Timeless Echoes by Balroop Singh

Timeless Echoes by Balroop Singh has been published and is available now.

Balroop is one of my favorite writers, and it was an honor to review her captivating work. She has an endearing writing style that mesmerizes and connects, and her peace-based worldview is inspiring.  The book gave me several connect-with-self moments. Such is the power of her writing!

I kindled a copy yesterday because I want to read it again. It’s a prized possession.

See her blog post below for more details:

Timeless Echoes is just a click away now. Click on the link to download it and hear the echoes that would reverberate around you, reminding you of lost opportunities, repressed desires, cherished moments and hope that shimmers through clouds.

Here are all the links:

US UK DE FR ES IT NL JP BR CA MX AU IN

When Echoes Vibrate

Lilies in the garden spoke to me
Birds sang merrily
Clouds of gloom disintegrated
When I let these echoes vibrate

Mute watchers warbled
Fluttering fervently around me
Stirring hopeful messages
Of joy and bliss

When smoke of your love
Tried to asphyxiate me
When dreams got besieged
I flew on the wings of words

Fears receded when
Sun spread its gold
Creating a fusion of colors
Silently illuminating life.© Balroop Singh

The Editor’s Review:

Half of what we say are lies although they might be considered true, but truth with one’s self is an accepted bundle of lies except for those rare moments of self-realization. These lines right at the start of Timeless Echoes, ‘Each moment is precious, we try to cage it within our heart, where it perches in perfect rampart, embalmed by memories,’ reveal how this book is a healer, promising to lay bare the ills of the soul as it soothes, cleanses, and nurtures; instilling in us a will to learn and live without fear, and a will to not hurt others: ‘Why can’t our hearts feel the hurt we hurl at others?’

Balroop’s new book is a steadfast repudiation of those ills that we painfully hide under the covers of our flesh to present the polished exterior as truth. This magnetic collection of poems highlights our precious human lives with all their varied emotions and imposing relations: the lives often blinded by the strictures of the self-made duplicity, an excessively common phenomenon. ‘Listen to your heart, my friend. It knows you well,’ she writes.

I treasure these ‘forgetting fragile facets of love, facade of fading memories, echoes of dwindling love, is all I have now, yet love echoes refuse to subside’ believing that love echoes are soul-launched signals, ready to hug our pretenses to forge a divine assimilation because the struggle has always been with the self that we excommunicate to build up a wall, which obscures the travails plaguing the core. And finding a path to the core is the cure since there’s no villainy in the soul.

As Balroop proclaims ‘love is such a strange emotion, it gives less, it claims more…the facade of love is so delusive,’ I concur how our infirmities require urgent banishment, more pressing now than ever. And once I’ve made peace with the self, ‘the dark corridors are like meadows, they glow with my presence.’ Yes, without an iota of my own falsehoods plaguing me.
  Mahesh Nair

Thank you for your support.

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Balroop Singh

 

Two other updates:

My kid won two gold medals in a Martial Arts tournament. The theme was be a buddy, not a bully. How relevant to our times, and to Timeless Echoes.

Some of the longlistees. I’m an alphabetical topper 🙂

I am long-listed for Reflex Fiction prize. Getting long-listed is like winning since it’s a tough competition. Most of the other longlistees are flash fiction experts, so it’s great to be placed among them. All the longlistees will feature in a print anthology that’ll come out early next year. It’s a win-win accomplishment. Thanks.

Virtues

depositphotos_26112875-Vector-cartoon-of-happy-man-and-woman-picking-grapes

She’s quiet, but there’s a flow
of unvoiced thoughts, her glow
has warmth of color, they blend in,
like the bows after the rain.

She smells pure
like the dews of the morning grass
her presence, her lure
seen a gerber in a vase?

She smacks his forehead
might hurt — glad it’s a sign
that she trusts his word
as they toast Mumm Cordon.

origami_lion_and_gazelle_3__by_orestigami-d5pp10o

But: like a gazelle, she’s ahead,
in a jungle, as the lion pursues
she finds a cave, is almost dead,
she sees that he sees her virtues.

In a world where happiness is rare,
where pretense is the new care
she loves as he lays bare
his truths, nothing more to share.

Refreshing is the breath of the spring,
when awash in the warmth of the sun,
their shadows are proportional, they grin,
their creating memories, moments of fun.

Now she isn’t quiet
her words sound right
she sees that he sees her,
gives him permission, her.

Faces And Hearts

images

I see faces, aching

for acceptance, hearts

prepping for penance.

Acceptance and penance, use them

They’re available, mean them.

 

An old, homeless man wobbled,

waiting for red to turn green

When a taxi hit a puddle,

his soaked shirt stuck to his skin.

 

The car shrieked to a stop, the driver,

his teeth glistened, he laughed

The man’s eyes lowered, the poorer,

he stood there as the car moved.

 

The breeze was cold and wet

The man walked, then paused

He had no cash or check

He walked and stopped.

 

Night glowed, stars assembled

He on a bench slipped into dreaming

Someone patted him and whispered

I’m the driver, he said, you were forgiving.

 

Both ate the sandwich the driver brought

He scanned the man, a deja vu from before

The man had stood, the driver remembered, between him and a gun

Look at the scar, the man quickly said, from the bullet of ’84.

Repentance Graphic_full

The driver’s eyes welled with tears,

the man’s with pride – and both hugged,

then smiled and sighed

Who said acceptance and penance have died.

 

But, I see faces aching

for acceptance, hearts

prepping for penance.

Acceptance and penance, use them

They’re available, mean them.

Father and Son

photo55
When they had a hearty laugh doing a selfie, and his budding teeth have blossomed.

An Impromptu Poem

Their love’s not strange
Like all fathers and all sons they are,
Their equations can’t change
For how many years there are

A father and a son
They wait for the Sun,
In the middle of the night
When the Moon shines bright

The father tries again
The forecast predicted rain,
Clouds shroud the Moon
The son cries soon

Rain lashes at the windows
Flash, the Moon goes,
The son isn’t sleepy
The father is weepy

Then he croons Little Piggy
The rain’s jiggy jiggy
Clouds clear, the Moon returns
The Sun’s still far, off the light turns

The father and the son
After the day’s fun
Embrace sleep and night
For morning’s first light.