Issue 3 Star- Gazette
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STAR GAZETTE MAGAZINE
ISSUE 3
Includes contest winners' blog and
amazing works by talented artists.
FROM US TO YOU...
Welcome to another issue of Star-Gazette
magazine. Despite the tough times prevailing
in India, we were safe and by the blessing of
Almighty, we were able to compile the best of
literature, art, and photography along with the
Summer melodies contest to bring to you the
latest issue. Issue 3 consists of themes
revolving around summer, spring, roots, and
lots more.
Our heart comes out for those who are
struggling during these times. The Star-Gazette
team wished everyone a quick recovery and
the best of health. Please stay at home, stay
safe, and don’t be afraid to embrace your
creativity.
A hearty thanks and congratulations to all the
winners and contributors. I would love to
express my gratitude to the Star-Gazette team
for spending so much time and effort. I wish
the readers a warm thanks and please stay
safe, stay at home.
With that said let's get into ISSUE 3!
CONTENT
What is Happening to Me?
by Chris Mardiroussian
4
Photos by Akshar Chug
6
I am Grateful by Samar Jain
7
The sweet scented lilies,
soup and music by Tanvi
Nagar
8
Photos by Paarangana Seth
10
Oceans by Madelyne Rosa
Sosa
11
What We Made by Tanvi
Nagar
18
Why I Love my Dreamland by
Sonal Gupta
19
Photos by Rabeiah Tasleem
Khan
20
Her Wordless Love Song by
Oskar Leonard
21
Photos by Nikhil
Art by Smruti Mahapatra
22
23
BLOG
24
What is
Happening to
Me?
~Chris Mardiroussian
I used to be so spry,
young, energetic like
a lithium cocaine battery,
now, I’m just a grumpy,
cantankerous,
lethargic dried-up prune
that falls asleep at 10 o’clock,
pees sitting down,
and
only feasts
after six.
THE AUTHOR
Chris Mardiroussian is a graduate student at
California State University, Long Beach. In 2018,
he won First Prize in the Cinema Italian Style Film
Festival (sponsored by the prestigious American
Cinematheque in Los Angeles) for his short film
entitled IL BREAKUP, which he co-wrote and
produced. In 2017, he co-wrote a collection of
poetry entitled HONESTY. LOVES. CRUELTY. His
work has appeared in Bloom Magazine, Bluntly
Magazine, BOMBFIRE, Soul Talk Magazine, Ice
Lolly Review and elsewhere. He lives in Glendale,
California.
You will face many
defeats in life, but
never let yourself be
defeated
~MAYA ANGELOU
E V E R Y D A Y G R A P H I C | 3 8
Akshar Chug
Akshar Chug is a
passionate wildlife and
nature photographer. He
has been doing
photography for 4 years.
Currently he is 19 and
pursuing MBBS course in
a medical college in India.
I am Grateful
~Samar Jain
Today and everyday I’m grateful for the forest, flowers and trees…
fruits, petals and green leaves,
I’m grateful for the animals, birds and all the beings,
I’m grateful for the lakes, rivers and seas,
and for all that simply heals,
I’m grateful for the love, and the one who does,
For the divine dove on that blissful Bove,
In these unusual times, I’m grateful for the covid warriors who courier
hope,
I cry for those who grieve, mourn for those who leave,
I feel sad for the dearth,
But I still love my earth,
I promise to care for earth, anywhere and everywhere, no matter
where…
For I am aware of the nightmare, you must also beware,
I promise to value our home by doing my bit,
I promise to care for our earth and everything it has to offer,
I choose to celebrate earth day, today and every single day.
THE AUTHOR
Samar Jain,15, is a student at DPS, Gurgaon. He is passionate about Public Speaking,
Artificial Intelligence, playing sports and making impactful videos, He also has a knack of
Reading and Writing. He is a fervent environmentalist and considers himself to be a lifelong
humanitarian. Furthermore, he is a Tech-enthusiast, and has also won several accolades in
Debates, MUN's and Group discussions. He has written this poem as an attempt to influence
the youth and children of his age to be more compassionate towards the environment. The
poem unfolds in a natural backdrop and takes us on a journey of thoughts to be grateful for
all that is.
The sweet scented lilies, soup and
music
~Tanvi Nagar
I
We strung together the sweet scented lilac lilies with perfection
and laced the low hanging air of despair with your magical melodies.
The red, blue and green lines on the screens fluctuated freely
tirelessly racing rhythmically- as if creating their own music.
