Literary Garland August 2020

L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

LITERARY GARLAND Issue Three August 2020 (Poetry, Prose & Painting) Founder/Editor : Herojit Philem Cover Art : Tree by Ann Privateer Copyright© Literary Garland 2020 All rights revert to the authors/artist. Submission of a work for publications declares: The work is original. For re-print in future please credit Literary Garland. All works published will be webcasted at www.literary-garland.blogspot.com Please like our Facebook Page for future updates. For contribution on any categories please mail us at [email protected] L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

About Literary Garland Literary Garland is a monthly literary magazine. It publishes poetry, interviews, the writing journey of authors/poets, short stories, book reviews and paintings. It promises to connect poets, writers and artists from around the world and try to give readers a new taste of fine, simple yet meaningful literary works. Contents 1. AK Nongthang Angomcha – THE UNIDENTIFIABLE 2. Basab Mondal - Rain in my corridor 3. Gary Beck – Repetition 4. Herojit Philem – Winter Rain 5. Linda Imbler - The Peace of my Heart 6. Michael Lee Johnson – Flower Girl 7. Nyein Way- Questions 8. Patricia Walsh - Coffee, Sugar and Alcoholic 9. Rushmila Khan - Filthy Poor 10. Sahaj Sabharwal - OTHERS ARE ALSO HUMAN BEING 11. Sanjhee Gianchandani - Distance 12. SONALI CHANDA – SILENCE 13. Stephen House - managing ok 14. Unbound - Am I alive…? 15. YI JUNG CHEN - Zentangle Love Paul Robert Mullen - BREAD-LINE A brief conversation with Sehloho Piet Rampai Linda Imbler‟s Red is the Sunrise by Herojit Philem L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

AK Nongthang Angomcha – THE UNIDENTIFIABLE Page No.| 04 AK Nongthang Angomcha (Akoijam THE UNIDENTIFIABLE Romila Devi) Lecturer, Department of English Naorem Birahari College By mistake or not, I am confused of Khundrakpam. The lone guest comes here with task assigned Methinks what the purpose would be 'Bout steps, talks to him to get whereabouts Says the absconder doesn't know about himself The early arrivers say when enquired Though they undertake along the same path Since many years, decades and centuries All of them to each other are strangers Strangers, still strangers even to themselves. Asks about the long trek adventurous How to succeed, how to overcome the hindrance Tells that it's upto the drive of time When commanded by the drive of impulse 'Bout destination they say with a sigh It is unplanned since the start upto the end The souls are all naked,have no identity Deficient of enlightenment, paralyzed mind Only if each of them all know their selves There will be no stranger within self and around. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Basab Mondal – Rain in my corridor Page No.| 05 Basab Mondal, is a teacher by profession Rain in my corridor who has unbridled love for literature.He has done his masters in English and Lost, I touch my own inner self Education.He writes poems in English and to find Bengali.He writes to gratify his own inner- self.His poems have been published in a vacuum, gilded several little magazines and anthologies. by your presence. The rain in your premise wettens my casement. I realise, you are my only ailment and I the only meaningful iota in your firmament But then too, the mutation of our souls remains an impossible possibility. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Gary Beck – Repetition Page No.| 06 Gary Beck has spent Repetition most of his adult life as a theater director There is a certain pattern and worked as an art in the history of man dealer when he of recurring violence, couldn't earn a living destruction, in the theater. He has mostly motivated also been a tennis by greed, pro, a ditch digger the lust for power and a salvage diver. His original plays and driving us mad with hunger translations of for acquisition Moliere, Aristophanes and at the expense of others, Sophocles have been no matter who it harms. produced Off Broadway. His poetry, fiction and essays have The lack of wisdom, appeared in hundreds of literary magazines and moderation, self control his published books include 26 poetry collections, 10 novels, 3 short story collections, has eradicated 1 collection of essays and 1 collection of one-act clans, tribes, nations, plays. Published poetry books include: Dawn in Cities, Assault on Nature, Songs of a empires Clerk, Civilized Ways, Displays, Perceptions, removed by war, Fault Lines, Tremors, Perturbations, Rude Awakenings, The Remission the acme of Order,Contusions and Desperate of human achievement. Seeker (Winter Goose Publishing. Forthcoming: Learning Curve and Ignition Point). Earth Links, Too Harsh For Pastels, Severance and Redemption Value (Cyberwit Publishing. Forthcoming: Fractional Disorder). His novels include a series „Stand to Arms, Marines‟: Call to Valor, Crumbling Ramparts and Raise High the Walls (Gnome on Pig Productions) and Extreme Change (Winter Goose Publishing). Wavelength (Cyberwit Publishing). His short story collections include: A Glimpse of Youth (Sweatshoppe Publications). Now I Accuse and other stories (Winter Goose Publishing) and Dogs Don‟t Send Flowers and other stories (Wordcatcher Publishing). The Republic of Dreams and other essays (Gnome on Pig Productions). The Big Match and other one act plays (Wordcatcher Publishing). Collected Plays of Gary Beck Volume 1 (Cyberwit Publishing. Forthcoming: Plays of Aristophanes translated, then directed by Gary Beck). Gary lives in New York City. