By: Farzana Israt Gonewherehasit gone? the timespentwith Nonsense? distant,something isbreaking. i awake. somewhere,i hearcrying. ### Filling inBut how does onenot daydreamendlessly?How can oneresist filling inthe empty spaceswith aneternal fantasy?
By: Alex Andy Phuong Social hierarchyFilled with diversityColorful iridescenceAesthetic decadenceThere might be evilin the worldbut there is still hopefor the ones who dreamNo matter how hard life may seemCelebrate life and cheer for the dreamersPursuing passions respectfully
By: Mary Bone Storms of Blue The storms of bluematched your eyes-sapphire orbs,moongazing into the universe,leaving twinkleson the horizon. ### Embracing the Sun A vacation beganby embracing the sun.With arms open wide,I was on an adventureas I relaxed in crystal…
By: Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad Chandelier Waltz The chandelier was sparedin the renovation spreeMarty who sold us the placeripped up wall and plankto clean lines, spartan spacebut for reasons known only to himleft this fixture untouched. a neighbour tells me stories…
By: Anthony Rosa The Eternal Reflection I look into the mirrorand what do I see?A broken man,is staring at me. A meek old manwith a soft, wrinkled mind,a short skinny body,torn apart by time. Where is the boyI used to…
By Chandra Shekhar Dubey Who are they?Shouting slogans, filling the airwith toxic slogans , lies in the streets?Knowing not , what they are protestingExhaling fangs of fire and distrust on the frozen roads to block the flow? Who are they?…
By: Paweł Markiewicz the enticing aspiration is sucha golden Apollonian sunshinemy muse-like tune of a bosomas the dainty cherubic dreamletor it is a tender ringthat shines atthe magnanimous chevalierand it is an embellishmentof the metaphysics the dazzling wishfulness is able…
By: Sandeep Kumar Mishra Books are in restless wintry mood,Their voices seem urgent,What the books whisperwe prefer not to mention in social circlesYet they know more,Have been where we can’t goin the clothes we wear They are unsettled, we are…
By: James Aitchison A poem is a collection of wordsthat don’t belong anywhere else. But don’t let the writing show, they say.Hide the scaffold of structure. Break forms!Have I made an exciting mistake? Some words are scabs to be picked…
By: Joseph Hope Epistle for the dead and Lost 1How dead is dead?When fishing for the impossible, How much hope is enough? How things die?They begin from Genesis, From the swinging cradle 2The morale from the long walkThrough this unvegetated…