The aroma of light-yellow luscious lamb soup escaped from the bowl
as if racing to reach the titled, square white ceiling first;
II
My glassy eyes stayed fixed upon the skeleton before me- bones, flesh
and a little bit of you,
encased in a coffin of peachy pale skin and numerous twisted tubes;
the incisions in your skin fresh- with small red droplets of blood that
oozed out
made my heart beat faster; fluttering like a kite in the sky before its
string is cut.
the skin in your hands and feet hung loose and lifeless
which made it harder to imagine how blood was gushing underneath this
sheet,
there was so much movement in the molecules of your being
yet, so much stillness in the spirit of your existence.
your eyelids were shut closed, concealing the gateway to your universe
within,
like the white sheet that covered the scars the sharp needles left on your
body.
III
We strung together the sweet scented lilac lilies with perfection
and laced the low hanging air of despair with your magical melodies.
The red, blue and green lines on the screens fluctuated freely
tirelessly racing rhythmically- as if creating their own music.
The aroma of light-yellow luscious lamb soup escaped from the bowl
as if racing to reach the titled, square white ceiling first;
It was hard to imagine life of a human, so powerful yet dangerously
delicatehanging
on the monitors, meters, measures.
It was still more hard to imagine what pulling the plug from a socket
can do to the one hanging on it like threads of loose cloth ripped at the
ends.
IV
The lilac lilies danced in farewell, to some sad song it seemed
the monitors beating slower, slower and slower still
with their constant repeating beat- beep.
the waves resounded and repeated
until the notes on the screen
refused to go up and down
and the fumes from
the soup didn’t
escape at
all.
Paarangana
Seth
Paarangana is studying in
9th grade. Since her
childhood, she has been
very interested in
photography as the
amazing pictures clicked
by professional
photographers always
wowed her. She has been
clicking pictures of
nature since the past few
years and is loving it.
Other than photography,
Paarangana also likes art
& craft very much.
OCEANS ~MADELYNE ROSE SOSA
Madelyne is a Mexican-Colombian-and-Guatemalan poet and writer based in
Appleton, WI by way of Los Angeles, CA. She is the blog editor for Humankind Zine and
her writings have been featured in the likes of Homegrown Zine, Sumou Mag, and her
local arts paper, FSM. She is a lifelong daydreamer, vintage, and music enthusiast.
When she's not writing you can find her drinking coffee, baking, or obsessing over her
pets.
Her silky white dress. The eyelash on her cheek. A green strand of hair cascading from
the bun she tried to keep out of her face. Her hands- rough like those of a woman whose
lived, danced, and knew more than he. Yet still gentle upon him, they were unlike any
he’d ever felt. He spun her around in circles, they danced around his living room. He
gazed out the window as she pressed herself in closer, when he held her like this the
night sky looked different, every star seemed like it was shooting and the moon seemed
like it was just outside his window, setting like the sun. He briefly thought if he reached a
hand out the window he could touch it, hold her in his other hand and they’d dance
upon it forever, then he’d never have to let her go.
She sang along with the song as the record spun, this song was slow and steady, not the
first choice for either of them but he loved it because it allowed him to hold her close,
something which he struggled to ever do. His grandfather loved this record, played it
repeatedly as he was growing up, so he knew the order of each song on it and felt his heart
heavy as the needle reached the final one. By holding her so close for so long he was
starting to feel as though he were beginning to understand her better. He was starting to
memorize the way air pushed itself in and out of her lungs, how every now and then she’d
trip over her feet and faintly turn red at her neck.
He also knew she was itching for something faster, he could tell that by the time they
reached the B side she was searching for melodies that weren’t even there, she wanted
something which she could move her hips and twist to. She loved that kind of music,
the kind of music in which she was so close to him he could feel her heart on top of
him, then within the second it took for him to send her in a twirl she was on the other
end of the room, a distance which seemed like a galaxy away in this game they’d play.
He knew dawn would come in the blink of an eye, that the stars were fading, and soon
she would leave with them like the breeze of the summer night. The past nights he’d
given in to her eagerness, played the fast-paced music in which her body was always
close, then far, close, then far. Not tonight. Tonight he would hold her close until the
very last beat of the final song. Hold her until the beats of their hearts were
synchronized. Maybe he’d kiss her. Maybe he’d leave her lipstick stain on all of the
following day, just to remind himself she truly was real. That he hadn’t dreamt last night
and the dozens before. No, tonight he wouldn’t let her go. Wouldn’t let her walk out the
door leaving behind nothing but a bobby pin or a strand of hair on his arm. Tonight
he’d hold her long enough she’d never go.