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Herojit Philem – Winter Rain Page No.| 07 Herojit Philem, founder, publisher and Winter Rain editor of Literary Garland, is a teacher, poet, lyricist and blogger. He is from O Winter Rain, Manipur, India. His poems have appeared in Had you come to wash the taint or to add various anthologies, magazines, newspapers. more pain? On this chilling dawn Had you come to pinch the fawn? To let it dance Or to it let cry with cold Or to let it remember the scold Of prohibited love! Drop by drop you drip on the lawn On which lovers once sat to exchange their hearts The park is empty today; You alone enjoy your solitariness And keep the young lovers crying Unable to wait your period go The hearts only say: “Winter is dull but short And Spring waits with bundles of flowers.” L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Linda Imbler – The Peace of my Heart Page No.| 08 Linda Imbler is the author of four poetry The Peace of my Heart collections published at Amazon. Soma Publishing published two of her poetry That certain part of me you took when you books and one poetry-short fiction left, hybrid. She began writing in earnest five years ago. In addition to putting pen and Pieces of my heart that I gave to you, paper to inventive use, Linda is an avid Hold on to them and keep them very close reader. This writer, yoga practitioner, and Until we have the chance to meet anew. classical guitar player lives in Wichita, Kansas with her husband, Mike the Luthier, Kept safe in your quiet haven below, several quite intelligent saltwater fish, and Colors of love from an artist‟s palette, an ever-growing family of gorgeous Gifts with loving quality you well know, guitars. She‟s been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and several Best of the Net Within the ark you alone inhabit. awards. Learn more Gifts keeping memory of me alive. at lindaspoetryblog.blogspot.com. I do not miss what I bequeathed to you, Knowing that where you are you would need them. My love and peace given to you so true, The best parts of me borrowed for a time, We will in future share on the other side. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Michael Lee Johnson – Flower Girl Page No.| 09 Michael Lee Johnson lived 10 years in Canada Flower Girl during the Vietnam era and is a dual citizen of the United States and Canada. Today he is a Poems are hard to create poet, freelance writer, amateur photographer, they live, then die, walk alone in tears, and small business owner in Itasca, DuPage resurrect in family mausoleums. County, Illinois. Mr. Johnson published in more They walk with you alone in ghostly patterns, than 1072 new publications, his poems have memories they deliver feeling unexpectedly appeared in 39 countries, he edits, publishes 10 through the open windows of strangers. poetry sites. Michael Lee Johnson, has been Silk roses lie in a potted bowl nominated for 2 Pushcart Prize awards poetry memories seven days before Mother‟s Day. 2015/1 Best of the Net 2016/2 Best of the Net Soak those tears, patience is the poetry of love. 2017, 2 Best of the Net 2018. 207 poetry videos Plant your memories, your seeds, your passion, are now on once a year, maybe twice. YouTube https://www.youtube.com/user/poetry Jesus knows we all need more manusa/videos. Editor-in-chief poetry then a vase filled with silk flowers, anthology, Moonlight Dreamers of Yellow poems on paper from a poet sacred, Haze: http://www.amazon.com/dp/1530456762 the mystery, the love of a caretaker− ; editor-in-chief poetry anthology, Dandelion in multicolored silk flowers in a basket a Vase of Roses available handed out by the flower girl. here https://www.amazon.com/dp/1545352089 . Editor-in-chief Warriors with Wings: The Best in Contemporary Poetry, http://www.amazon.com/dp/172213071 7. https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Lee- Johnson/e/B0055HTMBQ%3Fref=dbs_a_mng_ rwt_scns_share https://www.lulu.com/shop/search.ep?keyWords =Michael+Lee+Johnson&type= Member Illinois State Poetry Society: http://www.illinoispoets.org/ L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Nyein Way – Questions Page No.| 10 Nyein Way- Questions Nyein Way is a poet residing in Questions Yangon,Myanmar. (Nyein Way) Roads are curved with time experienced through dark channel of poetic pictorial mindscape. Answers becomes questions running upon the Skywalk In the winter When flowers bloom in misty mornings. Life is always a question in terms of Realities moved abstraction. