Autism: An Advocacy Initiative is a campaign programme of this webzine. We present an eAnthology of Poems, wherein 42 poets, with as many poems, spread across 19 nations [India (17), Mexico (4), Puerto Rico (3), Poland & Germany (2 each) and one each from Kyrgyzstan, Republic of Macedonia, The Netherlands, Viet Nam, Cameroon, Kenya, Japan, Italy, Egypt, Philippines, Spain, The USA, Republic of China, and Belgium)] participated. The Global Voices of the poets must reach the concerned authorities, the world over, including doctors, caregivers, parents and teachers. We hope to unite the Global Village for this cause. A Special Feature and a Different Truths exclusive. 

Content

1. Retrospective – Michele Baron
2. Me – Luz María López
3. Understanding – Eliza Segiet    
4. Soft Heart – Hristo Petreski
5. at the far end – Aprilia Zank
6. Meeting – Alicja Kuberska       
7. I am an autistic boy – Marian Eikelhof   
8. Non-Omnis Moriar (Ever) –Daniel Olivares
9. Spare that Pity – Lily Swarm
10. Everyday – Hussein Habasch
11. Early Morning Sun – Mai Văn Phấn   
12. Knowing Ourselves – Geethanjali Dilip
13. Not by my strength – Nnane Ntube
14. Special Child – Aabha Vatsa
15. Nina, an Autistic Child – Sarala Balachandran
16. Golden Thoughts! – Kiren Babal
17. Flapping Hands – Zulma Quiñones Senati
18. “Special” – Nancy Nndeke
19. Jared – Alicia Minjarez Ramírez
20. I love you, at 12 – Haydeé Zayas
21. Three Gogyoshi Poems – Taro Aizu
22. David is your name – Claudia Piccinno
23. My Neighbour’s Son – Atef Abdel Aziz
24. You must love me… – Virginia Jasmin Pasalo
25. Peeping into My Bundle of Joy – Deeya Bhattacharya
26. I am on a Journey – Sarika Sarkar Das
27. My Eyes Talk – Paramita Mukherjee Mullick
28. Somewhere in Between… – Sunila Khemchandani
29. Autism of the Heart– Sonali Majumdar
30. I am You – Aarti Mittal
31. All Thoughts of Love at the End of Seasons – Tzemin Ition Tsai
32. Autism – Nutan Sarawagi
33. Autistic Child – Anita Sahoo
34. I am Special – Vandana Bhasin
35. Just let me be – Sudeshna Mukherjee
36. The Speculo Tongue –  Rishikesh Kumar Singh
37. The Dilemma – Neelam Saxena Chandra
38. I am Autism – Sandra Saenco
39. Who is me, Inside Myself? – Irma Salcedo
    
40. Camouflage* or Because Fish Don’t Know – Payal Talreja
41. The Synaesthetic Lonely Ghost – Yuri Zambrano
42. A Special Mother – Nilakshi Roy

# 1. retrospective

I am a secret agent in my own life

asymmetrical

dependably unpredictable

at best

unheard, unseen, unremembered,

small

do — followed by re, followed by mi, sol, la — five notes out of eight,

degrees of proximity… close, and closer… blending 

scales of tonal beauty — so fluid, so easy

… what is that power normal people have

that they meet, talk, touch, laugh, live…

…and are not overlooked, nor looked away from;

not threatened, not overloaded, not caged-in,

not knotted —

and not afraid that, once opened,

hearts’ gates will never close,

though they might never again be opened

by those whom I, longing, let enter?

music, and colours; numbers, and patterns,

so easy — like wings —

to touch without touching,

… but… if only… to learn, at last, to reach, to fly, to hold —

feeling, without fleeing

…harmonious

©Michele Baron

Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

 

# 2. Me

voices

rip my mind

like thunder to light

through the most hidden walls within me
 – cracking my ears –
        touch 

my fingers are darts of energy

each breaking another expectancy around me
rhizomes popping over and over
– hitting an awkward reality –

               emotion
so many faces!
traits to attempt and grasp
– moods like pins in the toes –

                      mind

harmony

flowing cloud inside me

kaleidoscope of dreams
   emerging
            flying

                  butterflies

    – euphoria –

where I feel

     unique

        scintillating     

             free!

©Luz María López

    Puerto Rico

# 3. Understanding

Since I can remember

I have felt the best with only myself.

I did not like it when someone

hugged, kissed, rumpled.

I edged away, fought back,

I did not want to be caressed.

I do not have to, I do not want to, I cannot…

I cannot, I cannot, I cannot…

I know it more and more often.

It sunk in!

Be like everyone else?

I am not, I am not, I am not…

That’s how I was born.

They think I am sick,

it’s not a disease, not a disease, not a disease…

– only myselfness.

Myselfness, myselfness, myself…

A state in a closed world

where

you do not need compassion,

kisses

– but understanding. 

 ©Eliza Segiet

   Poland, Cracow

   Translated by Artur Komoter

 

 

 

 

 

# 4. Soft Heart

It seems I have a soft heart,

Softer than kaymak and young cheese.

No, it is stronger when it has to

Keep going,

And pretend not to see it is crying on inside

  

My heart is stronger than softer dust

Strong as corn flour,

Howling at night, moaning and weeping at day,

But it is important that it does not cry before it is time.

Cry washes eyes,

And enhance sight.

It must be I am some terrible type and beast

Because I have only one heart for crying,

But it is also for surviving, (self)destruction and escape! 

©Hristo Petreski

 Skopje, Republic of Macedonia

 

 

 

 

 

# 5. at the far end

the afternoon dragged itself

towards an indelible evening

there was a chill in the air

a stir among drying leaves

there was silence along the canal

flowing idly

to a vague embayment

and then there was a murmur

a lament

a litany

or rather something

still in search of a name

no one to see around

the place deserted

no bikers, no dog walkers

and then it was there

it was in the waves

water weeds caressing

the nakedness of his body

floating with fallen leaves

a boy a man a boy

humming himself a lullaby

weaving a net of algae and ghosts

unaware

of the chill in the air

of falling leaves

bathing in bliss

in beams of chastity

at the far end of the canal

sirens uniforms ambulances

shrill voices

cutting through the thin air

it was a cold day in November

the evening fell like the leaden gate

in a windowless, mirthless abode

no falling leaves

no tender weeds

no fondling ripples

around one’s wrists

©Aprilia Zank (Germany)

 

 

 

 

 

# 6. Meeting

We are in the same room,
but we are staying in two different worlds.
An invisible border separates us
 – the eyes do not get through it
and words turn into silence.

Your look penetrates objects,
goes far beyond the room.
Every image is blurred in your thoughts.
I disappear and become transparent like air
I hope you guess, that I’m sitting next to you.

You are looking intensely at the whirling bug
and waving nervously with your hands,
as you would like to fly over the rainbow bridge of fantasy.
There you try to find a shelter on your lonely island,
where all your mind’s entrusted secrets are guarded.

