By: Bhabani Bhuyan Translated from the Odia by Pitambar Naik After Four Girls Committed Suicide By Taking Poison Not to collapse, learn how to live, woman whateveryou do, whether you sell pan or vegetables, sweat orsweet, body or womb, learn…

By: Alan Berger Been a bad dayLike the day beforeAnd the day before thatLet me sit in your living roomWith your cat on my lapSay something funnyYou know I love you like that Play your pianoIf you hit a wrong…

Linda S Gunther, a suspense novelist and children’s books author, tells Literary Yard in an interview about her transition from the HR role in Silicon Valley to being a fiction writer and how her first novel passed through different stages….

By: Livio Farallo in theory on the flooris the smell of hardwoodwhich paints furnace air heavy as a swamp.the small countries of cold misti lay withhave set up snow fencesto contain flame,to twist shadowsinto ash of fallen degrees.where antlers rub…

By: Duane L Herrmann When ‘Abdu’l-Bahá (Head of the Bahá’í Faith, 1892-1921) was speaking in the United States, He used the comparison of a writer’s ability to write as proof of the existence of God – an intelligent creator.  For…

By: Mayumi Yamamoto Dear Mahmud, I have no idea where you have goneafter you passed away. You are a Muslim, andyou had never been religious before. Then, as you aged,you visited the mosque regularly again. Still,you insisted thatit was not…

By: Mayumi Yamamoto “My favorite hymn.”This is the title I was given to write something aboutfor a quarterly magazineof our small Anglican church.But it felt very difficult to choose just one. I spent my high school dayssinging Christian hymnsevery morning…

By: K Vanaja Malathy My grandson with his self assembled and engineered drone,one noon, led me into the openness of a field.The drone is his self-built toy,Rubbing his sagacious nose, my little fellow explained the navigationalflight control techniques of his…

By: Anna Cates *Odesan outskirtsfalling on disturbed soildry locust leaf*cold Aprilheavy on his shoulderair bomb*partisans fordthe swollen river—songbirds*red horizongiving sway to bluenight’s swathing peace*war orphanswhat their eyes absorbeach snowflake*the forest’s depththose who know the waygrow only more lost*one comrade winksanother…

By: Michael C. Seeger  The Kite I carry you running across a field of grass nestledon a spectacular Sierra Nevada Mountain ridgeline in August below Heavenly ski resort high abovethe vast and noble hue of Lake Tahoe’s blueness, you are…