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Patricia Walsh – Coffee, Sugar and Alcoholic Page No.| 11 Patricia Walsh was born in the parish of Coffee, Sugar and Alcoholic Burnfort, Co Cork,and educated at University College Cork, graduating with an MA in Having the power to read sins, markedly, Archaeology. Her poetry has been published in withholding information at the crucial point, Stony Thursday; Southword; Narrator producing like a conveyor belt, inhumanely International; Third Point Press, Revival Journal; Seventh Quarry; Hesterglock Press; praying thanks for getting through much The Quarryman; Unlikely Stories; and today. Otherwise Engaged. She has already published a chapbook, titled Continuity Errors in 2010, Consummate behaviour becomes the and a novel, The Quest for Lost Éire, in smallest ones, 2014. A further collection of poetry, titled Outstanding Balance, is scheduled for snapping like a twig at the least pursuit, publication in August of 2020. She was the kept at bay like a trophy unbecoming, featured poet in the inaugural edition of overconsumption of stimulants all too fair. Fishbowl Magazine, and is a regular attendee at the O Bheal poetry night in Cork city. Open for business, bargains coldly staid, recorded in the newspaper, circulated wide, rushed to protection, bludgeoning same watched over shoulders, garnering favour. Loved out of measure, celebrity stasis, staring at subordinates blowing another mind, coded entry into a state of perfection completely awful, it s the final line. Dented for a thrill, decorum injured. Stealing music from a grateful audience, eating on the quiet, a recipe for punishment hit through gloss, the unmistakable sound. Homely fires not very much to ask, watching from the familiar, as a man, blemish-free, the breakage forestalled, consumed with impunity, a bloodied soul. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Rushmila Khan – Filthy Poor Page No.| 12 Rushmila Khan has an affinity for indie Filthy Poor films and books. She recently founded Why do poor men give birth to poorlings her own non-profit publication. Her book reviews have appeared on The Bookshelf Why do they thrust such misery? and poems on Orange Blush Zine. They fall face first to the earth Email: [email protected] Facebook: @rushkhans They eat the dirt off someone's feet Instagram: @rushmilakhans And the sun rises Twitter: @rushkhans It casts neither valor nor umbrage The insufficiency flourishes Like a bed of sunflowers The fractals of the honeycomb The branches of conjoint arterioles They suffer. Why do poor men give birth to bony ghosts Born ghosts and turned to ghosts The apparitions haunting their siblings The invisible saliva drips The silent noises make the only tunes they ever bear There is no music in the land of the starving There is no desire, no mercy The vertebrae shifts and cracks There is no history in all the marks Just suffering. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Sahaj Sabharwal - OTHERS ARE ALSO HUMAN BEING Page No.| 13 Sahaj Sabharwal is from Jammu city, J&K, OTHERS ARE ALSO HUMAN BEING India. Email-: [email protected] Besides male and female gender, Instagram-: instagram.com/sahajsabharwal The third category is taken as terrible Twitter -: blunder. twitter.com/Sahaj_Sabharwal All humans including foolish and wise, Mostly everyone do such things which indicates, their aim is just to criticize. Behaviour with those people, Like they are not humans but just null or dull. Genderqueer also have feelings and deserve respect, If they are born on earth, they have their own aspect. If they are not under male or female category, That doesn't mean that they can't achieve heights and we become their source of worry. All we need is to be kind and change setup of our mind, Not like that which today we understand and tomorrow again we discriminate with a heart which is blind. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Sanjhee Gianchandani –Distance Page No.| 14 Sanjhee Gianchandani holds a Masters’ Distance degree in English from Lady Shri Ram College for Women and a CELTA from the Screaming your name from the rooftop, University of Cambridge. She worked as an yet you seem impervious to it English language assessment specialist. Her typically how relationships are love for publishing brought her to her distraught bit by bit current job as an ELT editor in the K-8 space. She compulsively writes poetry to fill existence precarious psychologically in the interstices in her day. Her poems and so vulnerable our sanity have been published at several places life is a continual negation including Madras Courier, eFiction India, of hopelessness and despair LiveWire, Setu, Indian Ruminations, Otherwise Engaged Journal and Poetry and we entangle our relationship Northern Ireland. in the web of uncertainties it all seems like a dream within a dream the stars seem much nearer and farther do you seem in life we realise that no place is further away in death; between Hell and Heaven we sway can we not break the ice with a simple phone call has this created so huge a wall? for love knows no boundaries we‟ve heard this for centuries yet you cannot hear me from across the room or perhaps you don‟t want to remains an unresolved mystery L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Sonali Chanda Page No.