By: Gaither Stewart The flow of Andrey’s life recalled that of the uncontrollable race on a roller-coaster. From the time he boarded, his unstable little car had carried him at terrifying speeds around curves and over bumps, up, up, then…
By: Sasheera Gounden He places the cold body of whiskey on the coffee table as headlines of the Times, glare back at him; monochrome faces, shiny sealskin letters and the stench of drunkenness at only ten in the morning. Relief sweeps…
By: Thomas Sanfilip It’s a short walk from Rome’s Stazione Centrale to the Museo Nazionale Romano where some of the greatest archaeological collections reside of Roman and Greek sculpture discovered in the city and surrounding neighborhoods, though a walk in…
By: Indunil Madhusankha It is a singularly striking fact that modern man is in a whirlwind of technological wonders and innovations with a never ending zeal for enhancing the comforts of his living. At a time when the world is charged…
By: David Ogana It takes lots of guts To fight my father The father insect. knowing well, he is a butterfly, i leave him stick to my shirt to fly me east or west south or north or either west of…
By: Ali Znaidi Sana Rafiq-Mitchell opens her collection with “If poetry is an eruption volcanic”. This may be the gist or the manifesto of the book. Nomenclature is important because mortality is associated with being nameless. One also realizes that…
By: Janna Vought The world is wrong about me I’m a genius, broken girl sprung from Hell. Hell, where nectar flows from stone flowers and blackened apples shine. There are no humans here, only ghosts and shadows. Descend slowly, dark angel,…
By: Indunil Madhusankha With her head lent against the front post of the shack, she plunges into freakishly terrible concentration Dumbfounded and as still as the motionless stump Her mouth is open in blighting apprehension The fear that tortures her…
The Syrian crises have affected the whole world. It is important that we understand how it began and what it means in the present context.
By: Linda M Crate cool winds soft snow it seems perhaps i was wrong to liken you to winter it isn’t always harsh, you are; sharp always as the thorns and thistles that catch upon my flesh and my skirts…