Sturgeon Bay, WI. June 20. 10:07 AM.
RRRRRNNNGGGG! RRRRNNNNGGG!
“Shit!” Jack murmured, barely awake, sifting his hand over the coffee table and trying to
find his phone. He looked at the caller ID, it was Mar, one of his best friends.
“Jeez, I thought you’d never answer. Anyways, I’m outside.”
“Outside?” he said puzzled, then looked at the time. Farmers market! They were
supposed to catch up today and go. He’d only passed out on the couch only a few hours
ago and was still in a dress suit.
“You’re still in bed huh?”
“Yea… I went to bed kinda late last night. But hey it’s fine! I’ll unlock the door and give me
like half an hour to get ready and we can go, we’ll even take my car.”
“Fine. But you’re making me a cup of coffee.”
“Deal.”
He heard her car beep and for once was thankful it took three steep flights of stairs to
reach his apartment as he scrambled around trying to ensure everything was in place. To
his dismay it was. How could that be? How could you spend an entire night dancing with
a woman and the next morning find the room looking like it’d never been touched? He
knew he hadn’t picked up before she left. He knew she had to be real. His lack of sleep
was all the proof of it. Or maybe he was losing it, maybe he’d hallucinated it all and really
did need to seek help. He tried to imagine explaining his situation to a therapist and
shook his head at the idea the second the words left his mouth. No one would
understand him, they’d think he was having some sort of psychotic break, and they
wouldn’t be wrong to think so.
He didn’t get to think too long before he heard Mar approaching the door, he quickly
unlocked it, set the kettle to boil, took out the coffee, and ran to the shower before she
saw him and asked why at 10 AM he was so disheveled and in dress clothes. A few
minutes later he was ready and found her on the sofa sipping coffee and scrolling
through her phone.
“Hey Mar! How are you?” he said drying off his hair with a towel.
“Other than the fact that your coffee sucks, pretty good,” she said, setting down the halffinished
cup and giving him a hug. Releasing from his embrace she placed her hands on
his shoulders and looked at him, “My God Jack, but what about you? You look like you
haven’t slept in weeks.”
“Gee thanks,” he said sarcastically, trying to dodge answering the question because
lately on a good night he got two hours of sleep and was too tired to think of a smart
comeback. “Well, I’m ready just let me find my car keys-”
“Um, I don’t think so. You look like you should be in an infomercial about not driving
while tired. We’ll take my car today.”
“Whatever you say,” he said following her out and fussing with the back of her hair.
Mar wore a colorful, floral summer dress and sandals the way she usually would in the
summer, mainly because she liked having the ability to easily take off her shoes and run
into the water. Her hair fell to the middle of her back, was dark black and he noticed she
recently highlighted it a seaweed like green. Her face was freckled, skin was tanned and
with one look at her you could tell her body made itself home beneath the sun. She
worked as a hairstylist at her family salon, but had a passion for photography and
dreamed of pursuing it full time one day, thus she almost always had a camera of some
sorts with her for whenever inspiration struck. Though what people always seemed to
notice first about Mar were her eyes, behind those nerdy glasses of hers, were a pair of
deep blue eyes which surprised many since both her parents eyes were brown. Most
family members told her that she got them from a great grandmother, but her mother
would just tell her it's because her soul carried the sea.
Catching a glimpse of himself in her car window he sighed. Jack was a local musician,
specializing mostly in rock and folk tunes. But today, with his long, dirty blonde hair still
wet, beat-up blue jeans, old band t-shirt he threw on, and his eyes, typically golden like
honey, hanging tired and heavy, he felt more like he should’ve been the leader of a band
in the 90’s grunge scene. He couldn’t believe that just last night he was in a button-up,
his hair slicked back, shoes shined. In fact, when she saw him she said he looked like he
stepped right out of an old Hollywood movie, and now only a few hours later, he just
looked like a grungy 20 something going to the weekend farmers market.
He quietly listened to Mar’s life updates on the way there, trying to wake up and distract
himself from his own. As they got to the farmers market he was beginning to pull
himself together, quickly noticing how busy it was and finding himself struggling to
decipher what was being sold at stands, but within moments she was already finding
things.
“Jack look!” she said running to a stand. “Cabbage flowers! I was worried all the old ladies
would buy them before I got here!”
He laughed at how candidly she spoke, “here I owe you since I made you run late. Pick
your favorite and I’ll treat you.”
Picking the brightest and biggest of the bunch, she flaunted around the market as they
chatted about nothing and everything as she filled her bags with flowers, fruits, and
homemade trinkets. Finally, they stopped at their favorite coffee shop to talk more and
rest.