| 15 SONALI CHANDA is an eminent writer SILENCE and author. Born in Suburban KOLKATA,she completed her Show me a path, while I leave behind postgraduation from Burdwan University. All my pains, my wishes and dreams, Her writings resemble the current issues and different topics of burning issues in the As once I leave my footprints, country and the social malices..!! never return back! Last year in 20 h January, her I roll my sleeve to move ahead, travelogue\"LADAKH...En route Tibetan whatever there in my way,I embrace them.. TABOOS, launched in Kolkata,Salt Lake,BHARATIYAM!! Birchs and pines,smoky evening, While walking through the woods, I see the In her Travelogue, she vividly described her journey throughout the whole Forbidden hushing winds mused! Land, their languages, religious views, They all are so fresh and pure, geographical variations, historical With the sundown clouds, the mists passes backgrounds and many more!! by, Her many poems, flash fiction, short stories Why I should least bother, to whom I have already published in different web magazines, online magazines including mine? Counter Currents.......! She's also an eminent photographer, her The anguish, that I weighed much, Wildlife and Landscape photography gained Left behind for the sake of you, profound appreciation from different corners and countries Her soul wrenching Whom I needed in my worst hours, writing s of burning issues, psychological They vanished, consoling with some word issues and problems along with current social malice rooted a significant mark in power. recent times..! Let my silence be my answer, Her Debut NOVELLA \"Helix of Ebb and Let it roar, to make them know, Flow\" is on the way to publish...! Besides them,another world is there, Which is waiting direly, I must go! L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Stephen House – managing ok Page No.| 16 Stephen House is an award winning managing ok Australian playwright, poet and actor. He‟s my mum is ninety won two Awgie Awards (Australian and now in a nursing home Writer‟s Guild) , Adelaide Fringe Award, one of her joys is the visits she gets but the home is in lock-down with the virus Rhonda Jancovich Poetry Award for Social spread risk so we now chat most days on the phone Justice, Goolwa Poetry Cup, Feast Short Story Prize and more. He‟s been shortlisted as a writer performer for Lane Cove Literary Award, Overland‟s i make a living from shows it‟s been my work for decades Fair Australia Fiction Prize, Patrick White but my gigs are all cancelled indefinitely so i‟m not sure what comes next financially Playwright and Queensland Premier Drama to make ends meet Awards, Greenroom best actor Award and i rent out part of my house more. He‟s received Australia Council as an artist it gives some security but my tenant‟s a musician and his work‟s literature residencies to Ireland and Canada, dried up too and an India Asialink. His chapbook “real so who knows what will happen from here and unreal” was published by ICOE Press. i shop at the supermarket He is published often and performs his work quickly once in a week as that‟s what they advise us to do widely. but it‟s strange there now as some shelves are empty and i saw two women fight over toilet paper a play that i wrote has been touring in spain and that‟s exciting for me as a playwright but the tour‟s now cancelled because of covid-19 though that means nothing compared to the deaths there i‟m not complaining given the world situation so far i‟m healthy and managing ok but each day the news seems to get so much worse and i can‟t say that it‟s not affecting me L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Mohit Sharma aka Unbound – Am I alive…? Page No.| 17 Mohit Sharma aka Unbound is a writer who loves to add life into the forgotten facts of the life itself. He believes that writing is the strongest form of expressive art which can be incubated from one mind to another. Mohit has written his first anthology with the title 'the beginning...!