I smile again and give you a colourful toy.
You avoid my touch and with a cry retract your hand quickly.
I want to penetrate the barrier of our mutual pain,
free you from a dimension filled with loneliness,
in which there is no place for another human being

©Alicja Maria Kuberska

   Warsaw, Poland

 

# 7. I am an Autistic Boy

 

It will be enough for me
look into your eyes
so full of unexpected emotions
for only a few seconds
in order to observe the turmoil 
deep within,
discover it’s multiple disorder disguises,
hidden agendas and untold secrets
amidst the dark mirrors of your goals.

So very tender is the soft embrace of 
your presence even if we share

only the couch even though we don’t talk.

Don’t look me in the eye
for a length of time 
I will explode feeling powerless 
without warning
In whatever context, randomness 
I’ll destroy all on my way.

Full of tenderness
yet desperate 
don’t push me over the edge
my beloved guide
I might have other ways 
of looking at things
of coping 
not to frustrate you 
make you feel sad.

If you trespass the boundaries of my structures,

break into my safety zone
with dogshit all over your shoes
and carelessness
I’ll never come back
Not in the furthest universe
You’ll see me return

My love isn’t silver
My heart is golden
I am an autistic boy.

©Marian Eikelhof

Rotterdam, Netherlands

 

 

 

 

 

# 8. Non-Omnis Moriar (Ever)

For I’m just me

… and you, if anything, the distant rumour that accompanies me.

He/she// you/they will never figure after any horizon.

Palpitating blood and (however) never us

without guilts aimed at you …

Biology and history rivers and all for what?

There the men and their crudest wars;

here the mere deeds of the ephemeral life.

Blurred triangles; Circular squares completely concentric…

Kind gods they already are.

Warmth in the morning; never cold in the heart.

The light is my music.

My silence is a sea.

Tomorrow is today.

The here is the everything.

© Daniel Olivares Viniegra

México City, México

 

#9. Spare that Pity 

I don’t want to be stared at for I don’t sit on a museum shelf

I live in a house with my parents and siblings 

Don’t judge me harshly if I play with my own fingers and sit or fidget in corners for hours 

The grating sound of the loudspeaker terrifies me 

As much as the drone of the fan irks 

Don’t mind me if I don’t look you in the eye when you speak 

I wish I could you know 

They say my communication skills are poor but my maths is great you see 

I can play that piece of music in a jiffy and I love creating magic with my paints 

I hate being touched or embraced by all, if only you knew my heart 

I can sit for hours with my blocks and repeatedly play with the same toy 

What can I do if I simply have to repeat the same word all over again 

Love me please like you love my sister 

Perhaps just a little more each day?

I am a flower of a blue hue which you must know well 

I need the world to understand me,

Please spare that pity for someone else!

©Lily Swarn

 Chandigarh, India

 

 

 

 

 

# 10. Everyday

Everyday

I pass along the madhouse.

From the third floor’s window

a woman shows up.

She cries: Help, I need help.

I say to her: I need that also!

She raises a wry laugh

And asks me: Are you mad like me?

All seriousness, I answer: Yes, sure.

She shakes her head and says:

Then, we will prevail!

To here, I raise the sign of victory

that is going to lose anyway

and I go ahead.

 

©Hussein Habasch

  Germany – From Afrin, Syria

 Translated by Azad Ekkaş

 

 

 

#11. Early Morning Sun

Water collected at the mountain’s feet

A pebble was lying on a high rock

Without blinking in pristine solitude

Last night it rained

Who had been sitting there before or after heavy rain

All of a sudden I missed you, truly missing

I dared not look elsewhere

Or let the blue sky penetrate my heels

A heavy rain, truly heavy

Had given a bath to the little pebble

This single image by itself

Made me wildly enraptured with life

It seemed the early morning sun was enveloping the mountaintop

And rendered transparent the earth, and the trees.

©Mai Văn Phấn 

   Viet Nam

  Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn, Edited by Susan Blanshard

 

 

 

 

 

# 12. Knowing Ourselves

The bubble of pristine love nestled in my womb as I went heady,

Nine months warbled in my aching feet as I took my steps giddy,

My heart thudded with excitement as I held his hand waiting for the day,

But we both never realised that an angel came our way to stay,

What could I know of angels when I’ve only read of them,

I held a priceless flower within me and I was just a stem,

Our world became a dream like a charming fairy tale book,

Until the day this angel had eyes everywhere but into our eyes did not look,

Every little sound a hazard and every loud voice a threat.

We had to beg friends to not visit for only doctors we met,

Such an immaculate soul was our angel who never did articulate,

We broke our heads and read up stuff all ends in a debate,

This angel would have tantrums as if he/ she lost her way,

And landed in a cruel world where even flowers held that soul in sway,

Except for tantrums beyond our understanding, there was only silence,

Till the day ten slender fingers played the music of divine innocence,

But foolish minds we carry waiting for baby prattle and babble,

We drowned ourselves in anxiety missing the music inimitable,

By now we were told that our child fell into a so-called spectrum,

And that our love’s labour flower was different, special in an arboretum,

Every day now a struggle for we battle to understand that mind,

But one thing we learned as parents are that it’s us we need to find,

For we were granted a rare blessing too pure to exist in this world,

Sometimes we think we see a halo around our child’s head in sleep peacefully curled,

Autism is just a name for all that is beyond our vision,

How blind we are about our own selves claiming perfection,

Today we know that love is all that’s needed to give angels a place,

On this earth which is not for such beatific souls, we may put in a rat race.

©Geethanjali Dilip

 Salem, India

 

# 13.  Not by my Strength

I know my voice is voiceless

A deaf ear won’t cure my muteness

I know you see me from a distance

Your love could be a pittance

Hug me tied…Let my heart to thine be tied

Let my sorrow sing to thee, my strength revived will be

My brain is dark inside…Shadows in it reside

Downgrading my faithful sight; as it dangles, perception sighs

Sorry, I can’t catch your sight

If I look at you and cannot see you, it’s not by my strength,

It’s the game my cells play and the strolls my mind entertain

If you’ve noticed me keeping mum, it’s not by my strength.

The words are tied in the machine that gives them ease to flow

My speech is tied up in my brain, the reason I can’t connect

My mind has compressed my bodily strength…I’m weak, I need your help

If I’m not as strong and vibrant as Marie, it’s not by my strength

I may be stronger in what you ignore

Hold me with care and you will be amazed by the outstanding result I’ll have

I may not be just the way you are

I may not be just the way you expected me to be

I may not connect properly with you

But know my difference makes me unique

As much as it hurts you, know it hurts me more

For it’s not by my strength

Adorn me with your hugs…Cover me with kisses

Make my life a bliss be, and anxiety from me will flee, the mind will be renewed

This litany of my mystery should trigger your interest;

A bait for your attention…And make history

For I ain’t an anti-social, just the brain playing games with me

©Nnane Ntube

  Cameroon

 

 

 

 

 

 # 14. Special Child

I am a special child, destiny’s favourite
And I love my multicoloured autism bracelet.
I can sing and dance all I want
But painting is really what I want.

