Posts Tagged ‘Poetry/Art’
Power of the Pen – Young Writers Network Thaalam Submission CalloutBy Editor - May 28th, 2011 |
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Love to write? Then this is for you. Coordinators of Power of the Pen are looking forward to publishing emerging, established and talented writers’ work in the booklet of our upcoming inter-university/college dance competition: Thaalam 2011. |
I Remember the Genocide – May Massacre of 2009By Editor - May 18th, 2011 |
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By: EnnaDa- Kiruthika Thusyanthan I remember the cries of mothers desperately trying to revive their children to life, half alive themselves |
Tears of JapanBy Editor - March 14th, 2011 |
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by : EnnaDa- Kiruthika Thusyanthan The eternal splinters of lost hope |
Today I dance, Because Tomorrow I dieBy Editor - January 27th, 2011 |
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by : EnnaDa- Kiruthika Thusyanthan We breathe in movement, and embrace music |
Poster Competition – Tamil Heritage Month ($500 for Winner)By Editor - January 9th, 2011 |
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Details regarding submissions for the Tamil Heritage Month Poster Competition inside. |
Are we friends?By Editor - December 8th, 2010 |
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By: Jonathan Arunasalam I wish I knew this is true |
Heroes.By Editor - November 24th, 2010 |
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“Hero is defined as a man or woman of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his or her brave deeds and noble qualities.” A HERO sacrifices their lives for the betterment of society. A HERO withstands pain and suffering in order to achieve the desires of others. |
WomanBy Editor - November 18th, 2010 |
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By: Chalini Anantharajah She is incomplete, void of feeling |
Paintings by Mithilah MahendranBy Editor - October 3rd, 2010 |
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“Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures. ” – Henry Ward Beecher These paintings were painted by Mithilah Mahendran, a highly talented artist. |
Maya (Short Story by Renishaki Kamalanathan)By Editor - October 3rd, 2010 |
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Maya, A Short Story by Renishaki Kamalanathan I always tremble, mumble, twist and turn in my bed feeling dead, cold with that uneven conscious state of not knowing where I was. The wetness of my sweat on the plastic covering over my queen-sized bed that Aunt Sitha left on, annoyed me as if it was residue of blood. I always seemed to repeat Maya’s name regardless of tone, whether it was whispering, mumbling, or yelling. |