“So Jack no offense, but is everything alright? Are you working too much or something,
you look like you haven’t slept since the last time I saw you.”
He paused to think of a witty response and debated telling her the truth. Mar was a
voice of reason for him, if he sounded insane she’d tell him, and if he didn’t. Well, he
didn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t, because there’s no way in hell he wouldn’t sound
crazy. He then thought that maybe that was just what he needed, someone to tell him
he sounded crazy and to seek help. Maybe he was just sleep-deprived and
hallucinations were the outcome. As more time passed he was beginning to feel like he
needed to talk to someone before he completely lost his mind, or maybe to his dismay
he already had. He was thinking too much, he was rather good at doing that.
“Hello, Jack? You with me?”
“Shit, sorry, I guess I zoned out for a second.”
“My God Jack, what’s going on? You’re seriously worrying me, you’ve hardly spoken,
couldn’t answer a simple question, you’ve got bags for days under your eyes and-”
“I think I’m losing my shit Mar. I think I’m losing my shit,” he said interrupting her without
thinking.
She paused to sip her coffee, “Well. I’m right here and listening. What’s going on?”
Like word vomit before he could even think about what he was saying he told her
everything. How recently he was driving home during a bad storm and as he was
passing the shore his car started to slip and he got into a small car accident. He made it
out uninjured and decided not to tell anyone but his parents because he didn’t want
people fussing over him. However, after a few nights, he started finding himself
struggling to sleep and got out of bed to make himself a glass of warm milk like his
mother used to do. He explained how he just turned on the small light in the kitchen
since the moon was rather bright that night, then once he made the milk and went to sit
down on the couch to drink it, he dozed off and had the most amazing dream. In the
dream he danced for hours with a woman, she fit just right into his arms, had long, dark
She wore a silky white dress and though he was never much of a dancer, with her he
felt like a professional, he knew exactly how to move with each beat of the songs.
Everything about the dream felt so alive and real, he felt his consciousness questioning
just how much of it was reality. But then, as dawn began to break and the final song
finished, their first summer night together was over. He found that it was just as easy for
her to slip out of his arms as it was for her to slip into them and with just a little kiss on
the cheek as a goodbye she walked out the door. That morning when he came to full
consciousness he thought it was just some crazy fever dream but quickly realized he
was dressed in a suit he forgot he owned, just like in the dream. His hair was even still
slicked back and the last record they’d played was still on the record player. He also felt
as though he’d stayed up all night and began to think that maybe he never actually did
sleep and it wasn’t all a dream. This pattern had now been going on for a solid month
and yea, she was right. He was not doing well, nor was he getting any proper sleep,
because whatever it was that was happening to him, was definitely not a good night’s
rest.
Looking at her, silent and still, he couldn’t believe he’d told another living human being
that. He started to think he probably just severed his friendship with her, she’d probably
come up with some excuse to go home early and never talk with him again.
“Well,” she said, thinking for a moment. “Let’s just rule out this initial question, could you
have been sleepwalking?”
“No. I know it sounds like that, but no. Just no. This is more real than that. I think.”
“Okay. Just had to ask. Well, Jack, I don’t have a good answer for you, I wish I did. But
that’s something like I’ve never heard before, my grandma would probably have a good
answer though. She knows all about spirits, folklore, and those things y’know.”
“I’m sure she does, but uh-”
“You don’t want to talk about it with anybody.”
He paused, he could tell that she truly believed him, she was pretty open-minded like
that. But he also knew her solution would probably end with crystals and a cure-all
sageing ceremony, and tired as he was he wasn’t sure he wanted it all to be over and her
to indefinitely leave. Fever dream or lost spirit, he wasn’t sure if he could continue on
without her. This realization only made him feel crazier and he just wanted the
conversation to be over so he didn’t have to think about it anymore.
“I haven’t figured out anything yet,” he said looking away then back at her, panicking
more as the conversation continued and it was settling in what he’d just said. “I could
just be having sleep issues or something, actually the more I talk about it the more that
makes sense. I mean that happens all the time after people get into accidents. I’m sure
that’s what it is actually. I’ll call the doctor next week, and start getting things
straightened out. Okay?”
“You sure about that? Because you had a different tone a few minutes ago when you
were talking.”
“Positive. Don’t worry about it okay? I just needed to hear myself say it out loud I think,
y’know to make sense of everything.”
She didn’t believe him and he knew it, but he also knew she wouldn’t press the subject
anymore.