‟ He is currently working on his non-fiction novel, 'the beginning of an end'. He loves to write in both English and Hindi. He has been awarded 1st Runner up in the Global Poetry forum award for his poem, Am I alive. Mohit is a part-time guitar player and loves to play outdoors. Am I alive…? On a confused morning, I woke up in a hurry, Maybe it was a hangover of that nightmare that sets me on a flurry. I saw myself struggling for a laugh or even for a smile, My artificial happiness is due to materialism that is standing tall on an undue debt pile. I saw myself struggling to lend my care to a needy. I doubt whether am I slowly turning to be an enduring greedy. Never forgot to check my virtual social status and conversation, Something fake exists for sure, which on me is gaining the domination. In that blind race, I am nothing but a baffled desperate mind Don‟t know what to achieve still walking in a direction undefined . Couldn't recollect the last time when I saw those blinking stars in the sky. Those days of childhood were good, when I could set my imagination to fly. I am sharing my innermost appalling to all, unconditionally and maybe free, Don‟t have enough time to share, the moments of my unforeseen glee. Being miser as an appreciator, I am blindly enjoying my role as a critic, Not able to listen to that true inner voice, as something went wrong to my psyche acoustic. Turning numb towards the feeling of love so as with its perusal, It‟s even becoming bulky for me to differentiate amid the fake and real. Afraid of losing my phony identity within that virtual world of mine, Not able to justify my existence yet living with a hope for my darker side to shine. My happiness is crying for being lost upon, even in the shape of small packets. Don‟t know for what I am waiting, thus to break my life‟s own claustrophobic brackets. My body is working fine and so is my brain, Yet feeling frozen and suffering from an unidentified pain. I am slowly breaking the hangover to let myself overcome that strife, It was not a nightmare but a harsh reflectance of my own day to day life. I am carrying myself knowingly to nowhere with a hope to get thrive, Lost myself again somewhere, leaving an unrequited question that “Am I alive…?” L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

YI JUNG CHEN – Zentangle Love Page No.| 18 YI JUNG CHEN - Zentangle Love Zentangle Love Besides teaching pupils of learning The ripple on the pond drops difficulties in Dounan Elementary School of concentric circles spreading out from the Taiwan, Yi Jung (Jolene) Chen wrote scripts center, and co-worked with other teachers for Your attentive eyes, illustrated books in Chinese, English and sparkling with passions for painting Japanese. At my leisure hours, I also wrote the curving line of fervent heartbeat. poems in English, Chinese and Taiwanese language. Provided given the opportunity, Mandala petals, I would like to have my work published by buddha teardrops show mercy for human. a reliable agent and share my works with My trembling lips remain closed, people around the globe. praying for the best of luck between us. Interwoven pattern converges somewhere, foreboding our destiny to meet in moments of uncertainty, no guarantee for a promising future. Painting colors of wind, slightly stunned by your wits, dancing to the perfect harmony of Oriental and West. Arts of impressionism, you nickname my works. Venus ties us together in a knot of comradeship never to be severed. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Paul Robert Mullen – BREAD-LINE Page No.| 19 Short Story Paul Robert Mullen is a writer, musician, lecturer, radio presenter, traveller and sociable loner from Liverpool, U.K. He has four published poetry collections: curse this blue raincoat (2017), testimony (2018), 35 (2018) and disintegration (2020). He has had poetry and fiction published in reputable magazines worldwide, including The Interpreter's House, Barren, The Fiction Pool and Ghost City Press. Paul is the co-founder and editor of The Broken Spine Artist Collective. BREAD-LINE Dad was a glove maker in a factory on west-bank industrial estate. He had been all his life. He worked long hours to support the family, and saved all the money he could to make sure we never went without. He was a hero to me; never squandered a penny on himself, or drank his wage away down at the pub like other fathers I knew. A quiet man, who appreciated the simple things in life. He was also fiercely proud. The neighbours respected him, and he always did what he could do help everyone in our quarter. Hey George, everyone would holler as we went by. The postman, the lollipop lady, the butcher, the local builders, the lanky girl at the newsagent. He was a deft hand with a paintbrush, and he used to get „foreigners‟ as he would call them – jobs for cash from people he could trust. The extra money helped us out, but it left him tired. He never complained though, and he always spent time with me growing up, whenever and wherever he could. Everybody spoke highly of my Dad. Losing his job in the factory was more than just a blow. It happened all of a sudden, without warning. He gave himself to that job for over forty years, and then it was gone. Dad‟s face looked grey after that. He shrunk overnight. The lines around his eyes stretched so that the veins in his temples pulsed through. His shoulders folded like the corners of a battered old book. All motivation and self-respect drained from him, as though blood from body on a mortuary slab. Unemployment was failure to him. It meant he couldn‟t support his family. We all felt sick at the news. „What can I do, Mum?‟ I pleaded. „Can I get a job? Maybe I don‟t need to go to college after all. Maybe I can just get a job and help Dad out?” She smiled through damp eyes and hugged me like only a mother could. „God knows you‟re a good boy,‟ she whispered, „but you are going to college.‟ Mum walked out of the room to make the dinner looking suddenly older. The smoky scent of fresh braising steak, new potatoes and sweet carrots in a thick, peppery stock seasoning L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

