By: Bruce Levine The rain had lasted for three days and the streets looked more like a river than pavement. Walking his dog became more of an effort each time as the torrents of water washed against them and the…
By Gaither Stewart 1. At thirty-six years I’m on record as the youngest Operations Director in the history of the international cultural organization where I’ve worked for the last nine years. Now as my best friends know, I’m not…
By Chandra Shekhar Dubey Who are they?Shouting slogans, filling the airwith toxic slogans , lies in the streets?Knowing not , what they are protestingExhaling fangs of fire and distrust on the frozen roads to block the flow? Who are they?…
By: Paweł Markiewicz the enticing aspiration is sucha golden Apollonian sunshinemy muse-like tune of a bosomas the dainty cherubic dreamletor it is a tender ringthat shines atthe magnanimous chevalierand it is an embellishmentof the metaphysics the dazzling wishfulness is able…
By: Sandeep Kumar Mishra Books are in restless wintry mood,Their voices seem urgent,What the books whisperwe prefer not to mention in social circlesYet they know more,Have been where we can’t goin the clothes we wear They are unsettled, we are…
By: James Aitchison A poem is a collection of wordsthat don’t belong anywhere else. But don’t let the writing show, they say.Hide the scaffold of structure. Break forms!Have I made an exciting mistake? Some words are scabs to be picked…
By Chris Keyser There was no time for basking in it. Perks Cafe couldn’t endure Ken Stagman for long before oscillating into hysteria. And he knew it. They knew it too. A single iphone camera’s shutter flash would dash the…
By: Joseph Hope Epistle for the dead and Lost 1How dead is dead?When fishing for the impossible, How much hope is enough? How things die?They begin from Genesis, From the swinging cradle 2The morale from the long walkThrough this unvegetated…
By Sandra Ding During most daily commutes, one only sees strangers and doesn’t look closely. On an early evening in October, while the city dwelled in a soft, yellow haze, amid the bustle of the streets filled with the shuttling…
By: E.R. LeVar An old bonnet of hers still rests on a hook on the wall, long blue ribbons trailing down to the floor. A well-worn shawl drapes over the back of the chair, holes in the knitting letting the…