The colours speak to me tales of nature
And sometimes I also paint caricatures
Brilliant hibiscus or sacred lotus
I love to paint them in perfect focus.

My studio is an alive gallery
With paintings of bright cranberries
It is my little kingdom of colour and splash
Never does one painting with another clash.

My favourite art teacher is so funny
She teaches me nature’s articulate beauty
My best friend always steals my paintings
And she goes about school campaigning.

Soon I am going to exhibit my work
Mum and Dad want me to make a mark
I dream of exhibiting my work in Paris
O yes! I have planned a series on Iris!

©Aabha Vatsa

New Delhi, India

 

 

 

 

# 15. Nina, an Autistic Child

Nina behaved in an unusual manner 

From small 

Repeating over and over the same thing 

And loved being left alone 

With her toy dog 

Which she won’t let anyone touch 

She sometimes loved colouring pictures but for a short while!

Everything she did was short-lived!

She gets moody often and is drawn 

Into a shell!

In the school she found it 

Difficult to understand what 

The teacher is teaching 

Repeatedly asking the teacher 

Got the teacher irritated 

She would cry alone in a corner 

When her brother’s friends 

Come home and played 

She hated the noise 

She would alone sit with her 

Mother whom she won’t spare 

For a minute 

She was so possessive about 

Her mother and her toy dog 

She became too quiet

And sometimes lost her temper 

Throwing up tantrums!

Parents got worried 

And took her to a psychiatrist 

He found her to be an autistic child 

And advised parents she is a special child and needs to have cared for her 

In a special way but treat her normally! 

She improved with care but needed much more care!

©Sarala Balachandran

  Kolkata, India

# 16. Golden Thoughts!

Blue is the colour of my sky

Deep blue, a course of my eyes

Dreams embedded in this ocean

Love to realise them on my own.

The bells ring in my ears

I listen to them far and near

My stories I tell to one and all

But sigh! No one lends their ear.

I have a world of my own

Come join let’s laugh aloud

Strange it is to see, I laugh, you cry,

Why can’t we laugh together and enjoy?

Blue is my world, blue is the sky,

Golden thoughts, I weave my world,

Take a dip if ever you could

You’ll understand there’s no sadness at all.

©Kiren Babal

New Delhi, India

# 17. Flapping Hands

 

You do not hear the music that beats inside me.

It is so beautiful that my hands cannot resist.

They soar like pigeons, they fly through the sky.

they do not go crazy, they dance their own style.

Deep inside me, they flap touching the mists.

The world does not exist when that music hits.

My unruly hands love it.

I am seduced by the rhythm.

There is no other place to roam

but deep in my soul.

Sometimes it starts soft

and rises to a whirling turmoil.

You cannot hear it, it is for me solely.

 The blinking melody flies to my hands.

It turns into paintings that I can stare at.

Sometimes it is sweet and soft as dragonflies’ wings,

others strident and ambiguous like a wandering bee.

Do not dare to stop my hands, they love to flutter

like butterflies in search of the most precious flowers.

Do not ask me to look at you if another world is at sight,

made for me only, with everything that fits in my mind.

©Zulma Quiñones Senati

Puerto Rico

# 18.  “Special”

 

Special is truly special,

As in gift and anniversary celebration,

Yet,

There is special,

That tears bring, changing status forever,

That’s the child abled differently,

Slower to catch up, slower to play,

Slower to walk, slower to speech,

But still creators beautiful gift,

Misunderstood, often overlooked, or even deserted,

Worse for some, abandoned, and or abused,

Why O why? A child autistic is a child still,

Needing just a little more tenderness to bloom,

Needing just a little more support to pick life’s rhythm,

Needing just a little more encouragement to fly,

And so s/he should,

For life is divine regardless of the circumstances,

An autistic child needs a helping hand to bloom,

And stand on his/her own,

If only love and support give in fair,

Not condemnation, nor belittling,

Not shame but love and support with tender loving hearts.

©Nancy Ndeke

Nairobi, Kenya

 

 

 

 

 

# 19. Jared

(Tribute to my autistic student)

Your eyes are sailing

The blue of the sky,

Furrowing every part of the universe.

Where do you lose your look?

Where does the search begin

And then nothing ends?

Your gaze on the horizon

Squad anxiously

A white dot in the sky;

Everything is blue,

Shine with splendour

Of childhood

And the enormous intelligence

That God has placed over you.

Smiles evaporate silences,

Nuances rugged walls

Of consciousness in your person;

There is nothing to fear,

Smiling you take your place again

In the classroom

Silent…

Your look is lost

Concentrating on exercises to perform.

Every day your eyes question

The heavens.

Today your search – resignation ends,

Finding a grey sky

Full of clouds.

You start in tears,

Which torrent collides with the sea.

With mechanical movements

You extend your tongue strongly,

Oscillates from one side to another

Wanting to pull it out

Completely…

Who could alter the climate

To always hold your smile.

Nobody is unfazed!

For all children it is normal

Contemplate Jared fearing the clouds.

©Alicia Minjarez Ramírez

 Mexico

# 20. I Love You, at 12

To Minerva & Mayra

She had 2 when the diagnosis

or the label, or finding, or judgment

in a sterile tone, appropriate for a doctor

Minerva has autism.

I knew it, I knew that something was different,

a mother always knows.

The translation of that statement was

Minerva is special, a warrior, a teacher.

I was told that she will never walk,

at 7, I guess bored of walking,

she learns how to ride a bike.

Also ate by herself for the first time.

At 8 she said Mommy and I cried.

At 9 she learned reading and started writing.

Although the therapy was underway for years

at 10 she was almost a jockey

mastered the art of horseback riding.

Minerva was 11 when I got her Teddy, her dog.

Only with Teddy, she demonstrates emotions.

Only with Teddy, she cries sometimes out of frustration,

but never for unhappiness.

Minerva is a happy girl.

At 12 she said I LOVE YOU

for the first and only time so far.

A profound, definitive, forceful I LOVE YOU.

She is 20 now.

One day, at her own pace, time and drive

Minerva will be independent and will work with animals.

One day, the last memory that I’ll have,

before I died, is Minerva’s voice, at 12, saying I LOVE YOU.

©Haydée Zayas-Ramos

  Puerto Rico

 

# 21.  Gogyoshi Poems

(5 lines each)

A Seed

Even though

I’m old,

I have a seed

that will bloom someday,

deep in my mind.

Our Differences

 

I’m different from you.

You’re different from me.

Let’s respect

not only our similarities

but our differences.

Earther
I want to be an Earther

who can cross

not only political borders

but cultural frontiers

without any prejudice.

