rupali’s page!

Aug25

Trap in a Steel Dawn

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Still grey. In the whisper-quiet of a steely dawn a man with a stubbly beard comes whistling ever so softly as he sets a trap.

The trap is vicious. Its teeth horrid. Its jaws gaping, but there is no bait. He places the trap on a partly sandy, partly grassy mound, not far from a semi-ruined house, then turns and vanishes into the soft grey mist.

Is it real or does his ghost chuckle quietly at the aspect of a tired young man leaning against the rubble-remains of a pillar? He is a strange young man. His clothes are of an indeterminate age. His hair is neither long nor short. He seems extremely exhausted.

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Aug13

CHANDRIKA’S TRICK

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Long, long ago King Jagata, which means the world, lived happily with Queen Dharti Matá whose name means Mother Earth. Together they lived in a palace somewhere in northern India.

They were such happy people that every time they laughed the sunbeams danced. The courtiers and the servants smiled and sang to themselves as they went about their duties.

Way back then, the seasons were mild and they came and went, as they should. Everyone was happy. Everyone that is, except lonely Chandrika, the moon queen. She was fine for a few years living alone up in the dark night sky. And for a while she quite enjoyed being the Queen of the night.

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Aug11

The Storm – a new poem on Rupali’s Page

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Drum Roll…

Trumpet flourish…

We have another rhythmic, lyrical poem from Rupali…

The Storm

The night was dark

The wind did howl

The streets were empty

The tramps didn’t prowl…

See the rest on Rupali’s Page

Aug8

A review on The Flaneur

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This summer I had a lovely break in London. And in the few days that I was there I took in a show – my favourite play Shakespeare’s Macbeth performed a little differently at The Rose Theatre.

This was one of several diversions during the week and having written a review that’s appeared in that wonderful international art blog The Flaneur I thought I’d share it with readers who might visit FictionPals..

Do check out my review as well as the rest of the mag.

Look out for more, I hope to start really writing again.

Jun21

The Pearl Divers’ Songs

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Their music was so strange and distant
From hymns they sang straight to the sea
Or praises raised to mighty Allah
Those lovely songs, that fidjeri

Above the waves of Bas Ya Bahr*
The Nahhaaam raised his melody
Along with him the clappers played
The jahlah or mirwas, plaintively.
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Jun6

Panchatantra – The Fall and Rise of a Merchant

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For those of you who may recall

The last of our Panchatantra tales 

We had Dama-na-ka, our hero brave

About to share yet another sage tale

With Sanjeev-aka that noisy ol’ bull

And here’s the story, not in part, but full…

The Fall and Rise of a Merchant

“What story?” asked Sanjev-aka all agog

“Dantila, the merchant, the one who lost all

For he treated the royal sweeper like a dog

When Gorambha the sweep, came to the ball

That Dantila threw for his own wedding

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