By: Shontay Luna Afar Did you glance upon me,my most sweet love?Adoring you from afar,heart laden withtorturous longing.The distance apartno matchfor the desire myheart holds;how a mere glanceupon you brings mesuch joy. And yet I knowyou’ve never seen me.But that’s…
By: Mahathi SEASONSI stepped on crackling Autumn leaves wriggling on ground.I sighed and slowly walked towards a naked treeAnd whispered low. “Not long these days. You’ll see aroundFresh leaves on twigs. You’ll see a dancing honey beeRotating round your buds…
By: Amal El-Sayed 243 stuffed toysRide the yellow school buses in Rynok Square.An excursion of ghosts. 109 empty strollersLine up the cobbled streets of Lviv.A graveyard of children. 2 stuffed teddy bearsSleep in a baby carrier.A remnant of joy. 1…
By: Muhammad Nasrullah Khan Dear First World, Salute to youAccept humble bow, from the Third World.Thank you for the great lectures for fucking idiots.Heads hung low, wide-eyed,we clapped. You sold us your notion of humanity,we lived in a barbaric world.You…
By: Esha Sury WHAT ELSE CAN I SAY? This bone-tiredness to speak ended aspure reprieve. I dispose of my last penand a surrendered dove, as remittance, gaveits’ awareness to me in a dawn of non-talk.I wish plainly to cradle wordless…
By: Pramod Rastogi In Quest of You Since Long Time has lost its rhythm for me.Alternating in cycles the days and nightsAnnounce neither the whispering dawnsNor denounce the hush of twilight woes. Leaving time and space to sleep and yawn,I…
By: Sheila Henry I see you beyondyour humanness,your one of a kind-ness.When you recite your work, itpricks the ears of nightingales,they stand still and listen,their heads tilt to one side,they are captivated by the rich tone of your voice.Same—when you…
By Ramlal Agarwal Shashi Tharoor’s third novel, Riot, confirms that he strives for novelty in his fiction. The novelty was a prominent feature of his first novel, “The Great Indian Novel,” about Indira Gandhi’s usurpation of civil rights during the…
By: Travis Weis Our Rock Salt Lives and the Lady Spring It’s arduous breathing in such coldness.The thin serrated air slicing at your throat.Our only defense is shallow breaths to parry the slashes.Yet here you are, defenseless.Hellishly sobbing in the…
By: Blessing Omeiza Ojo On Becoming Preys to Terrorists, I Remember Childhood Exploits.Perhaps, the burning of Borno by herdersis the wind of karma banging on our doors.Most of us raised in the village were bad children.On our way home, after…