©Taro Aizu

Japan

 

 

 

 

 

22. David is Your Name

(Poem dedicated to a child with autism)

Where did your gaze stop David?

You fell on a detail in order not to see the whole.

It is not easy to decipher the compass of the senses

in the chaos of social stimuli.

And how will I support the reward

of that troublesome biology?

To observe the failure in the connection

among your sensory abilities

it is an enormous effort for us, the “so-called normal ones”.

To compensate with gestures to a shared attention,

to take you to clarify a request,

these are compelling purposes in my head.

David is your name,

you’re not for me a diagnosis

or a variant or a flaw of genetic architecture,

a disregarded expectation,

an early or late intervention,

an impaired brain plasticity,

a spectrum disorder.

David is your name

the child who loves the detail. . .

I’ll wear your look,

I ‘ll listen to your confused stereotypy

I’ll go down to cross the object that attracts you

so as to shorten the distance

that keeps you confined in a room.

© Claudia Piccinno

    Italy

 

 

 

# 23. The Neighbour’s Son

The little boy who used to wave at me

From his balcony,

Is no longer there.

The little boy at whose feet

My ruthless dog used to sleep,

Is no longer there.

In his place, now stands a porcelain flower pot

In which a single sunflower, undulates and curls.

As of now,

I have to start my day without his wave,

Which never once changed its direction

In the air.

It was the wave at which,

My passion for staying alive began

And meaningless words ended.

In a morning such as this,

Helpless and submissive to the sun

Much as an autistic child would be,

I can accurately count my inheritance in this world:

– A friend, who suddenly disappears in his solitude,

Open to the light.

– A sunflower swaying in the wrong direction.

– A sick dog, with a disease which causes him to scratch his skin,

Against the neighbour’s wall.

Whereas, I remained the same,

Continuing to wave at the empty space

Which took the form of the absent boy.

©Atef Abdel Aziz

 Cairo, Egypt

 

 

 

 

 

 # 24. You Must Love me…    

How are you today?

How are you today?

Have you eaten?

Have you eaten?

Oh, sweetie, you are beautiful!

Oh, sweetie, you are beautiful!

Come here, give me a hug!

Come here, give me a hug!

You keep repeating….

You keep repeating….

You must love me, too….

You must love me, too….

©Virginia Jasmin Pasalo

Philippines

 

 

 

 

 

# 25. Peeping into my Bundle of Joy

It’s a mystery

that envelops the frame of my soul

listless agony creeps all over me

my little one, my bundle of joy

cannot make out

the canopy of colours

She peeps through the sun

laughs at the breeze that soothes

makes a wondrous roaring cry

when sea-gulls fly over the surf and sea

We are out in the sun

missing the castles of sand which

Overwhelming children are shaping out

the mirth that outshines the little

 pebbles of joy I put in her lap pondering

over the myotonic dystrophy

that resides in her bones

The pink flesh her rough hands

she throws about her

weaving circles in the air

her curls of hair swinging all

over her face, she can barely manage

She yet is the syllable of joy from heaven

She’s my bundle of joy.

©Deeya Bhattacharya

Kolkata, India

 

 

 

 

 

 #26. I am on a Journey

I am on a journey,

Won’t you walk along with me?

I need you to help me

A person with a big heart.

I am on a journey

But I can’t reach there,

As my feet are very small.

Would you please stand beside me?

I am on a journey,

Life is sometimes fearful,

So I need your shoulders,

To hold my hands and clear my eyes.

I am a journey,

Where everyone judges me,

Will you be one?

Who will just love me unconditionally?

I am on a journey,

And my road is tough, and I need you desperately.

Will you hold me tight?

So that I won’t feel lonely.

I am on a journey.

Won’t you walk along with me?

I always need some with me.

A teacher, my parents and few big and strong.

 

©Sarika Sarkar Das

 Hyderabad, India

 

 

 

 

 

 

#27. My Eyes Talk

    

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

I want to say so much but I cannot.

 My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

My thoughts get bottled up and rot.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

Why don’t others understand me like you do?

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

Neither can I do mistakes nor can I undo.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

My eyes want to interact with others but they rotate in vain.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

They call me hyperactive but I am normal, not insane.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

I shake, I shake and I shake.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

I want to interact and be more awake.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

I want to be free and fly like a dove.

My eyes talk to you oh my mother!

Tell others I want nothing else but their love.

©Dr.  Paramita Mukherjee Mullick

 Mumbai, India

 

 

 

 

 

 #28. Somewhere in Between…

I can hear strange noises, why can’t you hear

My mum does and she holds me close to her

She held me last night when I yelled aloud

But what will I do if she’s not around

I repeat and repeat same words, some sneer

My mum pats me, smiles, and keeps me cheered

I move a lot and think but lose the train

My mind hardly keeps quiet, often disdains

I want to obey but my mind lets not

So I react by being impulsive or shout

Like when my mum wanted me to finish lunch

My hand spilt the soup and I felt so dumb

I get frustrated when I can’t understand

Boys and girls in their games get me banned

I am like all kids trying to do my best

I love to be with them but they detest

Mum says I am unique and Dad concurs

I love both dearly and to show I hug

I am not a comma nor a full stop

I lie somewhere in between on top

©Sunila Khemchandani

 

 

 

 29. Autism of the Heart

Who are they? 

Who defines being normal?

People with narrow hearts?

Who defines verbal abilities?

Ears with known frequencies?

Who defines disabilities?

Ones with limited abilities?

No, I am not sarcastic, believe me, I only speak the truth.

I have seen

A life

Beautiful in itself 

Unique, endless

A divine creation 

An artistic sublimation

Undefined, undefeated 

Smiling with eyes, happiness has to be redefined.

Yes, Autism they called it

In a world of its own

Far from the known

Possibilities endless

He may hear sounds 

To which we are not prone 

He may see visions

Maybe talks to apparitions

He may see spirits

Or parallel worlds spinning

He needs no words

They have no meaning 

He can listen to hearts 

While we, the “Normal” suffer from “Autism” of the heart.

©Sonali Majumdar

Virginia, The USA

 

 

 

# 30. I am You

You neither hear me nor see me

Never you take heed of what I do what not

You pity me saying, “poor baby autistic baby”

But I pity you because you are rustic 

By your deeds by your oughts

You shall never see the beautiful world of my thoughts 

Where God has gifted me with language so different 

The language of emotions, in every grit of me

That needs ears to the heart of thee

You feel only the skin

But I feel the feel like a pricked pin

Dense and intense

With depth having no fence

I am autistic and autism speaks

To me, your humanity and intentions sneak 

You comment on me, to be sedentary 

Before I react that is elementary 

You can’t hear me and my gestures yell

I peal that too makes your tears fell

The colours of a rainbow smile in me

Bestowed with love immense nile in me

I am either calm or acrimonious 

But never, never as your thoughts ferocious 

I need just love and acceptance 

Understandings, and not rejections 

Embrace me and feel my allegiance 

I release all but defer love

With no repentance 

I have no regrets for my darkness in your eyes

It is a divine light and makes me wiser.

