By Jamal Siddiqui “Don’t give any name to my love” I have met her in good faith, we both share the relationship of Heart, do not name it She appreciates my lips, lives in my heart, resides in my soul.do…
By: Maya Nalawade The left side of my brain was nurtured with the sounds of Grandma’s Wagner records. The fluttering sounds of violins and booming hydes sinking Awe to the corners of the rooms. The echoes rippling through the Air….
By: Shilpa Rajagopal Purpose is a funny word deliberate and assuming what is your Purpose? they ask as if everyone is born knowing this fundamental truth, following a linear road as if there is singularity or absolutism to abstraction, to…
By: Kushal Poddar A Sonnet For Paradox’s Repeat Offender We skedaddle from remembrance and its strict policing, yet here we stand- midst a street of broken houses, holes for the walls. Memory’s widened its reach. We have souvenirs from the…
By: James Diaz Family Marry me to a piece of sky tar and feather my bones, Mother piece of paper my heart over the fire in your mouth brown hills rolling blue skies over the engine cooling madness of my…
By: Edward Lee SMOKE LOST IN THE AIR I feel the urge to start smoking, capture you in a tendril of smoke, hold you in my lungs, never exhale, poison myself for the sake of knowing you deeper, you who…
By: R.K.Singh TOMB OF UNBURIED DAYS While volcanoes rehearse to show their teeth lovers shouting from the well of the house wave broken condoms rather than broken trust conflate dissent on self-erasing slates and prove worse than the old oxen…
By: S.B Goncarova I know the language of the rain, she says. The gull beats her rain-stained wings as she hovers over the line between land and sea. She looks down into the water, searching for a fixed-point, but instead…
By: Dmitry Blizniuk Black wet treescarefullystep out of the curdled space.Unsteady black tusks.A crow flies down onto a branch and sticks to it,grows into the tree,enters it as if it were a black house,becomes its part, its fidgety organ,its restless…
By: Christine Bolton END Evening touches the last light Before it covers in its darkness My heart swathed in mourning threads and face immobilized in hardness In the end they say it is black This must surely be where I…