She sighed and took the last sip of her coffee, “Well Jack, I’m pissed you never told me
about the accident, but thankful you’re okay. Hopefully, you’ll stop driving like an asshole
now though.”
“What do you mean? I’m the safest driver I know!”
She rolled her eyes, “Whatever you say, Jack. C’mon, let’s walk.”
He followed her out and she paused to look him straight in the eyes before putting back
on her sunglasses, “You know whatever happens I’m here for you right?”
She’d never looked at him so deeply or seriously in all their years of friendship, the blue
in her eyes seemed deeper and he noticed for the first time that there were little green
flecks in them, her mother was right, they really did look like the sea.
“I know Mar and I always got you too, okay,” he said, giving her a small hug and then
getting the door.
With that they dropped the subject and strolled around the farmers market, it rained all
last night but the sun was bright as could be this morning and all of nature seemed
extra green now. They took an impromptu trip to the lake and their favorite diner,
eventually parking and strolling around town and stopping at an antique shop near the
shore. Jack would never admit to Mar he would often find himself bored to death in
those little shops, but she’d sat in on his long Dungeons and Dragons nights more times
than he could count, even though she had little interest in those things. So he never
fought her when she dragged him into one, besides it made him happy seeing how
excited she’d get about these little stores.
“Look Jack! This tea set looks victorian!” she exclaimed, practically bouncing around like a
kid in a candy store.
“Oh yea it does,” he said following her and looking at a cup from it, then quickly setting it
down out of fear of breaking it.
She flounced about the store, often staring at little objects for long periods of time, and
holding them with an almost sense of familiarity. Jack busied himself pretending to take
interest in objects and studying the old shopkeeper. He looked ancient, with a big belly
and a big white beard like Santa Claus.
He was dressed in a Hawaiian shirt, khakis, and smelt like he’d just been smoking Cuban
cigars even though he had a big sign on the door which said smoking within the shop was
strictly prohibited. The old man intrigued him for some reason, though he wasn’t doing
much aside from nodding his head to the radio and reading the gazette. Realizing Mar was
lost in a world of 1920’s fashion and porcelain tea sets, he figured they’d be there a while
and moved towards the bin of discount books near the register where the man sat. He
paged through some old novels, some of which he remembered from school. Then
eventually landed at an old folklore book, the man coughed, Mar walked over.
“Hey, whatcha reading?”
“Huh? Oh, uh, some folklore book, I guess,” he said. “Ready to go?”
“Yea, let me just check out. You getting anything?”
The man lifted an eye from his newspaper, as though he too were waiting for Jack’s
response, now feeling obliged to buy something, he decided to buy the folklore book he’d
had in his hand.
“I never knew you liked folklore Jack,” she said as they left the store.
“Honestly I don’t, but I felt like Hawaiian Santa Claus wouldn’t have been very happy with
me if I didn’t get something.”
“I don’t know, he seemed nice to me.”
“He seemed interesting alright,” he yawned, the lack of sleep was catching up to him.
“You seem tired. You should rest, I’ll take you home.”
“What’s the point?” he grumbled.
Mar paused, “Well, why don’t you pack an overnight bag and stay at my place tonight?
Maybe it’ll be easier for you to sleep if you’re not in a place alone.”
“You don’t think your family would mind?”
“Are you kidding? They love you, my grandma calls you her favorite white boy, well aside
from Kennedy of course. They’re always asking about you, c’mon maybe a home-cooked
meal and my grandma overfeeding you because she thinks you’re too skinny are just what
you need. I’ll tell them your apartment is getting fumigated or something, they won’t even
question it.”
Tired and desperate for a good night’s sleep, Jack figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least try out
the idea. They headed back to his house where he packed an overnight bag and left for her
house, Mar lived with her parents and her grandparents lived in the neighboring guest
house. He’d known them for years and they often made him feel as though he were an
extension of their own family.
TO BE CONTINUED
IN THE NEXT ISSUE
What We Made
~Tanvi Nagar
I made stardust. Rather, we made it together,
We mixed the ashes of our ties,
Along with time-the famous healer,
We simply let go.
The ashes divided, broke into pieces
So minute, so tiny, so little,
That they became power
And magic, they became our healer
The goodbye didn’t hurt anymore,
It simply existed in the universe
Floating
Existing
Remaining
Like the stardust we left behind,
Maybe that’s what destiny made of us-
Two souls, too far away yet united with magic.