©Aarti Mittal

Mumbai, India

 

 

 

 

 

 #31. All Thoughts of Love at the End of Seasons

The gurgling sound of water is trying to drown the clouds high in the sky

Dead leaves did not cry

I was lying on the lush trunk

Listen carefully

I realised that I should not

Let

the poetry fell from my own arms

That letter sandwiched in it has been restless for seventeen years

I realised that I should not

Steal the seventeenth love word in the letter at that moment

And tore off my bright red heart as a seal

Against that chest a hole without a lid on it

Even if there lived the seventeenth love word I stolen

The west wind at the end of the season secretly told the green water

I can survive no more than seventeen years

A kiss inadvertently erased the mark on the seal

The mark is red as seventeen years ago

I did not know

Whether should use the seventeenth love word that I had stolen

To exchange the original red heart

©Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai

 Changhua, Taiwan (Republic of China)

 

 

 

 

 

 #32. Autism

 

A …automated we are not  

U …as real as You

T …don’t Test me

I …I am yours forever 

S … Sure I am you 

M…’M ‘always mine… remember

I thought Autism, it was beautiful 

people so unique so unusual 

life is boring all the same 

but they are the ones so special 

a love beyond all, unexplained as it goes 

gathering love becoming all 

it knows for they are Gods’ people 

born in love, in it inexplicable 

love me for me, don’t see beneath 

on the surface, I may seem weak 

but with you, I weep 

life see me as me, in your pity don’t pity me 

for I am strong as you 

not a weakling as you think 

I am you 

much stronger than the rest 

always at your behest, my best 

love me for me 

not the few morsels you throw at me 

for I am love made of Stone 

in your wrath to disown 

I was born just like you 

in my love, don’t blame you 

I am just you 

You

 

 ©Nutan Sarawagi

Mumbai, India

 

 

 

 

 

 #33. Autistic Child

Amongst a world, clustering around me
I have my own world
to which I belong
it’s not my fault
with my thoughts benign
often misunderstood by the world
as a handicap mind.

Different I am,
me, my own definition
beyond any precision
unknown to deceptiveness
untouched by any treachery
as a water drop on a lotus leaf
born in your mean world
yet an alien to it, totally detached
scorned to respond
my unicity, you could hardly understand.

Accept me, as I am
the way I am
bereft of any perception
oblivious to all the vices 
of mundane existence
I am,
God’s soulful creation.

©Anita Sahoo

Bhubaneshwar, India

 

 

 

 

 

 #34.  I am Special

I am a special child

I don’t aspire to compete with the world

Don’t dictate your success mantras

I don’t discern your money talks

I can’t comprehend your dialect

Your beliefs, your opinions, your judgment

I can’t fathom your fears

Your narcissism, your rationale, your failures

Don’t question my acumen

But ponder over your insipidity

Don’t be mystified by my conduct

But inhibit your impropriety

Don’t ridicule my innocence

But restrain your atrocities

Don’t lament my disability

But apprize my creativity

Don’t characterise me by names

Don’t ostracise me from society

For I am God’s special child

I too deserve some modesty

©Vandana Bhasin

 Gurugram, India

 

 

 

 

 

 # 35. Just Let Me Be

 
My vanilla sky is dotted and
lined with visions 
Why do I have to conform to 
other’s permission 
I do not intrude or impose 
Why do I have to be verbose 
Let me dwell in my own space 
Why entangle me in the cut-throat race 
In my mind, I surf and swerve 
Live through the strains with vim and verve 
Whether a savant or with an eidetic memory 
Let me be with my own vagaries 
Am I a misfit I think not 
Your world is unsafe and fraught
Look what you have done to your world 
Unleashed hatred divided spun intrigue and twirled 
I am happy to be me 
At peace can’t you see.

©Sudeshna Mukherjee

Mumbai, India

 

 

# 36. The Speculo Tongue

 

She never encountered with any –isms

the naive, bucolic mother in a shack

survived alone with her little angel

‘Samara’- yes- this is what she used to call her-

a gift from a Hebrew speaking traveller visited

her village a couple of years ago

‘Under God’s rule’ – he explained the meaning to her

now she thinks whether the curse was ‘under His rule’ indeed!

The jejune voice never experienced the lilt and cadence

only submitted to herself with twisted tongue and skewed lips

-labs filled with numerous speech therapists

podiums thronged with intellects, congested with

suffocating words and fluttering papers

defunct theories and absconded ideas

slithering on the tongues…shaping the lips in praise-

no use of all. She loves

to hear ‘mo…mmaa…’ but scared too

the fear of losing the social rhythm,

culturally imposed languages and lexicons

while transforming the little angel into a growing girl

standing in front of the mirror

the mother stretches her tongue out

no twirls…no turns…no twists…no play of words

she moves back to her daughter and

smiled seeing her reflection on the little tongue.  

©Rishikesh Kumar Singh

New Delhi, India

#37. The Dilemma

 

She was too flummoxed to realise

What is happening around her,

As the Doctor passed the final verdict,

“Your kid is autistic!”

She couldn’t even bring herself

To hold his hands

While she walked home

In nervous, unsteady steps.

She refused to put on

The ruby red lipstick that she adored,

She couldn’t bring herself

To apply mascara on her eyes.

For weeks she remained

Stupefied and numbed

As she watched the kids in neighbourhood

Play games, shout and jump.

One day, when her son

Embraced her tight,

She pushed him away

Stoically and unashamedly.

However, when she again looked at him,

Shedding tears silently,

She went and hugged him tight,

Implanting a little kiss on his forehead.

“Yeah, he is different,” she said to herself,

“But then, he is special to me,

He is my love

And shall remain so forever”.

Since then, she keeps changing her forms,

Sometimes a mother, sometimes a child;

She takes care of him with a maternal instinct,

But plays with him whenever he needs a friend.

©Neelam Saxena Chandra

New Delhi, India

#38. I am Autism

I am autism, not autistic.
I am substance, not accident.
I flow differently.

Shapes and colours dance
to the rhythm of my melody.
Let’s find our connection.

No clock ticking in my time,
I glide within, simple and free.
No structures defined.

My senses boil.

Often sensory overload
explodes and hurts inside

I seek protection from saturation.
Show me the rituals

of social relations.

Beneath the landscape we share,
you frenetically swim while;
I dive within patterns and details.

Be my voice, my link,
my eyes, my skin…
Patience

I am autism, not autistic.

©Sandra Saenco

Mexico

 

 

 

 

#39. Who is me, Inside Myself?

I would like today, hiding myself,

Under a stone,

within a cloud or into the sun

but, I just look out and

everything flies.

