Indie poet Daljeet Kaur believes in being direct, crisp, and to the point. And this quality of hers only shined when she gave the Literary Express an exclusive interview after the launch of an anthology of inspirational poetry titled ‘Catharsis’, which, on the side note, comprises three of Ms Kaur’s prolific works. Although we did find her answers pretty straightforward, the thirty-one-year-old came across as a light-hearted soul. Very much at the threshold of becoming a well-accomplished author, Ms Kaur told us with a smile that she felt jubilant to have finally become a part of the literary world, a dream she had cherished since her college days.
You know quite well there are minds that suffer;
Those minds, it is trowed, are anxious and sad.
But why d’you judge, mock those minds at supper?
Ween I what you do is shameless and bad.
Let me tell you what transpired once, dear lad:
A few years ago, I’d willed to take my life;
for days seemed like years, those years made me mad.
Struggle hard the mantra then and tackle each strife.
Inez awaited the bus, but after five minutes, her patience ran out. Thereupon, she hailed a taxi. Upon arriving at the school, she paid more than what the chauffeur had demanded, and sprinted through the chief corridor right into reception, her heavy breathings heard by every student that passed by.
The air of his office smelled like old dessert foods. Saccharine and familiar, but different. Standing and staring out of his window was Brenton’s elusive Principal, Miles Pine. He was a picture of a boring individual. He dressed in a plain t-shirt, a pair of boring brown trousers, and a pair of worn leather shoes. If you were to pass by him on the street, you wouldn’t recognize him if you were to see him again. To Inez Darío, he was good old Mister Pine, her mentor.
The dad elated beamed with pride,
went ahead to make a point.
‘Your worth’s fixed at the right place,
and that’s my sole viewpoint.’
Covering this world
like garnishes dishes need,
it’s round us and mid.
The rooster ran out of the coop, jumped onto the pole, and puffing its chest out, cried out to the twilight heavens with all its might. Then, it looked down at the sleeping village, looked up, and cried out again just as the group was leaving its gates towards the Ung’ Mountains, where the sun nearly woke.
Indie author Kristifer Ann may have begun writing just about a year and a half ago, but she knows deep within her heart that creating stories is something she will do for the rest of her life. In an exclusive interaction with the Literary Express, the fifty-year-old author of House of Marchetti fame, states categorically that she absolutely nourishes the goal of becoming a full-fledged author. ‘I just submitted the last three chapters to my editor for Rise of Marchetti, which is my latest book. I also put the first chapter down of book three lately. It is titled Marchetti,’ she lets us know, going on to exclaim, ‘These Marchetti men won’t let me do anything else!’
the place is weensy, pure white;
And there’s gardyloo.
It happed when I wended my way across a teensy town,
to that wood eerie, silent, dark;
A library stood beside the park.
It well drew my attention, for its entrance had a clown.
He seeing me did nicely bark;
And looking into eyes mine, said, ‘Hark!’