THE AUTHOR
Tanvi Nagar is a high school senior at DPS Gurgaon and loves to read and write. She has
been published by platforms like The Times of India, The Hindustan Times, The Ice Lolly
Review, The Weight Journal, The Elysian Muse Literary Magazine, Risen Zine, Secret Attic
and Anti-Heroin Chic among others. She has authored 4 books published by Exceller Books,
Notion Press and Partridge, India. Her most recent book is titled ‘Metamorphosis.’ She is an
editor for the Cathartic Youth Literary Magazine.She has won the Eye Level Literary Award,
2018 by Daekyo, South Korea, The Create Change Challenge by the University of
Queensland, Australia and the Millennial Essay Writing Contest, UNESCO. She believes
writing has the power to change the world. Her website is tanvinagar.com.
I LOVE MY DREAMLAND
WHY
GUPTA
~SONAL
Sonal Gupta, a high school student at DPS Gurgaon is an enthusiastic debater, National
level filmmaker and a passionate published writer has participated
in several international conferences and has compiled & co-authored many anthologies.
With her interest in community
service, she is the Founder- President of Cyber Port, a
youth-led initiative that works towards spreading awareness about
the Cyber World. Apart from that, she volunteers in
several NGOs and is an inspiration for many
people.
In today's era where everyone is hustling for success, at times the tired
engine of our brain yearns for peace. Finding peace now a days is not easy,
because whatever you do people will judge us for that and this fact stresses
us even more. However is it wrong to chase your dreams or escape into
your dreamland when life feel burdensome?
No, We all are humans and it's very important for us to express ourselves
Why I Love my Dreamland?
Escaping to your own Dreamland for happiness is better than being sad
and loosing faith on your own Belief System.Life is chaotic and there is no
right time to do things, we are humans we have emotions, running after
success is not the only way to be Happy.
Everyone has different priorities,goals, ways, opinions and feelings because
Everyone is
different. Life is too short to fight over small things, life is unpredictable.Try
to seek positivity and think about or keep those things with you that brings
a Big Smile on your face.
Rabeiah
Tasleem
Khan
Rabeiah Tasleem Khan is a coming of
age poet,photographer and collage
artist,
she started her poetry / collage
account ( @poetryby_rabz) just a
year ago and is published in many
magazines. She hopes to release her
own poetry collection later this year.
Her Wordless Love Song
Between light-speckled greenery
of new and ancient oaken trees—
that which we call our hallowed home;
the forest that I have always known—
I hear her song, twixt the wind
which lightly whistles through branches thinned
by little talons, my own and hers
and those of every bird who stirs
within our haven, this summer-sweet
grove of trees, under which we meet
as I soar forever towards
a melody created without words;
every note bursts with her love
and so I fall from far above
to hold her tightly in my wing,
as she is such a pretty, tender thing—
others are around us now,
warbling melodies, but how
can any bird compare to her?
~Oskar
Leonard
Her, with bluest plumage and honest soul,
she blesses my eyes as an angelic whole—
so I am always where she art;
as now, in our shared summertime.
THE AUTHOR
Oskar Leonard is a trans author and poet from the UK, as well as a senior editor at The
Altruist, a poetry and prose editor at All Ears India and a creative writing intern at
FOURALL Magazine. He has written seven books: three novels, two poetry anthologies, a
short story collection and a novella. His pieces have been featured in publications like Ogma
Magazine, Potted Purple Mag, Fever Dream Journal and Juven.
Nikhil
Nikhil is a fifteen year old, high
school student living in India. He is a
self-taught photographer and is very
passionate about photography. He
has participated in multiple
photography competitions. Nikhil
specializes in nature photography
and believes that 'Photos are
memories preserved forever.'
Nikhil is a football player and also
holds black belt in karate.
As the photography in charge in the
Star Gazette Magazine, he aims to
provide a safe, interactive platform
for young photographers to
showcase their talent and to nurture
their passion.
ART BY Smruti
Swarupa Mahapatra
Oskar
Leonard
POETRY CONTEST WINNER
Oskar Leonard is a
trans author and poet
from the UK, as well
as a senior editor at
The Altruist, a poetry
and prose editor at All
Ears India and a
creative writing intern
at FOURALL
Magazine. He has
written seven books:
three novels, two
poetry anthologies, a
short story collection
and a novella. His
pieces have been
featured in
publications like Ogma
Magazine, Potted
Purple Mag, Fever
Dream Journal and
Juven.
1. Your poem was widely appreciated, what
inspired you to write that?