I can feel the air

I close my eyes

and I see my dreams

I moisten my lips

tasting the breeze

intense but soft,

moving only a single leaf,

the one in my landscape,

the other remains,

static, stoic,

My voice reminds me

an eternal monologue

They say like a lonely soul,

But it is not,

It is a dialogue, extensive, widened

                                                                  expanded

                                                                            dilated

Face to face

with me and my abstraction,

this reality is mine,

surreal, unique,

and

there is no weight

               there is no measure

©Irma Salcedo

México

 

 

 

# 40. Camouflage* or Because Fish Don’t Know

I watch you smile.

smile, smile, smile

and I learn that 

stretching my lips

is the right thing to do.

Like so. Pull your lips

till your teeth show.

I learn that people

like it, it’s as good as

a door to hide behind.

You rebuke me sharply,

when I pull my hair,

pull my hair, pull my…

Don’t! you say. For me

pulling my hair, is just

like smiling. But, don’t!

Like tapping my feet,

Like flapping my hands.

You teach me to sit

on my hands, when I 

can’t control my ‘crazy’.

You don’t know that 

under my thighs my

fingers metronome to

the tapping of my feet

soft as mice,(Phylum:

Chordata, Class: Mammalia, Order: Rodentia) because

you mustn’t know. 

You’re a good girl! 

I echo you. I always do, 

I’ve learnt you like it. 

A good girl,(Phylum:

Chordata, Class: Mammalia)

I say, showing my teeth,

pressing down with all 

my might, to keep hands still. 

Something’s trapped inside. Something that rattles 

the cage of my ribs, 

that bangs its head 

and stomps its feet, 

that flaps like a tired 

drowning bird

(Phylum: Chordata.

Class: Aves) fallen 

into a deep, deep, sea, 

that is not its element,

that it cannot fathom, 

that it knows is wrong

so wrong, so wrong,

though it’s urged by 

compassionate fish

(Phylum: Chordata

Subphylum: Vertebrata)

to just let go and see,

to sink, to let the water 

enter its air fed lungs, 

because fish don’t know

anything different.

*Note: ‘Camouflage: the ‘masking’ or suppression of autistic characteristics in social interaction, to blend in. More common in Autistic girls and women, but also found in boys

©Payal Talreja

 New Delhi, India

 

#41.  The Synaesthetic Lonely Ghost

We are neural networks, firing into darkness blazing torches.
No hope to my condition, no mercy to some continuous speaking minds.
             

Always, the peace dove wants to kiss me in this lonely lane.

But the reality is quite different, and we were not born in paradise.

Don’t be scared… maybe poetry can save the universe,
maybe grapes of wrath are for redemption, dreaming the releaser Arcadian.

Standing on the edge of my brainy precuneus
grey matter sparks some lights, turning on sounds
a belief in some pain makes me curious
connecting neurons in neat Sensurround:

Where is my loneliness?
Suddenly, tingling experiences awake.
Aware, I contemplate all my odd senses
isolated happenings are always real fake
whilst cruelness is gifting me more sensations.
I was a lonely doctor, healing with passion
wounded soldiers by bullets and lethal gas.

I am dreaming but I am deaf,

very far away of humans around me.
I was living alone…

Playing alone, interacting alone,

only nobody is my friend, reading the news by myself.

I lost the sounds of hopes
now I am grains of sand in an hourglass,
being an everlasting mind-game, covered by snowy sheets
hopeless, forgotten… flying on dreamy tweets.

Without any warning, a ghost appears within my sparkling neurons:

 

Dost thou love gently be caressed,

when are dreams not real feelings?

Thou shalt tell thy iterative dream!

Indeed, this ghost is advising me about some surprises:

Ancient speechless wars

a mental-ice ghost offering peace

Boooom… Quiescence once more!

One Pink’s song wakes up this ghost:
Is there anybody out there…

It is like the stream of consciousness caressing secluded rivers!

I am the shipwrecked surviving inside those rivers.

As the Rodin’s thinker, my synaesthetic-autistic delirium is yours

setting up a distance like petals of a volatile epidemic.

As a kind of DNA-quintessence riding on your soul

I am not waiting for anything.

No letters for nobody, no hope… no mercy.

Just waiting for fly, like my lonely ghost riding on imaginary friends,

waiting for our actions, only our actions.

Just demanding reality, like my lonely ghost speaking with me,

And I can ask indeed, Are you an autistic ghost limb?

Who can speak with me, about me:

I can hear you, don’t forget me…

 

© Yuri Zambrano

Belgium

# 42. A Special Mother 

I’m the special one, you see? 

He can trust only me, only me! 

His heart’s so big it knows no bounds 

Between sobs, wails and happy sounds.

He’s a bundle of many a contradiction 

Mostly out of your jurisdiction.

He can cry when you laugh out loud

And meltdowns can any moment cloud

Your happy day and starry night,

I must own him and you’re right,

He’s the one, my special child 

A little scruffy, a little wild! 

It’s not that I always understand,

But I’ll not want a magic wand 

To make him be what they call “normal”

I’m casual, and I like informal. 

He’s my funny bones, my funny face  

And oh yes! We’re out of the rat race! 

We live always in “quality time”

So I can learn with sweat and grime 

What it is to be so special:

Sometimes hostile, sometimes social.  

Sometimes so wise, but a little behind,

Sometimes stubborn, but always kind.

Sometimes moody, sometimes wild,

Sometimes lost, but a special child. 

No one can match that look of joy

When he sees me: my special boy! 

I’m so lucky I’m a special mother, 

I thank god he chose me and no other! 

Nilakshi Roy 

Thane, India

#EAnthology #Autism #AutismAwareness #AutismAnAdvocacyInitiative #Poems #Verse #Happiness #Life #Surprise #AutismAndChildren #DifferentTruths

Michele Baron, world-traveller/Fulbright Scholar presently living in Kyrgyzstan, published A Modest Menu: Poverty, Hunger, and Food Security, in Poetry and Prose, in 2015. A World Bank/Urgent Evoke-2010 top-ten-finalist, she develops outreach projects, writes poetry, prose, and non-fiction, is an active musician, painter, artist and “full-time” mother of three school-aged children. She has a self-illustrated book The Dreaming Rugs awaiting publication.

Luz María López: Poet, narrator, editor, translator, international cultural promoter and women’s rights advocate. Leads the World Poetic Front in Defense of Women’s Rights (WM) and Continental Director for World Festival of Poetry. She is a contributing editor at Different Truths. Nurtures multicultural friendships and fosters peace and social justice. Kathak Literary Award, Dhaka International Poets Summit, 2017; “Shaan-E-Adab” Award, XI International Festival of Writers, India (2016). She is from Puerto Rico, The Caribbean Island.

A Jagiellonian University graduate with a Master’s Degree in Philosophy, Eliza Segiet completed postgraduate studies in Cultural Knowledge, Philosophy, Penal Fiscal and Economic Law, and Creative Writing at Jagiellonian University, as well as Film and Television Production in Łódź. Her published poetry collections include Love Affair with Oneself; (2103), Thought Mirages (2014), Clearances (2015), Cloudiness (2016) and Tandem (2017).

