Astarte’s Romance by Emily Bowles
Priestesses instruct you to say the prayer.
Hieroglyphs carved on a sarcophagus.
You spoke the language of a heretic.
Votaries taught you to worship Astarte.
But then they forgot her for the Bird-Fly,
disloyal--they now pray with the mantis.
You fall prostrate before Astarte in prayer,
your body prone at her sarcophagus.
Longing for her, your goddess—Astarte.
Longing for her—but left with the mantis.
You crouch at her altar, where the Bird-Fly
seduces you, makes you a heretic.
Once Astarte’s power was its own prayer.
Priestesses yield now to the heretic,
Emissaries of the necro-mantis,
Who leads you down toward a sarcophagus.
Without beauty, body, she is not Astarte,
Simply a woman swatting at a fly.
Disbelieving, she enters the sarcophagus,
and you leave, seeking the mantis.
You will only worship one that can fly.
Still, you want her to remain Astarte.
Still, you want to be her own heretic.
Still, you worship her; you chant her prayer.
Conventional words, hollow, rote prayer.
Your voice echoes in the sarcophagus.
You call for her: Ishtar, Astarte,
even as you choose that Bird-Fly.
Her shrines desecrated by the mantis,
you do not know how to be a heretic.
She loved you when you were a heretic.
She loved you when you worshipped the mantis,
even though you dug up her sarcophagus,
replaced it with a shrine for the Bird-Fly.
Astarte’s beauty, body, is your prayer:
For you, this offering, Astarte.
Heretics all speaks a prayer to the Bird-Fly, the mantis,
As you crawl before Astarte in her sarcophagus.
For Henet, a Pier by Emily Bowles
Hands overflow with fish, my offering
to Henet, her wings open, bill empty.
She preens and preys as sea meets sky, dawning.
On the peer, the wave hits me, salt-stinging,
and I reach into the basket, humbly.
Hands overflow with fish, my offering.
Pink fingers, silver bait disappearing.
Fish guts abound, and I am still hungry.
She preens and I pray in this dawning.
My basket empties. There is whispering
that sounds like a conch shell’s call, a plea.
I reach for her, hands wet, without an offering.
Fish guts abound, and I am still hungry
for something I cannot find in this sea.
I preen as she preys in this dawning.
That pelican is a mother appearing
like me: her mouth open yet empty.
My hands, once overflowed with my offering
of prey, prayers, now fail her in our dawning.
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TWO WHEELS MOVE THE SOUL by Akshaya
Many a times have I visited Bangalore but never in my lifetime have I went with deepak. But for Deepak I wouldn't have got a kick out of my college days. He was my only belief and comfort. Our friendship is born at the moment when he said me "what! You too? I thought I was the only one". Luckily that was the end of all the examinations, unmindful of our performance in it, we marched towards Bangalore, a great spot to pick as our escape from our home town that was approximately 180 kms. Bangalore,the capital of Karnataka and the center of high-tech industry. Since the last over a decade the city was more known as a software belt. Bangalore was popularly known as silicon valley of India. It was endowed with lots of breathe taking tall residential and commercial buildings, the metro has taken its place, enough traffic jams, few malls and parks. Two wheels moved our soul and we used all the highways and byways to the destination.we both had train of thoughts about the city and never a little less of our expectations we lived at that moment. We were welcomed to the green city with the cool breeze that made our hairs to stand erect. we reached at almost in dawn. We stopped over a leading residency and rested erstwhile, got refreshed ourselves, had breakfast. With much enthusiasm we pedalled to the metal and reached the Iskcon temple. It was located on Hare Krishna Hills. Everyone ought to follow the regulations preventing any chaos. One had to climb many stairs to reach the actual shrine,where it was serene. They gave us a card with chants written on it for us to recite. We ended up with the prasad. Unfortunately on our way back, it rained heavily. It rained as if it had never rained. Within few seconds we drenched completely. The torrent downpour lasted for four hours during which all activities came to a standstill. Meanwhile we had our lunch in nearby restaurant. As a great admirer of art, Deepak urged to catch up the sight at gallery. We reached Da Vincian Art Gallery in another half an hour. The beautiful pieces of art were showcased and it really served as a window for the people to come face to face with the awful talent of the local artists. Our next move was towards Cubbon park, situated near Gandhi Nagar. Lying in the heart of the city, adorned with trees, flowerbeds and rolling lawns. It was apt for the people who look for peace and solitude. The fairy fountains in the park attained a magnificent look that was beyond description in the evening when they were lit. It was decorative and musical rendering of dreamy mood. With the flooded pictures in our camera we decided to head towards malls. We moved, searched and shopped a gift to exchange as a token of love. Seven years of love was revealed in our gifts. I was at cloud nine. Tears rolled down my cheeks and words was taken away. For the first time I felt like I ever felt. As a friend, we reached Bangalore and departed with love. Deepak, biggest asset of my life was mine after the tremendous trip. Finally we were running out of time and we had distance to cover up. With shutkicking memories we speeded back with happiness in our heart and carrying memories that would last a lifelong.
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