infused the kitchen and living room. It smelt like family. Our house had always smelt that way. If it wasn‟t home cooked food, the air was ripe with lemon bleach, or the airy smell of clean linen, or that wonderful hum of pressed ironing. „We can barely afford to survive. We might lose this house,‟ I overheard Mum saying later that night to Dad, slumped at the kitchen table. „I won‟t let that happen, Marie. I swear I won‟t.‟ The vulnerability in his voice took my breath away. He‟d always been a strong man in my eyes, but I heard nothing strong in his tone that night. I heard fear, disillusion, frailty. The next morning as I came down for breakfast I heard them going at it again. I sat on the stairs, head resting against tired wooden spindles. There was an urgency in Mum‟s voice that frightened me. „You‟re fifty-eight, George. Who‟s going to employ a fifty-eight year old with no skills? What‟re we going to do?‟ „Calm down, Marie. Something will come up.‟ „Oh for God‟s sake, things don‟t just come up when you‟re our age.‟ I felt angry at Mum. She didn‟t need to drum this shit off the walls. We were all thinking it, and that was stressful enough. „I‟m thinking hard every waking minute, love. Really, I am. I‟ll come up with something.‟ „There‟s the mortgage, and the bills, and Bray‟s college fees. I‟m a nervous wreck with worry, George.‟ The more I thought about my college fees the more terrible I felt. „I told you,‟ Dad said, suddenly firm. „I‟ll think of something.‟ I felt a rush of blood and pride and other things I can barely explain. He no longer sounded hopeless like he had the night before. Granted, he‟d barely slept, but there was a resilience in his words and in his manner. He‟d had his night to ponder. Now he was up, striding around, thinking on his feet. And I believed him. I had to believe him. He was my father. I felt guilty about the nice clothes, and the computer, and the games console they‟d bought me for my birthday. All the other kids had them, but I didn‟t need them. Gaming is stupid anyway. I thought about selling my road-bike and some of my records. School held a car-boot sale on the last Sunday of every month. It wouldn‟t be much, but it would be something. I had a mint condition copy of The Beatles‟ blue album on gatefold vinyl, which was probably worth £30. I started to raid my wardrobes for all sorts of stuff I really didn‟t need, and decided that if I had a good day with the sale I could probably make £100. „Dad,‟ I asked later as he nursed a rare brandy in front of the TV. „Is there anything I can do?‟ He seemed wounded by my asking. I could see it in his eyes that he‟d have preferred I didn‟t know. No father wants a son‟s help. Not until they‟re too old to care. „Yes, Bray, there is,‟ he said after a period of thought. „Go and get yourself a bloody good education and don‟t end up in a job like mine, son.‟ He got up to pour himself another Brandy, and I noticed the dole forms on the table. He‟d filled them in but hadn‟t signed them. He turned round from the drinks cabinet quicker than I expected and our eyes met. He knew what I‟d seen and lowered his head. Outside a car engine roared into life, and intense, tawny headlights cast silhouettes on the blinds. The TV played reruns of classic sixties gold performances; The Searchers singing „Don‟t throw Your Love Away.‟ The flicker of the TV lit Dad‟s face up in fractals of disjointed colour, and it seemed odd at a time like this that the singer‟s face should be so full of joy. I walked to the stairs but something in my gut made me stop. „I‟m proud of you, Dad. Never forget that.‟ L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Interview – Piet Rampai Page No.