Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Year: 2014

The Remington Series: No. 1 (Poem)

By: Charles X. Madruga Drifting through dreams on her bed she whispers a scene through my head and I swear I should’ve died right then when she said – something in my ear, to be honest I didn’t hear a single…

Poem: Unmasked

By: Debleena Majumdar He stood alone, At the street corner Selling his wares, Masks of black and grey. They came to buy, Their own masks of pain. Masks that hid what, They could not say. Locked behind Glasspanes of power,…

DD’s Kitaabnama completes fifty shows

Prasar Bharti has issued a statement to announce that Kitaabnama: Books and Beyond, India’s only multilingual book show, has completed fifty episodes as on the 30th and 31st of August, 2014. The 50th episode features celebrated lyricist, poet and writer Gulzar Saheb…

Poem: River

By: Upasana Sharma My river is mist and smoke. 300 feet deep and 3 kilometers wide, My river,  Is a great big miracle. Some number of Lonely dolphins and happy humans have left their souls Stirring under the translucent roots…

Story: Teenage Wasteland

By: Upasana Sharma I’m never quite sure when I fell in love. That summer was a lot of things, but bad it wasn’t; summer of 2011. For the past couple of years, I had known nothing but monotonous weeks that…

Poem: Poison Ivy

By: Sehaj K Maini Something in my heart burned when your arm grazed hers. An accident perhaps, yes. But I can stop not This poison ivy inside of me Killing my judgment day by day, while you roam the streets, ignorant,…

Poem: Enigma

By: Sehaj K Maini Perhaps I am, an enigma Of a certain kind. Maybe it’s my eyes that have seen a little too much. Maybe it’s my floppy hair, that stray in front of them like black velvet curtains sewed…

Poem: Ghazal

By: Deeya Bhattacharya You alight, in the very dawn, of love; Far away, from the milky sky, above, Enmeshed, your presence, in my offerings- Cannot bid adieu, but continue, suave, Gentle you go, into my bosom far- Keep pace, with…

Poem: A Missing Melody

By: Deeya Bhattacharya I don’t remember certain things now I don’t need, a tug, at the waistband I wear, while dressing vegetables a breath of cinnamon, at my forehead driving my beads of perspiration while at work The staunch garlic…