By: James Aitchison Weak shouldersdo not have to bearenormous anguish.Soft words,impervious to grief,await in the bastionof the soul.Let no mangrovel for answers.The soul containsthe means to gentlylight your path.
By: Pawel Markiewicz 1961 – the wall has been builtonce sixty-one stars glowed over the native landthe East Germany rife with butterflies sparkled in the nightthe Western Germany full of west wood garlics glinted in the eveningthe fall of the…
(Part of the Yin & Yang of Travel Series) By: Mark D. Walker Share our similarities, celebrate our differences. — M. Scott Peck Over the last fifty years, the why and where I travel have changed radically. In 2013, my…
The Crossword Book Award, one of the coveted literary awards in the country, is back after a hiatus of five years. Launched in 1998, it is one of the longest-running awards in India, and aims to recognise and celebrate Indian…
By: Carl Papa Palmer So I had him murdered, Papa.Who? Who’d you have murdered?Humpty Dumpty, in my story.What story? What’s this all about? It’s about my English Lit assignment,the extra-credit over-the-summerre-write of a famous nursery rhyme.This was the shortest one…
By James Aitchison It all began in 1775 when Swedish chemist Carl Wilhelm Scheele invented a stunning new pigment — a green more vibrant, more luminous, than anything seen before. The secret? The miraculous new pigment was copper arsenite, also…
By: Bruce Levine Monday morningThe work week begins The last of September Anticipating fall October beginnings Winking an eye Harvests and beer fests Soon pumpkin pie The year winding down Another one gone Ice cream and candles Times Square alive…
By: Bruce Levine Ideologic Dogma Ideologic dogmaTyped into a teleprompterRegurgitated by pundits Woven into conversations Taken as gospel according to the oracle of the day As long as it fits within the ideology Fiction parading as fact Reflected in the…
By: James Aitchison As the tree needstime to grow, sotoo the soul.Unhurried wisdom,stepping softly,seeking the infinite.Nothing springs fromignorance;lives scattered tothe winds have noroots.In quiet soil,the soul flourishes.
By James Aitchison In London, just five miles east of Buckingham Palace, a mysterious underground language has evolved. An English language wherein words such as “frog”, “soldiers”, “Aristotle”, “whistle” and “butchers” do not mean what they are supposed to mean!…