By: Gaither Stewart His dark face projected toward the rain-blurred windshield, Ibrahim’s body was unusually stiff and erect. The powerful windshield wipers slashed relentlessly but ineffectively at the unyielding rain while the constant splash from the intense traffic on the…
GATE OF THE SUN– A Novel by Elias Khoury By Gaither Stewart (Rome) On this hot Italian late afternoon, after over a week inside the literary work entitled Gate of the Sun, I am still wandering in the gossamer framework…
“Нужно иметь сердце, чтобы понять!” (One needs heart to understand) By Gaither Stewart (Rome) In his novel, The Idiot, Dostoevsky wrote that beauty can save the world, admitting however that “beauty is difficult to judge … and is a riddle.”…
By: Neil Creighton When these limbs were strong, when ears were young and clear, when each day was unblinkingly bright, much grand music I could not hear. Now they hear a vast symphony from stars traversing the night, and these declining…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick this is the beginning this is the end the blueprint initiates the transition why am i here no purpose do i serve void of contentment restless from the urge the answer has been apparent distinct for…
By: Kimberly Potter Kendrick she shuddered upon entering the room it was just like any other room not memorable at all not the color of the walls if there were pictures or knick-knacks what the furniture looked like which pieces…
By: Christiane Demack Armenia, c. 600 C.E. I paced back and forth inside my chamber, stopping only to look out the window anxiously before resuming my restless pacing. The sun was setting, an orange glint on the castle walls. The…
By: Satish Verma In suddenness, I will write a poem for you. You had stopped at the outset, like a black moon opening up perfervidly. Remote from the oneness of life, a flame leapt up to ignite the process of…
By: Satish Verma Something to leave for you. Don’t pull the other end of the string. Dedicated to the invincible, I raise a toast for a theorist, for not calling me back. Shall I move away from the road overflowing with…
By: Satish Verma The triangle― right-angled. Pythagorean I would never find the center. An absence gnaws at me. Standing in dark I start a talkathon with walls. Strically, I reverse the numbers. Fires start. I am still reading the page,…