By: Ishita Bhaduri Translated by: Soma Roy You posted rains on the Facebook….. Two lacs fifty thousand likes…… Still the rains did not come. Instead some dark clouds Ashened the whole sky With a fistful of soft breeze. Not by Facebook…
By: Phil Temples “I should explain that I’m not a regular churchgoer, Father. I believe in a Creator, and I know the difference between right and wrong. Most of the time, anyway. Anyhow, I appreciate you comin’. “There are one…
By: Raymond Greiner The year is 1923 and the country is in the midst of the Roaring Twenties. Euphoria has not ceased since the end of The Great War. The alcohol flows like water unfolding a new era of drink, dance…
By: Debadrita Chakraborty The picture loomed at one end of the pastel hued wall. Deprived and lonesome. A face, alive and prominent amidst silhouetted men and women, greyed skyscrapers and a dilapidated blurry image of George Street. Eyes elegantly defined in…
A new forum bringing together publishers, agents, rights holders and literary content producers, has been launched by Teamwork Arts. The Jaipur BookMark born of huge interest shown by the international publishing industry in the Jaipur Literature Festival, will run in…
By: Brian Barbeito That sea took itself for a painting, and was different than the shores to the north. Up from there, especially in the storm season, the waters seemed to turn over more. This brought stings from jellyfish, and also…
By: Brian Barbeito In the before, yes, before he incarnated, the beings gathered round and said, Why? – Why do you want to go there and what do you want to do? He told them that he wanted to know what the real…
By: Tasneem. S. Pocketwala People about Around Surrounding her. Low and upset, she Seeks company. Out. Alone Now, sits in one place Awaits Beauty, tranquillity A little pity. – You arrive – Quells the word rising up her lips Tastes it,…
By: Tasneem. S. Pocketwala What if we could capture time? Like A moment of Being Apprehended In a photograph. My hand pulsates to hold time. *** I keep my pen down, now. There, rests ‘Sons and Lovers’. I pick it up,…
By: Matthew R Moore at the motel for the lost – if you should find yourself here there’s free admission and endless hours while tires seem to sleep in sideways heaps and bumpers corrode as thoughts unhinged cars wave with bags…