In a recent cover launch of his poetry collection titled ‘Songs of Suicide’, Onkar Sharma revealed the reason why he penned poems with an underlying theme of suicide. He argued that it is critical to extend a helping hand to…
By: J. K. Durick Plague Poem for Day Eleven I remember all the saints’ lives from school – Sister Mary putting on an LP and there they’d be – martyrdom in various forms and miracles of every sort. Violence and…
By: Jamal Siddiqui Humanity is in danger as it passes through tough times due to this pandemic. The Indian greeting system Namaste and the Muslim system of doing Ablution have become essential things for humanity. Making the practice of Namaste…
By: Christopher Johnson “God, it’s cold!” he bellowed. He felt as though he had immersed his feet and ankles into a bucket of ice water. Skeeter just laughed. “Pick it up, Dad! You’ll get used to it!” Skeeter, being 12…
By: Josh Adair As soon as she told me I had the job, I couldn’t stop hearing Shirley Bassey and dreaming of De Beers commercials. I felt certain selling jewelry would expose me to a distinctive, sophisticated clientele, sure to…
By Chandra Shekhar Dubey There lived an old, lanky monkIn the city of WuhanHe had a staff and a piped gourd pitcher Hanging down his hump.Once a man called Cring Pring Walked down his esoteric denGreeting majestically he sat by…
By Bill Wilkinson It had been a few days since my neighbor last messaged me to get stuff for him when the disturbance happened over at his place. A noise startled me awake. It was 2:22 in the morning according…
By Cauvery Chauhan Breathing The vehicles walking,The clouds moving,The birds have disappeared. The red, yellow, white, and purple hueIs baking the dusk. The wind blowing,The victory preaching,The vision has become clear. The music, screams, and chatteringIs welcoming the glorious end…
By: Dagen Kipling Moments of Choice Grey clouds summersault across the skywhite lines of whipped creamcrisscrossed alongthe backdrop of metallic paint blueelectric cobalt appliedto the side ofa 97 mustang the car you let me driveprom night the one that I…
By: Holly Day Dying on a Monday I feel her growing quieter beneath the pressure of my handsflops and flutters like a butterfly drenched in oil, only a few moments moreand there will be no more cheerleader left to tell…