By: Akash Vikas Rumade As clock ticked spring, I proposed to be her king. But she wasn’t ready to be my queen, Since then grass hasn’t been green!
Sixteen Small Deaths, according to the publisher, is a collection of short fiction culled from nearly a decade of work from Boston-based author, Christopher J. Dwyer. The stories in the collection skirt the edges of noir, horror and science-fiction, sometimes…
By: Kousik Adhikari The Ganga walks mildly cradling Banaras and its Lord in her lap, In the evening thousand suns burn Throughout the steps of Dasaswamedh Ghat, Fires illuminating the world and her glowing face, Fire fires all. Resonance of…
By: G David Schwartz Whistles in the wind around September begin again now stand with a friend The dog is a mutt a very annoying hunt barking up the rut I listened to you Not because you are my wife…
By: Richard Luftig Chuck-E-Cheese was created for guys like me. Divorced men who see their kids on weekends. Children who, as they get older, don’t want to leave their friends in order to spend boring time with their fathers. In my…
By: Raymond Greiner In the early 60’s I lived and worked in Detroit. During this time Detroit was an active, vibrant and thriving metropolis not the hollow place it is today. As I drove to work daily I passed a small…
By: Reese Scott When he was born he didn’t sleep. His mother went insane and slept under neighbors’ cars, in garbage cans, slept with the elderly, the dying and the children. After she died, he began to sleep. And he…
The Sahitya Akademi yesterday gave away literary awards at its ongoing annual “Festival of Letters”. The awards recognized the contributions of famous poets–Javed Akhtar (Urdu), Subodh Sarkar (Bengali) and Ambika Dutt (Rajasthani). The Akademi also awarded the novelists such as…
By: JD DeHard As we discuss what is for dinner I notice the thin rail above our heads Looking left and right, I see Almost invisible, the line enclosing us I turn to you, you turn to me We are…
By: JD DeHart I never would have learned to double-lace If not for him, and would still have strapping Sounds of my shoe strings hitting sidewalks The children in the yard call Marco No one is there to reciprocate, even…