By: Saheli Khastagir Thank God they sent Milaan bhai with me. I don’t like the other one! I mean…I don’t hate him…I shouldn’t. He is the one who got me to the city in the first place. But he is always…
By: Adreyo Sen Till I was fifteen, I was very close to my grandfather. In the evenings, I would sit by his side as he rummaged through the uneven country that was his desk. My grandfather had been, for forty…
By: Linda M Crate damask faces everyone looks at me blankly no one recognizes the girl staring back at them, and i admit i’ve changed since they last have seen me; wrote a few books and had one published— these…
By: Linda M Crate i have no more words for you we’ve dried up you can’t force water from a rock without divine help, and i don’t think our withered friendship is even worth the effort; the blame does not…
By: Linda M Crate my silence to you should speak volumes enough i have no words i wish to say to you i am not your sister we are no longer friends, and the more you try to hold onto…
Indian English authors have outclassed their global counterparts by simply penning the fine fictional/prosaical works. Many of the Indian authors are thought to be leaders in certain genres as their works are definite benchmarks for the aspiring authors. Their works…
By: Debleena Majumdar “You are not my friend” She shouts, voice quivering, Eyes firm, tiny hands on her hip. A friend lost for all of one week. Next week they will play again Angry words forgotten, arms linked, But the…
By: Debleena Majumdar That was a beautiful dream You showed me last night. A field of purple stretching, Beneath a sky of gold. And a mist of silver rain. I wanted to stay awhile, To breathe in that dream. But you…
By: Adreyo Sen I was lost in the endless green fields I had been in before. Then I came upon that brighter green always kissed by the rain. Gypsy women danced a storm in the fury of their sequined skirts….
By: James G. Piatt Spring has arrived, it’s no longer cold, The bright sun melted winter’s icy robe. Rills now flow softly in chasms down the hill, Dappled bullfrogs’ are croaking shrill: The bright sun creates colors to behold, I…