As a lot of my work is, this poem was inspired by
nature, specifically that nature that I find
around me, and love. I find it beautiful to meld
the romantic with the natural and to take two
worlds, that of human love and animal beauty,
and blend them together. It is very similar to
many of the works in my last collection, Our
Paused World, with the focus on birds stemming
from a deep respect for the creatures which I
am currently expressing in my next collection,
On Gentle Wings. I think we are privileged to be
able to write down and record what we see
around us, especially when it is often so
harmonious and tender.
2. Whose work has influenced you most?
This is a difficult question. Many of the poets
who I have studied have formed part of my
poetic voice, such as Carol Ann Duffy and Philip
Larkin. My favourite authors, such as Bram
Stoker, Oscar Wilde, George R.R. Martin,
Wendy Moore and many, many others, colour
my writing, although they have contrasting
styles and genres. Perhaps that's why I write in
so many different ways. I love to read almost
everything, so I suppose it is natural that I like
to keep a lot of variety in my written work as
well.
3. Among your works, which one is your favorite? Why?
Another tough question. My answer used to be Lighter Fluid, because that
novella is a bittersweet love letter to my high school experience and
encapsulates my life as a teenager so perfectly that I can't help but love it--
it's a little piece of my heart, written in ink and printed for others to see and
read. However, my recent short story collection Everything Under The
Rainbow has to be my current favourite work, since it has had such an
impact on both the people around me and those who I don't know as well.
Many have told me that the advice in there and the representation helped
them out enormously and various schools and colleges have copies of it in
order to aid their LGBT+ students, so I'm glad that I have done what little I
can with Everything Under The Rainbow to aid the British LGBT+ community.
4. What is your favorite genre to write in?
As may be evident by now, I dabble in a little bit of everything. My favourite
poetry 'genre' is observational poetry that captures moments of natural
beauty or interest, mixed with that human emotion that we all universally
feel in different situations. My longer works are usually but not always
Young Adult, generally Contemporary and always, I hope, thoughtful. I
would say that I'm not a particular fan of writing romance in longer works,
although I'm not sure why.
5. Anything you would like to say to the readers?
Please, take inspiration from the world you see around you. There is a wealth
of material that you can find just beyond your doorstep. Write everything
down so that you can show people the most beautiful moments in your life
later on, and so that you yourself can look back and remember how
everything was. Detail is an incredible tool with almost terrifying power.
Read and write what you love and what makes your heart happy, and know
that there is beauty in everything.
Akshar
Chug
PHOTOGRAPHY CONTEST WINNER
Akshar Chug is a
passionate wildlife
and nature
photographer. He has
been doing
photography for 4
years. Currently he is
19 and pursuing MBBS
course in a medical
college in India.
1. What is your favorite subject of
photography ?
Mainly I like to capture photographs of wildlife
around us. I visit zoological parks, Wildlife
Sanctuaries and National parks for most of my
work. Also I like to capture Nature too.
2. Whose work has influenced you most?
Many photographers have left me astonished by
their work. I really appreciate their work.
Especially Sudhir Shivaram sirs photography
inspires me a lot.
3. Among your works, which one is your
favorite? Why?
Out of many photographs which i have clicked
this one is by far most loved one. The reason
behind it is simple, it portrays peace of mind and
the i personally like its composition.
4. Anything you would like to say to the
readers?
My message to the readers would be find out
the hidden artist in you. Find out what you love
and enjoy. Also I would suggest them to show
support to the work of the young and emerging
professionals by sharing the magazine to our
friends and family.
Madelyne
Rosa Sosa
PROSE CONTEST WINNER
Madelyne is a
Mexican-Colombianand-Guatemalan
poet
and writer based in
Appleton, WI by way
of Los Angeles, CA.
She is the blog editor
for Humankind Zine
and her writings have
been featured in the
likes of Homegrown
Zine, Sumou Mag, and
her local arts paper,
FSM. She is a lifelong
daydreamer, vintage,
and music enthusiast.
When she's not
writing you can find
her drinking coffee,
baking, or obsessing
over her pets.
1. Which is your favourite literary work
read so far?
That’s a tough question, so many different
works come to mind, but I think I’d have to go
back to the first books I fell in love with- A
Series of Unfortunate Events. I used to finish
those books in a day or two then read them
over again. I’ve always loved reading, but
have never loved any piece of literature as
much as I loved, and still love that series.
