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Poets living in Bahrain feature in a global anthology of compelling prose produced by former resident and renowned British author and publisher Robin Barratt.
He is aiming to unite the world through words in his latest offering featuring more than 150 poets from 33 countries.
Childhood has been compiled by the 58-year-old to bring a touch of joy during the pandemic. “The theme came about to counter the negative energy that so many people have at the moment,” said Robin, a best-selling true crime writer now living in the English city of Norwich.
“I wanted something upbeat and fun; a theme that people can look back on and smile as they remember their own childhood, or as they look at the childhood of their own children.
“This anthology is a lovely collection featuring some truly-renowned poets, including pieces from Madhavi Tiwary, Dr Sarah Clarke and 14-year-old Veda Varma from Bahrain.
“Bahrain has so many wonderful poets, but unfortunately it is very hard for them to achieve a great deal of recognition outside the kingdom, and so, with my continued close ties to the island, I have always tried to continue promoting their work to a global audience.
“I do miss Bahrain and hope to return and settle there again one day. It is a truly beautiful island.”
Robin, who founded The Bahrain Writer’s Circle (BWC) in 2011 during his four years living in the kingdom, earlier launched an anthology titled My Beautiful Bahrain showcasing words from different BWC members and its sequel, More of My Beautiful Bahrain, continues to hold its own on the Amazon best-seller list.
He also edited, produced and published the Collections of Poetry and Prose series of 10 books featuring almost 1,400 pieces of work from 265 writers and poets from 49 countries. The Childhood is his 40th and he is already working on his next compilation called Faith.
He is delighted to have the Bahrain poets involved because he finds that their works always tell a story in a profound, interesting and unique way.
Sarah, the founder of Baloo’s Reading Buddies and author of the Baloo books based on her chocolate-brown rescue dog who passed away last year, said: “Robin’s poetry anthologies always provide a fascinating insight into the chosen theme seen from a huge diversity of poets with their unique cultures, backgrounds and styles.
“Childhood was a fabulous opportunity for us to explore our shared experiences of youth through verse and, as always, there’s something for everyone in its pages.
“We were all young once and I am sure readers will identify themselves in many of the poems.”
Her poem, called Heard, Not Seen, is dedicated to her brothers Robert and Paul.
“There was always a cacophony of sound resonating around our house and I was always the irritating little sister running behind shouting wait for me,” she said. “But they always looked after me so it seemed fitting to dedicate it to them.”
Meanwhile, Madhavi’s poem is called Child of the Dark. She said: “To be a part of Robin’s book is exhilarating and the theme strikes a chord with everyone. However, unlike the usual glamour and glow attached to this phase of life, my first thought went out to those unsung childhoods. Thus, my poem was born as a tribute to the lifelong agony of having had a miserable childhood.”
Veda’s poem Youth is all about the exuberance of adolescence.
She said: “My childhood was one fraught in felicity and hilarity, rapture and vigour. Hence my poem outlines a period of our lives that we all yearn to relive; the optimistic belief of hoping to experience that era anew and the liberty of rediscovering our frolic adolescence.
“I was highly flattered to be featured in the anthology alongside such ingenious writers.”
It has been published by his poetry platform, THE POET. Visit www.robinbarratt.co.uk/ for more details.
HEARD, NOT SEEN
– By Dr Sarah Clarke
Dedicated to my brothers Robert and Paul.
Three pairs of legs charge up and down
Thud Thump Thwack
Don’t run in here!
Three children scurry off in fear
Three pairs of hands learn new tunes
Pluck Plink Plonk
That sounds wrong!
Three clashing melodies repeat all day long
Three sets of fingers tinker here and there
Bop Bump Bash
Who broke that?
Three red-faced kiddies magically scat
Three pairs of lungs sing out loud
Le La Lo
That’s out of tune!
Three dissonant scales ring out ‘til noon
Three minds squabble all day long
No Never Not
Life’s unfair!
Three quarrelling siblings sent to their stair
Three troubled youngsters need to be heard
Me My turn Mine
It’s to share, not yours!
Three trembling voices fail in their cause
Three noisy children stomp in puddles
Splash Spray Splosh
What a yukky mess!
Three scallywags giggle as they undress
Three triumphant children sound the battle cry
Yah Yee Yay
Not so loud!
Three pretend soldiers quiet the crowd
Three inquisitive minds plot their escape
Tonight? Tomorrow? Today?
Don’t make a sound!
Three naughty kids tiptoe around
Yes, three were we always making a noise
Girl and, of course, the boys
Quiet! so often the plea
Heard, not seen, that was we three
CHILD OF THE DARK – By Madhavi Tiwary
In the halo of royalty
was buried
the raw indifference of
impeccably dressed nannies.
The gloom of the mansion
cast unflattering hues
on the baby’s powdered cheeks.
The distasteful fuss over
its tumbles and the alternate scorns and scoffs
squeezed all the melody
out of its reluctant gurgles.
Ah, the baby’s eternal bafflement
at its wobbly world!
Then the baby grew
into an imposing young man
of illustrious eminence.
Triumphs and trophies
cleverly covered all those ugly folds.
Not really.
There always were days when
the polished heart would
crumble again into a million wrinkles,
when the gashes from those
biting bends of the past
would bleed once again.
Then again, the cloak is adorned.
Once again life is crisp and ironed.
Once again, the auditorium of life echoes with applause.
All the wrinkles crunch beneath the thick paint.
Their screams are drowned in the din.
The trophies in the show case,
the Armani’s in the wardrobe
and the medals on the wall –
still remain too far from the pit
where all those gaping wrinkles
busily gnaw at the core.
Ah, the child of the dark...
YOUTH – By Veda Varma
The tantalising smell of freshly baked cookies,
My childhood toys, somewhat like Woody,
The exhaustion after running around, playing catch with my dad,
A juvenescence, where Blackberry was a fad.
The present goes by in the blink of an eye,
From thinking I can fly, to making my own pie,
From cricket to swimming to a pretend game of being the FBI,
Till my first day of school, where I was anything but shy.
The friends I made, ones for a lifetime,
I can’t steal a pencil? Oops! I didn’t know it was a crime!
From middle school to high school,
From university to our careers,
I wish we can still laugh and have a couple of beers.
This was my youth in a few lines,
I was never one to follow the guidelines,
Rebellious, stubborn, outgoing,
The adjectives could keep flowing.
Take a stroll down memory lane once in a while,
Relish the time, maybe go a mile,
Keep these memories under lock & key,
As they guide you, to where you desire to be.
