By Rehema Kasanga Today we celebrate woman and freedoms she currently has.As she’s free to be her true self in this day and age. the self we recognize.the self we have shaped and forced her to become over decades of…
By: Ali Grimshaw Course of Action In the next week of tomorrowsthree months planned processthird Wednesday penned. Your proposal for this daythe one you think is comingneatly folded, in its unopened box. Morning coffee in hand whenthe unimaginable drops. Limbs…
‘An Illusion in The Bright Mirror of Eternity’ and other poems by Chinese Poet Hongri Yuan
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By Chinese Poet Hongri YuanTranslated by Yuanbing zhang An Illusion in The Bright Mirror of Eternity Every day is an illusion in the bright mirror of eternity. You see yourself from teenager to white hair, as if you are a…
By: Abasiama Udom TO THEM Bring the gin and beer,let us call again to themwho even before us have gone.Let us bring our problems and a sacrifice,lifting the shouting hen.Let us again remember our lineage and fathers,in memory of them…
By: James Croal Jackson Aeromexico I sit alone in this two-seat rowand the cabin lights are off. I cannot locate the clouds beneaththe wing’s intermittent flashing– my only light its metronome.It’s my fault I don’t know Spanish and understood so…
By Hiba Heba A kitchen table is ornamented with the paragons of humanity. It is the beginning, as well as the end of the world. Joy Harjo and her pensiveness record history around a kitchen table in her spellbinding, homely…
The book ‘Songs of Suicide’ by Onkar Sharma shifts spotlight to the complex subject of suicide
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In a recent cover launch of his poetry collection titled ‘Songs of Suicide’, Onkar Sharma revealed the reason why he penned poems with an underlying theme of suicide. He argued that it is critical to extend a helping hand to…
By: J. K. Durick Plague Poem for Day Eleven I remember all the saints’ lives from school – Sister Mary putting on an LP and there they’d be – martyrdom in various forms and miracles of every sort. Violence and…
By Chandra Shekhar Dubey There lived an old, lanky monkIn the city of WuhanHe had a staff and a piped gourd pitcher Hanging down his hump.Once a man called Cring Pring Walked down his esoteric denGreeting majestically he sat by…
By Cauvery Chauhan Breathing The vehicles walking,The clouds moving,The birds have disappeared. The red, yellow, white, and purple hueIs baking the dusk. The wind blowing,The victory preaching,The vision has become clear. The music, screams, and chatteringIs welcoming the glorious end…