2. Whose work has influenced you most?
My work is influenced by so many different
writers, poets, and people in general that it's
very hard to pinpoint one influence. I also try
not to study my work too much, because then I
just start picking at it, so it’s hard to say whose
influenced me the most. I really like Daphne du
Maurier though and have been reading lots of
her work in the past two years or so, and
definitely think in terms of writing fiction at
least,
she’s been the most influential on me. It was
after reading a collection of her short stories
did I really want to start pursuing fiction. I
really love how attentive to detail she was and
how her writing was never afraid to push the
boundaries of fiction and how a woman writes
it.
3. Among your works, which one is your favorite? Why?
In 2018 I was writing for a publication called Guided Mag, we were preparing our
fifth issue, the theme was “lost”. I had really bad writers block during that period
and didn’t think I’d have something ready in time. Then during that process I
learned my grandma had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and dementia,
and that news tore me to pieces. I eventually channeled all that pain into a poem,
I didn’t really
write it for publishing, though it ended up being published in that issue. It was a
poem navigating the heartbreak I was feeling knowing that sooner or later she
would not be with me, and potentially forget who I was. It also just expressed
how much I love her and how much she means to me. It was the first piece I’d
ever published in a magazine and I sent my family a copy, the page even had a
big picture of her as the poem's background. She loved seeing herself within a
magazine and got to read it. Shortly after that her illnesses really began to
progress and her memory became more hazy, so I always love that piece
because it really gave me the ability to express to her how much she means to me
one last time, and I feel I did that well. I also love it for the fact that it was a
piece we both share no matter what.
4. What is your favorite genre to write in?
It’s between poetry and fiction, but I definitely could not tell you which. When I
was in elementary school I used to get journals and fill them up with stories, like
little books, and it made me so happy writing those. But when I became an
adolescent I sort of fell out of writing in general for a bit, it was then that I found
poetry at about 13 and that really got me through my teenage years, as well as
solidified my love
for writing. I’ve mainly been a poet these past 7 or so years, but since getting
back into writing fiction recently I’ve remembered how much I love writing it, and
the art of storytelling. I think both serve different purposes for me, poetry is how
I deal with reality, fiction is how I escape it. I couldn’t exist without either and
love them both for many different reasons.
5. Anything you would like to say to the readers?
I’d say never be afraid to take risks in your art, or in anything you do, usually the
craziest ideas are the
ones which pay off. Believe in yourself and what you can do, no matter what you
come from, and keep
pushing the limits of what you think you can do!
Smruti
Mahapatra
ART CONTEST WINNER
Smruti Swarupa
Mahapatra is a 15-
year old, class 10th
student from K.C.
Public School, India
and have been writing
poetries and short
stories both for her
own satisfaction and
for the school and
local magazines and
hope to make a
difference here as
well. She aims to be a
best seller and is
trying to get herself
known through
various magazines.
1. What gives you the most joy in terms of
art ?
Admiring the great artworks give me joy.
That's a weirdly sublime feeling. I believe that
an art can give you that feeling of the core of
your heart being touched with much clarity
than words. It is like getting to know a bit of
that artist's soul conveyed amazingly with the
colors, shades and strokes.
2. Whose work has influenced you most?
I am a big fan of Leonid Afremov. I like his
painting, Mysterious Rain Princess. For why is
it inspiring - it just conveys a multitude of
emotions. The lonely street and the light
autumn rain, the atmosphere only say that the
person enjoying it is how hopelessly romantic
yet lonely. The elegance and grace being
excuded by the figure really makes her look
like a princess. She being a mystical figure
brings out the mysteriousness of the painting.
Overall, it inspires me to paint with a truckload
of emotions.
3. Among your works, which one is your favorite? Why?
Among my works, I like this painting I have recently done. I have named it
"Forest Queen". I love it so much because whenever I look at it, I always feels
like seeing a person so distant which once used to be me. It conveys my love for
nature, my anxiety to try something new, the glistening of my eyes in every
small happiness and the peace I acquire my even finding beauty in the ordinary.
4. What is the best thing about being an artist?
I once red it somewhere, "Frome healing, struggling, binding to liberating, there
are so many facets of art". I felt it now when I started giving my paint brushes
a important role in my life. So I believe, feeling that extension of imagination,
that anxiety of color selection, that tug in the heart when someone correctly
depict the message you wanted to convey and the time taken to give your
imagination a shape, that's what the best thing about being an artist.
5. Anything you would like to say to the readers?
To paint is to show a bit of yourself. It is something that the dim and vivid
strokes can explain better than words. You get to discover something settled
deep inside you when you paint or admire art. I believe it is a way of connecting
yourself to your inner soul and also a connection between people. Because it is
one of those things I love doing. So try to never lose hold of your hobbies for
they give a pace to your emotions and also creates a balance.
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