Hristo Petreski is from Krushevo (Republic of Macedonia). He works as a professor at the University of Skoplje. Authored over 50 books (poetry, prose, critics, and essays). Won many international prizes. His works are translated into more than 20 languages. Founder and executive of Publishing house ‘Phoenix’ and Foundation ‘Macedonia present’. Chief Editor of magazines ‘Trend’ and ‘Literary Academy’. Member of Associated writers of Macedonia and honoured member of Associated Writers of Serbia.

Dr Aprilia Zank is a lecturer for Creative Writing and Translation from Germany. She is also a poet, a translator and the editor of two anthologies. She writes verse in English and German and was awarded a prize at the “Vera Piller” Poetry Contest in Zurich. Her poetry collection, TERMINUS ARCADIA, was 2nd Place Winner at the Twowolvz Press Poetry Chapbook Contest 2013. Aprilia is also a passionate photographer: several of her images are prize winners and have been selected for poetry book covers.

Alicja Maria Kuberska, an awarded Polish poetess, playwright, writer, publisher, has poems published in eight volumes, numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, USA, UK, Canada, India, Italy, Israel and Australia.In addition, her poems are read on various radio programs in Poland and Belgium. She was a featured poet of New Mirage Journal (USA) in the summer of 2011. Her poem, Train, was nominated for the Pushcart Prize in 2011. She lives in Inowrocław, Poland.

Marian Eikelhof is a poet from Rotterdam, the Netherlands. In her daily life, she leads a psychological consultancy firm. Her work inspires her to write about the emotional aspects of existence. Not only she describes feelings of love, intimacy, and desire, but also she symbolises states of mind like sadness and loneliness in her poetry. She criticises dehumanisation. A red thread runs through her activities, the fight against injustice and striving for peace.

Daniel Olivares Viniegra is a Mexican poet, narrator and literary critic. He collaborates with diverse formal and virtual magazines. He has published four poetry books, among others. He studied at the National School for Primary Education Teachers and pursued a bachelor’s degree from the Philosophy and Literature School at the National Autonomous University of Mexico.

Lily Swarn won the Reuel International Prize for Poetry 2016, Global Poet of Peace and Universal Love, Global Icon of Peace from Nigeria, Virtuoso Award and Woman of Substance. A postgraduate in English from Panjab University, she taught at Sacred Heart College, Dalhousie. A gold medallist for Best All-round Student from GCG Chandigarh, she has University Colours for Dramatics. Widely published and interviewed, she authored, A Trellis of Ecstasy and Lilies of the Valley.

Hussein Habasch is a poet from Afrin/ Kurdistan, lives in Germany. Born in 1970. Some of his poems translated into other languages: English, German, Spanish, French, Chinese, Turkish, Persian, Albanian, Uzbek, Russian and Romanian. He has nine books in different languages. Participated Festivals: In Colombia, Nicaragua, France, Puerto Rico, Mexico, Germany, Lithuania, Morocco, Ecuador, El Salvador, Kosovo, and Costa Rica.

Mai Văn Phấn was born 1955 in Vietnam. He studied at Hanoi College of Foreign Languages, Department of Linguistics and Russian culture and atMaxim Gorky Pedagogics School, Minsk, (Capital of the Byelorussian SSR). Has published 15 poetry books and one book, Critiques – Essays in Vietnam. Winner of numerous awards for poetry in Viet Nam. Recipient of the prestigious “Vietnam Writers’ Association” Award in 2010 and the Cikada Literary Prize of Sweden in 2017.

Geethanjali Dilip celebrates life through her soul’s expression in poetry. Her first published anthology is ‘Between Moms and Sons’ co-authored with Aakash Sagar. She contributes poems to many online pages and communities on Facebook. Her pages on Facebook are Alcove ATMA and Geethatmaa. She heads Zone Francofone, a French Coaching/ Teaching center at Salem, India.

Nnane Ntube is the pen name for Nnane Anna Ntube. She writes from Yaounde, Cameroon. She is a teacher by profession. She loves, writing and acting.

Aabha Vatsa is a Poet, Author, President “Asian Literary society” an ex-blogger and an ex-teacher. She has also contributed several poems in national and international anthologies. Her poems have also been published in several national and international webzines and websites. She has been awarded for her writings. she believes in the power of the written word. Her life mantra is Karma.

Sarala Balachandran was working with an import-export organisation in the administrative department for 38 years. She retired eleven years back. Married, with two sons aged 43 and 36, she took interest in writing recently. She writes free verses.

A Graduate in Psychology (Hons), Kiren Babal has a flair for writing both in English and Hindi. She has dabbled many a shade with creativity. Be it doing plays in AIR, teaching in schools, theatre, writing scripts, short stories for children etc, the focus remained in keeping her hobbies alive. To her credit, she has 13 children books, Five Anthologies in English poetry.

Zulma I Quiñones Senati was born in Yauco, Puerto Rico. She studied at the Catholic University of Ponce, Puerto Rico, where she completed her Bachelor of Education in 1970.

Nancy Ndeke is a poet, author, traveller, nature enthusiast, from Kenya, Africa. She lives now in Nairobi. She has majored in Literature and Linguistics. Works as Multimedia Consultant, Customer relations, and Education. As a social activist has worked with Girl Child network in Kenya and Child protection in South Sudan and Somalia. For many years, she worked with youth in theater, as scriptwriter and director in drama festivals.

Poet, translator, singer, university professor, broadcast locution radio and T.V., Alicia Minjarez Ramírez was born in Tijuana, Mexico. She is an internationally renowned poetess and author who has won numerous awards including the EASAL medal by the European Academy of Sciences and Letters 2018 at Paris, France. Her poems have been translated into English, Albanian, French, Cameroonian, Arabic, Azerbaijan, Turkish, Chinese, Taiwanese, Portuguese, Polish and Italian. And published in more than 50 international anthologies, journals and magazines.

Haydée Zayas-Ramos (Puerto Rico) Writer and Certified Reading Promoter. Has published short stories, novels and poetry for children, adolescents, and adults. Some of her children books are bilingual, although most of her books are in Spanish. Studied the techniques of writing to heal and gives workshops to teach other on how to use writing as a tool to manage feelings and emotions. Speak fluently Spanish, English, and Portuguese.

Taro Aizu was born in the Aizu region of Fukushima prefecture, Japan. He now lives in Kanagawa, near Tokyo. He has been writing Gogyoshi for 12 years in Japanese. Fukushima nuclear plant exploded on March 2011, after a large tsunami. In great shock, he wrote, “My hometown, Fukushima”, translated into 20 languages. In 2014, he published the poetry book “Waga Fukushima My Fukushima Mon Fukushima” in three languages, Japanese, English, and French.