| 21 Literary Garland: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/ Please tell our readers about yourself. Rampai Sehloho Piet Rampai: I am a South African award Literary Garland: Please share our readers winning Poet and Author who loves writing some of your poems. and Politics. Sehloho Piet Rampai : Some poems I Literary Garland: What is poetry all would share are: about? Sehloho Piet Rampai: My poems differs as A person in the mirror I write almost abouteverything from Politics, Economy, Love,hatred etc A person in the mirror Literary Garland: How many poems have You have never cared, written till date What others had to say, Sehloho Piet Rampai : Till to date I am not You always stood your ground, sure but have written morethan 1000 poems While others walked away and most of my work is available online and You love a challenge, have self-published four books on my own And you love life... and got featured on others. I‟ve never seen you, Literary Garland: What makes you write? Back down from a fright Sehloho Piet Rampai : What encourages When you see a problem, me to write its everyday situations and so You find a way to fix it, shy to speak but I make use of poetryto You press forward tackle lot of issues Literary Garland: Have you published any books? If so, please mention them for our readers? Sehloho Piet Rampai : To date I have self- published six books and four of them I am the only author on them, namely The Words, Poetic Justice, Poetry o'clock and Mabinabine (South Sotho Poems) and Others like Coast To Coast and The Poets wish I have collaborated with other great Poets like Esshiete, Francis and Charlez and link to all my books is (While others) Are quickly looking for an exit. I know you‟re tired, We all have our days, You got to dust yourself off And jump back in the race You‟ve had your moments of doubt But they‟ve been few and distant. You‟ve been down before, And this is no different... L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Interview – Piet Rampai Page No.| 22 A RIDICULOUS NOTE I sit here Alone to the company of my shadow Upon the wall Calling my name A whisper of an ungrateful friend The tears creep The bones creek My stomach churns To a moment I scream And darkness yells The cold feeling inside my soul Wanting me to wake from the day dream I Fail to sleep The due of night Makes the day of my sight What to do to entertain myself Talk to me Meeting at night The day was over When I first laid my eyes on you Colours in the darkness were nothing But the expression of love As the flowers were asleep The night was drawing nigh But you and I Were surrounded by true beauty of stars With the kindest blessings I was wrapped around your kindness We were lovers tossing on the deep blue sea When waves was dancing to our rhythm But you and I Were floating in the sea of love But when day wakens Birds were singing so joyfully Sun rises in my eyes Then I arise so hopefully But everything was in vain... L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

Book Review Page No.| 23 Linda Imbler’s Red is the Sunrise by Herojit Philem Name of the Book: - Red is the Sunrise Name of the Author: - Linda Imbler Genre: - Poetry Year of Publication: - 2019 Publisher: - Independently Published ISBN: 9781076170903 Purchase Link: Red is the Sunrise Red is the Sunrise is a book comprising of 30 poems written by Linda Imbler. The book opens with the poem titled Theros Bequeathes Her Breath to Carpo and closes with the poem titled A Backyard Incident in St. Loius. In a sentence, Red is the Sunrise is a collection of poetry by a woman about women. Poems of this collection are loosely structured i.e., to say the lines of the poems are not of equal length, some lines are of 13 syllables while some are of 2 syllables. But poems would give a vivid picture to the readers. With beautiful beginnings and at the same heart capturing endings, Linda Imbler's poems in Red is the Sunrise would give a pleasant thought and at the same time would leave the readers nostalgic. In the poem, “Her Movie Script” the speaker‟s grandmother sits on a chair recollecting every moments of her life. The poem ends with “If only she could remember the names of the actors.” Again the poem “Last Day” opens with “We got up so early with so much to do.” This opening line is full of live and energy; throughout the poem the activeness can be felt. The characters are so active, so much involved in worldly live that they bought each other a gift but gave not of their time. But the closing of the poem would leave a reader in the state of suspense as it says “Only one of us rose the next morning.” There are many heart touching lines in every poem. A line from poem Warpaint one would get motivated by “………., I am confident I will win both the battle and the war.” While a line from the poem Silent Meal, “Their relationship did not die with shouts and tears” would give the power to have patience in a relationship and at same time a line from Mama Evans, “Many things we remember today with a sigh” would definitely leave the readers recollecting many things sweet sorrows of the things past. Some of my favorite poems in the book includes:- 1. Her Movie Script 2. Last Day 3. Memory 4. Poe‟s Annabel Lee 5. Puzzle 6. A Cup of Tea 7. The Forgotten All in all the book Red is the Sunrise is multi-faceted with its various feelings that would leave to the readers. The book is worth reading. It has lots of literary values. Poems are not very long but with minimal length each poem coveys the complete ideas, feelings and emotions are expressed to reach the readers. L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review

L i t e r a r y G a r l a n d | August|2020 | Poetry, Short Story, Interview, Book Review