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…
By: Brylle Bautista Tabora after Donald Hall And as I begin to write this poem the trees outside turn into burning spires, the mist takes the shape of a lonely man, and frogs all over imitate the cawing of birds. Someone,…
By: Brylle Bautista Tabora Ecology became a household word that appeared in newspapers, magazines, and books—although the term was misused. Even now, people confuse it with terms such as environment and environmentalism. Ecology is neither. -Elements of Ecology We have called…
By: Brylle Bautista Tabora “Ma, just let go. Save yourself,” said the girl, whose body was pierced by wooden splinters from houses crushed by Supertyphoon Yolanda. —Philippine Daily Inquirer, Nov. 11, 2013 The world does not owe you an explanation. Like…
By: ’Deji W. Adesoye I’m not hermit Don’t dwell in shell But failing in the gist and jest Nay, which authentic life ne’er permit I do not babble along these corridors Peep and play and in sanctum retire For my soul…
By: ’Deji W. Adesoye When I have a drive to know the world, I look into myself. For to search the mystery of the world, Is to search the heart thereof. And this treasure lay nowhere in the ether, aqueous, or…
By: Chandra Shekhar Dubey We stalk around red lights, pavements Metro stops in rough and fine weather Carrying our bulging bags like boiling Carbuncles on our bodies all in hope of two bare meals. Pitiless gazes, venomous spits greet us…
By: Linda M. Crate dew drops hung their hymns in the grass of my hair shining me silver as the moon i avoid the sun lest he burn me with lust the color of your hair i couldn’t take another…