By: Khemendra Kamal Kumar Oh, what queer sight my eyes to see, Two lovely doves, springing in glee, In gusty South Easterly, they grew with me, Gliding in the fair skies, far from thee. In unison, swaying heads right to…
By: Mitch Green Sinners, saints – bone edged proficient damsels Rebirthed reunions relishing fortified foundations of burial worship. To sink, we embalm our bones, Hope – it’s not our home, Nostalgic principles of dreamscapes and saloons, dividing oceans, Monsoons, grave lagoons….
By: Mitch Green I took her breath into my lungs – all of it. Intoxication never hit so hard; that surreal spin submersing beneath my humanity with enough influence to drive me off the ledge from this prodigal possession. It…
By: Charles X. Madruga Drifting through dreams on her bed she whispers a scene through my head and I swear I should’ve died right then when she said – something in my ear, to be honest I didn’t hear a single…
By: Debleena Majumdar He stood alone, At the street corner Selling his wares, Masks of black and grey. They came to buy, Their own masks of pain. Masks that hid what, They could not say. Locked behind Glasspanes of power,…
By: Upasana Sharma My river is mist and smoke. 300 feet deep and 3 kilometers wide, My river, Is a great big miracle. Some number of Lonely dolphins and happy humans have left their souls Stirring under the translucent roots…
By: Sehaj K Maini Something in my heart burned when your arm grazed hers. An accident perhaps, yes. But I can stop not This poison ivy inside of me Killing my judgment day by day, while you roam the streets, ignorant,…
By: Sehaj K Maini Perhaps I am, an enigma Of a certain kind. Maybe it’s my eyes that have seen a little too much. Maybe it’s my floppy hair, that stray in front of them like black velvet curtains sewed…
By: Deeya Bhattacharya You alight, in the very dawn, of love; Far away, from the milky sky, above, Enmeshed, your presence, in my offerings- Cannot bid adieu, but continue, suave, Gentle you go, into my bosom far- Keep pace, with…
By: Deeya Bhattacharya I don’t remember certain things now I don’t need, a tug, at the waistband I wear, while dressing vegetables a breath of cinnamon, at my forehead driving my beads of perspiration while at work The staunch garlic…