By: Gaither Stewart My most beloved poet, the American novelist with the Slavic name, E.L. Doctorow, a third generation Russian Jew, is gone. Edgar Lawrence (named after Edgar Allen Poe), was born in the Bronx in New York City just…

By: Ruth Z Deming Africa is shaped like a voluptuous woman. And Uganda, beautiful Uganda, Uncle Ken told his niece Heather, is almost smack dab in the middle. He was a missionary in a scrappy little town called Busega, overflowing with…

By: Linda M Crate all these broken pieces make up the whole of me, and i remember dancing with all the scars burning with the stars; my heart isn’t a machine like yours it has always felt the rain and…

By: Linda M Crate i know you are gone, but that doesn’t stop me from missing you; i remember your fierce strength and your courage and your bravery i recall the way we used to laugh and drink hot chocolate…

By: Linda M Crate if only you held your love as high as you hold your ego i tried so hard to give you all the space you needed, but the distance you placed between us killed me inside; i…

By: Pijush Kanti Deb The congregation of great probabilities- as these are so defined and witnessed wandering always around something good, comprising of some heart-soothing goodness as these are already estimated and perceived- under or over, can build their nests…

By: Pijush Kanti Deb Before it’s too late and the Sun sets in the lap of never ending barren night a line of control is ought to be drawn around the dogmatic sons and daughters and their tearful parents and…

By: Pijush Kanti Deb It is not necessary on the part of a hunter and his casting of arrows to keep company with the guidelines, sometimes misleading and confusing to a hunter to reach his goal and its shadow- equally…

A poem is believed to be music to the ears – when murmured, hummed, spoken or sung. If it sounds perfect when read and spoken, it has passed the first and the most important test. Meaning and imagination are two…

By: Sri Ram I was sure he was going to pull the trigger. The tubular mouth of the semi-automatic pistol, was now pointing to the center of my chest. Chances were ample that, in a few seconds, it may spit…