Claudia Piccinno now stays in the north of Italy where she currently lives and teaches in a primary school. She is scholastic referent land for education at reading. Operating in more than eighty anthologies, even abroad (India, Malesia, Singapore, Turkey, and China). She’s a former member of the jury in many national and international literary prizes. Her poems have been translated into Arabic, Spanish, Turkish, Serbian, French, Chinese, Hindi, Greek, and Polish languages.

Atef Abdel-Aziz is a poet and architect. Born in Cairo, in 1955, he is a member of Writers’ Union of Egypt. His published collections include: Memory of The Shadow 1993/ White Walls 1996/ Beings preparing to sleep 2001/ The imagination of the places 2005/ Oblivion Policy 2006 / The Final gap shape 2007/ biography of Love 2008/ what you are waiting will not pass here 2011/ Interpreter of smells 2013/ Proof of Nothing 2015.

Virginia J. Pasalo is the Executive Director of the International Visitor Leadership Program-Philippines Alumni Foundation and Commissioner of the Pangasinan Historical and Cultural Commission. She writes short stories and poems in bilingual prose and poetic narratives to promote culture, art, and environmental activism as means to social change by providing a platform for celebration and discussion, encouraging interfaith dialogues and promoting activities towards a culturally-aware, environmentally-conscious and friendlier world.

Born at Durgapur, West Bengal, Deeya Bhattacharya– a PG in English Literature and a Graduate in Education from the University of Burdwan. Her poems and articles have appeared in several National and International journals, websites, E-zine, besides several anthologies. Member of Poets International, She has read her poetry at quite a few fests. She teaches English and Poetry at a State Government High School.

Sarika Sarkar Das: A  teacher, daydreamer, random experimental cook and some hit and miss photography, and at last love to call me a full-time mother.

Dr Paramita Mukherjee Mullick is a scientist with a doctorate in Genetic Toxicology, an educationist by profession, associated with NABET, GoI organisation, helping in the quality management of schools all over India. An author and poet by passion, she has published four books. She has had numerous book events around the world. Presently a series of competitions of her poems are being held in some schools in Mumbai, where she lives with her husband and daughter.

Sunila Khemchandani, a double graduate from India, now based in the Canary Islands, has several poems published in international English anthologies like Synthesis – Duet Anthology, Umbilical Cords, Aquarelle -Wall 6, Selfhood, etc. Her poems have been highly recommended. She’s a winner of the Reuel International Prize for Writing and Literature, 2016, for fiction and best annual poet, 2008, in poetriesonline.com. Her anthology, ‘The Virtual Reality’ with seven poets awaits its release.

Sonali Majumdar is a US based IT management professional. She loves to pen-down how she sees life with her golden touch of imagination. Her poems have been featured on Spillwords.com, On Fire Cultural Movement, Kaafiya and so on. She is a contributing poet at various Facebook literary groups, especially “The Significant League”, that supports Autism.

Aarti Mittal is a homemaker. She is passionate about teaching in school, as she loves being with children.She loves to live and write simply. A simple person with simple thoughts and words, her religion and caste are humanity, love, and compassion.

Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai (蔡澤民博士) was born in Taiwan, Republic of China, in 1957. He is an associate professor at the Asia University, editor of “Reading, Writing and Teaching” academic text. He also writes the long-term columns for Chinese Language Monthly in Taiwan. Dr. Tsai is a scholar with a wide range of expertise while maintaining a common and positive interest in science, engineering, and literature.

Nutan Sarawagi is from Mumbai, India.She loves poetry. She loves to colour words in the colours of verse. She has a Masters degree in Education and is a designer by profession. She writes mainly on women and children. She feels very strongly about women’s issues and the children of war. She wishes she could set the world right for them.

Anita Sahoo is self-employed in Academics (Post Graduation in Economics) at Utkal University,
Odisha, India.

Vandana Bhasin is an ex-banker turned writer who loves to express her musings through her poetry. She believes in inspiring and motivating people through her writing to face the life’s challenges with grit and a smile. She is a supporter of women empowerment and human rights and has composed many poems for online and offline publishing. She is from Gurugram, India.

Sudeshna Mukherjee was born in Kolkata but grew up in the beautiful Jharkhand (Ranchi) and it was here that she learnt to admire and appreciate Nature. Educated from Loreto Convent and St Xavier’s College, she majored in Economics. She always contributed articles and stories for magazines. Post marriage she moved to Mumbai, a cultural melting pot – here she observed, absorbed and assimilated. Sensitive and emotional, her journey in her Poemotions continues to grow…

Rishikesh Kumar Singh is the president of the Foundation for the Study of Literature and Environment. He is an eco-critic, a trained counsellor, a polyglot, bilingual poet, and a translator based in New Delhi. He pursued his research from Delhi University and also served there as a guest faculty. His research articles and poems have been published in various international and national journals. He led a worldwide Socio-Ecoliterary Movement.

Neelam Saxena Chandra is an author of thirty-three books, is a record holder with the Limca Book of Records for being the author having the highest number of publications in a year in English and Hindi (2015). She works as Joint Secretary (U.P.S.C.).She has won an award in a poetry contest by American Embassy, Premchand award by Ministry of Railways, Rabindranath Tagore international poetry award, Freedom award by Radio city for her lyrics. She was listed in the Forbes list as one of the most popular seventy-eight authors in the country in 2014.

Sandra Saenco wrote“Cuando tarda la Cigüeña” Contributor “The Indo French Textbook on Reproductive Medicine”, “Medicina Reproductiva Guatemala” and others. A representative of Mexico to Assisted Conception Taskforce, Member of the Bioethics Committee in Reproduction Clinics, Social Intervention Project Manager, Fertility Coach, Speaker, Art Workshops.

Irma Salcedo is an activist-poet, working for the WM (World Poetic Front for Defending Women’s Rights), and also for WFP creating human resources planning and educational tasks around the world. She writes essays, poems, and tales, especially related to education and planning in occupational psychology and autism.

Businesswoman, curator of handlooms, poet, writer, and erstwhile doctor. Payal Talreja practices everything except her involuntary ‘profession’. She claims that words chose her and are now her weapon of choice because an activist born will stay silent for no man. A wanderer, a voyager, she’s happy to slum it or luxuriate in any life experience. She crafts poems and fiercely feminist essays and will assume her ‘Chandi’ avatar to ‘write’ any wrong.

Yuri Zambrano is an activist poet and writer, director for World Poetry Festival (WFP) and of World Poetic Front Defending Women’s Rights (WM). Also, he has published over fifty books about cognitive neurosciences linking consciousness, specially addressed on Theory of mind (ToM), intersubjectivity, autism, and neural networks into the field of Neuroepidemiology. He is based in Belgium.

Dr. Nilakshi Roy, an Associate Professor, of English, at Vaze College, is an academic writer and writes poetry for Different Truths. Her other writing is chiefly on saris, published in Different Truths and The Ladies Finger.