By: Mitali Chakravarty Ah! To Write like Ruskin I feel I cannot write.Words don’t fall into place.I have no stories to tell. Ruskin Bond writes so well.His words touch my heartso I can cry. My words feel dry. The anguish…

By: James Aitchison Where do words gowhen you need them?Do they hide in someone else’scloud, do they escape to thefringes of the mind, do theytease and taunt from a distance?Are words self-powered,self-propelled, self-controlled?Can they masquerade as thewords you don’t want?Are…

By: Todd Mercer We had a genuine Chef running the kitchen, but she got angry and walked out. Now I’m stuck peeling plastic off trays of Lunchables and restacking the heavily processed morsels of meat and cheese on to our…

By: Munavvar Tlewbaeva Night had fallen. Streetlights lit the road, but I didn’t want their artificial glow. I wanted real, shining stars. So I walked home through a darker street.Above me, stars twinkled silently, watching the hurried lives below. My…

By: David Sapp When I was ten or eleven, I had this crazy idea to trek through the woods, along the Kokosing River, from my house to, well, wherever, just to see where we might end up and explore uncharted…

By Gregory Ballinger Cuthbert Creep was a keen gardener who lived alone in the countryside, where he was able to enjoy his retirement in peace and quiet. Cuthbert kept to himself, and only ever ventured into the village if it…

By: Paul Tristram Obviating (Emotional) Surgery Weaving of ‘Egg-Calcium’ amongstverbal recollectionsof Yesterday… to strengthenmemory-bones,and help pillar the Totemof our acquaintanceship, sturdier.Hesitancy and Carefulnessare neck-and-neck…yet, it should really beExcitement and Enthusiasmcoursing the Hunt,when Passion is, in fact, the Hare.Leaner Times ledto…

By: James Aitchison (a pantoum) dada doubts everythingwe were all dada before dadarebel against bourgeois society they saidrebel against the human condition itself we were all dada before dadadada will amount to nothing nothing nothingrebel against the human condition itselfsweep…

By: Faisal Khan Trust the Rain In the heart of the desert,fairy shrimp mate, lay their eggs, and bury them in the sand.The act is brief—mere days.The adults do not survive,but the eggs remain.Waiting in silence. Waiting in faith.Sometimes for…

By: Suman Mondal There’s a quiet peace in melancholy,lying on a warm, water-soaked pillow,whooping silently, a fragile halo on face.The Moon is so dear today! Stay away! The night is ephemeral.Where is life? Weak bones coveredby the agonies of experience…