By: B.A. Varghese The green leaves crush and crackle underfoot leaving a trail along strong brown trunks that pierce wispy clouds in the sapphire sky. I leave footprints behind in the soft ground and crushed grass, in accord with and…
Nikhil Chandwani launched his poetry book Unsung Words at the World Book Fair 2014. Nikhil Chandwani’s Unsung Words is published by Omji Publishing House. It was released by Sumeet Kumar, founder of Mystic Wanderer Innovative Media. While launching the book,…
By: Ken Eberhart Somewhere, there’s a number sitting in a bank. Whether or not the money is actually there, I don’t know. It is just a couple of hundred bucks of Monopoly money that may or may not have been placed…
By: Ken Eberhart There is a concrete arch bridge on the 101. Beneath that arch, salmon boats venture out to sea, and ride twenty foot swells for five hours. Tourists pay ninety-five dollars apiece to sail the same ocean that Nicholson…
By: Ken Eberhart In his notebook, he wrote a single word, heard spoken in the wind along the cliffs. From the organic treasure of the trees, he crushed peaches in the palm of his hand. The pit was sweet to taste,…
By: R. Gerry Fabian Take that microwave kiss with its speed; its get-it=done; its rapid-shot-attitude – away! Take that microwave lust with its frozen one moment – hot the next; its premature fire; its commercial gloss – away! Give me a…
By: R. Gerry Fabian I watch the one star that carries your name. It haunts me still though time is an ally. Still I know that I am not without blame And you are one not to easily cry. Not…
By: Ali Znaidi 1. Nimble winter rain reconfiguring the soil. —A Photoshop craft. *** 2. The wind shakes the tress. The leaves become trapezes for the scared silkworms. #### Ali Znaidi (b.1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia where he teaches English. His…
By: Sam Rapth Every time our bodies gets engaged in our bed I try to read your lips… Every time They make out something, But I could not make out the same thing… Every time it keeps me curious, puzzled and…
By: Brylle Bautista Tabora God likes to paint with one eye closed The sky is his canvas In the morning he dips his thumb into two colors: Blue and white (the purplish white) and starts to draw unfinished images: An elephant…