By: Aneek Chatterjee There is no footpath here homeless & hawkers have conquered all There is no clean air around Outdated engines have driven it out Sounds of bullets are the only heartbeats one can feel Blood takes mothers’ tears…
By Emon NC Shimmering amidst the pitch black velvet of the night, were a million diamonds of neon dreams. They created a fervent silvery shiver that danced in unison to the rhythm of it’s own creation. The sky above pales…
By: Lee Felty Maude, Clear As Day Old, she feeds the birds from her bare hands in winter. There are windows open and calling in the clouds. I have seen her concoct a bush with one store-bought rose. Today, her…
By: Aruna Subramanian I stay awake and silence the sounds around awaiting your call Or a single text.. I search your timeline for any updates.. I scroll my newsfeed Looking for your likes In any of the posts.. I check…
By: Michal Reibenbach Climbing up the wall of my house are two Bougainvillea bushes, they partially creep over my bedroom’s window. The bushes are a joy to me. Their branches which turn in random ways are decorated with glossy, dark…
By: Michal Reibenbach After I married I went to live with my husband and daughter in an old broken down cottage way out in the country in a small village in Yorkshire. Things in our old cottage were forever falling…
By: Katharine Strange Sometimes I turn over in bed, eyes shut tightly against the morning light, and for a moment think I am still in New Jersey. I can almost smell the cat pee and Hamburger Helper. Then I’ll hear…
By: Darren C. Demaree if/in #88 what if all blinkingis code& there is no dustin our eyeswe’re giventhe answers& every time we cryreality washesaway reality ### if/in #89 every seahas a rimto exceedthe floodsnever takeaway the industriesthey’re supposed toit’s always…
By: K.S.Subramanian Sakundan never harbored many expectations ever since he came to know himself. He even had a philosophical alibi for it. However one tries to know or discover himself he always hasn’t known or unearthed an area of his…
By Milt Montague It was Saturday and Milt was driving up to Lake Peekskill from Manhattan. He had closed their shop on Madison Avenue at 6:00 PM, rushed home for the car, only an eight minute walk, and was now…