By: Srinivas S The Sibilant Company The rage of winds, the rustling grass,A mourning sea, the mouth of fire,The lap of land as rains arrive—They speak the ending of our namesIn beginning crescendos, faint:They are, they seem to say of…
By Chandra Shekhar Dubey What makes me to walkon the road leaving a world behind.? A world that I made of my choice Leaving my fragrant home Old banyan tree , mango groves and rippling crops on field Where cattle…
As per the WHO, nearly 800,000 people succumb to suicides globally every year. This number is growing every year as mental health specialists struggle to put an end to this pandemic, which is far more dangerous than the COVID-19. Through…
By: Frank C Modica The Shovel Manafter Carl Sandburg Every summer Grandpa worked magicin his backyard garden with a shovel in hand.He loved spading dirt over newly seeded beds, setting poles for string beans, sharing the bounty with his family.In…
By: Katherine Wei I intertwine my fingers with the laces of today,as the irregularity of my heartbeatthumps to a seagull’s flight, flapping.If the forgone moments can rip me into clear-cut halves,torn between what ifs and no, that happened already,maybe then…
By: Carson Pytell Physis The waking hour, upon a high promontorystretching from woods over a mirrored sky. A breeze picks up, tousles matted hair,traces a stiff chill from the neck down. Fifty yards out is a rocky islet, one tree.In…
By: Charlotte Edwards Dear all the men in my lifeCorrectionDear all the toxic men in my life I will not write a poem about youSome men aren’t worth the wordsI won’t romanticize our fightsAnd the way my lungs burnedWhen I…
By: Sinchan Chatterjee Chimney-sweeper I tie a rope around my stomachAnd ask to be lowered again.I hang in the airAnd wipe the four sides of the walls with care:One layer at a time.I sing myself a songAs I go lower…
By: donnarkevic Love Is Like a Black, Black Eye I let the coon dogs get outWhen his buddies arriveNo CrownJesus,I do not have a beard to pluckOwe three payments on his truckWhen I go to work, no one asksWhat the…
By: Stephen Kingsnorth A line of light at curtain side, above the sill, beside the wallaccompanies the morning call of hoover drone, push then retreat;and then Dad’s brushing, rhythmic, swish to polish shoes,I see him standing, newsprint spread on dining…