#Honored to have the B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree sticker on my book:
Raman and Sunny: Middle School Blues
My book has now won the following awards and recognition:
B.R.A.G. Medallion Honoree
The Mom’s Choice Awards® Silver Award recipient
2015 New England Book Festival- Honorable Mention in Young Adult Category
2015 London Book Festival-Honorable Mention in Young Adult Category
2016 Los Angeles Book Festival-Honorable Mention in Young Adult Category
Pinnacle Book Achievement Award Winter 2016- Winner in Young Adult
Do view my book at:
It is available for sale in Paperback and kindle version on Amazon.com
Copyright © 2016 Fiza Pathan
ELSEWHERE APPEARS JOY
Rain blobs on phone screen
A message, backlight turns on
Rainbow shades appear
-Priyal B. Panchal
Copyright 2016 Priyal. B. Panchal
Sort of an attempt at Haiku!
Edit suggestions most welcome.
THIS IS WHAT I LOVE MOST ABOUT MYSELF
Every time I fall, I stand up back
Sometimes I laugh,
Sometimes only smile,
But I love the fact that
I don’t cry
I am never going to let myself get into crying like my best friend. She would cry even if the mistake was not hers. She would cajole her mind into believing that she was wrong, at least perhaps! I was pretty young back then when she had already seen most of life. When I would talk about playtime, she would talk of forgiveness. She taught me a lot about forgiveness. She taught me to forgive myself when my absolutely normal and natural narcissistic defense mechanism sprung up. How I wish I could infect her ideas about defense!
Sometimes, we learn from people
Having to teach us.
This is what I love most about myself.
Copyright 2016 Priyal B Panchal
Au Naturel Angst of an Athazagoraphobic
At three I call up to remind that we are meeting at seven
At five again.
At twenty to seven to tell, I am already there
At twenty past seven to tell, come right away if you really care.
At eight to tell, come or just go to hell
(Though that is not what I mean… I mean well,
Come … come… come your heart is where my heavens dwell)
At ten, you come and we are together for two hours
Eating chocolates, smelling flowers,
Reading, singing, two lost lovers.
At two I call to tell, separation is immeasurable sorrow
We’ve got to meet the very coming morrow.
At thirteen past three to confirm
For a day’s longing is a long long term!
At eight to tell, I am missing you already
So tomorrow, don’t be late, be ready.
At ten when I call, you avoid my call
I try hard, but end up banging my head on the wall.
At every two minutes past ten I kept calling again and again
How could you have missed my call then!
At eleven you tell me it’s been twenty hours you haven’t slept
I too try to sleep, but fear that nightmare wherein you left.
At three am, just like the day before, I wake with that same nightmare
Where not me, but somebody else, receives your love, your care.
At the lonely loft, there… upper side of my mind, dust soils blessed things
Particles of phobia settle fading faint my faith in fellow beings
Fear manifests as fidgety affections and care forged as wrong doings
I am a rocket propelled towards doom by my own feelings.
Copyright © April Windbow
Image courtesy: Pixabay
Winds circumference the circle of night
At tangent lies the unity of daylight
Each star, a center, shines its part
To be sucked invisible in the aftermath
Dance they till the spill of the hue
Waiting then till again sky draws blue
Womb shelter the sun finds there
Re-birthed moon metamorphoses where
A first kiss of intersecting circles
Sings random notes of breath pearls
Stringed underground the sky’s torso
On the horizon of the day’s shadow
A prologue to the geometry of 24×7
Written in stories of hell and heaven
The same old truth, perpetual nonsense
Propels the day and night to commence
“Tomorrows to come will hold echoes of today, won’t they?”
Copyright -Priyal Panchal