By: April Mae M. Berza The womb of the words could not give birth to this longing Let me caress your shadow now that I’m missing you. Shades of blue devour my heart as I awake this morning Now that…
By: April Mae M. Berza Like rings around Saturn my love will encircle her; not knowing she is the planet she stays away from me. Her prison sky locks her away from my reach, away from me, she cannot seem…
Poetry begins with a bunch of feelings that can mean, if not everything, at least something to everyone universally. Poetry is thus not the slave of professional poets who have penned or who will pen poems the way Shakespeare, Wordsworth,…
By: Jayanthi Raja Seenivasan When do you ever kiss the blue skies? What do you whisper to the passing clouds? How do you dance to the singing cuckoos? How do you swing with perched parrots? Where do you manage so…
By: Pijush Kanti Deb Encircling a building a hot chain of dry tongues starts shouting sitting on an unrecognized demand compelling the stony ears- quite comfortable inside the building lying on their pride and contumacy, to stand up on their…
By- Pijush Kanti Deb Flying in the sky, reaching just near to the Heaven the golden lips- painted by the spoon- made of gold utter blissfully ‘WOW’ looking at the luminous fool moon and recite a love poem narrating the…
By: Pijush Kanti Deb The upbringing of a feathery singer bestows a burnt painter with a landscape comprising of two feathery opponents one is dead and found on a heap of garbage and other sings for the composition of epics…
By: Soma Roy This book of poems by Dr. Kiriti Sengupta is elegant and is a pleasure to hold. The depth of the richness of the images of the Floating Lamps invites the reader to explore further and accompany the…
By: Linda M Crate i guess the biggest lie anyone has ever told me is that people care for all they ever have cared about is what they can take from me because greed seems the economy of these times,…
By: Linda M Crate i. we are over like july now forgotten by snow white winter, and his chariots of ice there is no more red because it had to end. ii. the butterflies had fallen into the blackness of…