By Balu Swami Amanda was holding Brad’s hand when he breathed his last. For almost an hour before he died, he kept saying, ‘I don’t want to die’ and sobbed uncontrollably. Each time, she coaxed him, saying, ‘It’s for your…

By: U.S. Khokhar The Sun removes the starry, dark blanket as a caring mother. But just as a normal kid, it takes a lot more than just uncovering to break the sweet dreams. The emerging sound of the city that…

By: Ken Kapp             A long time ago in a small Carpathian village there lived two cobblers, Davut and Radut. They were cousins and had been taught their trade by an uncle who had no sons of his own. Both…

By: Okpeta Gideon The Sun rises at dawn and promisesa gleeful day； you may believeit’s holds same blisses across, whenyou set out for streets. With the forefingeryou hold a short khaki on the waistand hope for brighter skies. How astonshingdo…

By: Edidiong Ibanga He peeped within his soul and wondered why those tiny little gigles didn’t last more than a tick of a clockThen he’s reminded that a lasting joy must start from one then transferred to anotherIt somewhat flows…

By: Duane L. Herrmann My name is Marut, the same as the god of the wind, and my family name is Jafari, which is Sanskrit and means little stream. My father said that, once upon a time, our family lived…

By: Matt Nagin All day the phone rang. Bill Cartwright owed everyone: Wells Fargo, Visa, Home Depot, even a gastroenterologist on Madison Avenue who charged exorbitant prices for the snazziest colonoscopy in town. Bill intended to pay them all back….

By: Ivan S. Fiske Iv Good Bye I quarantined you in my heart,in the hands of my heartI held you carefullybut it’s likethe spaces between the fingers of my heartwere so wide that you seep through& I lost you& you…

By Christopher Johnson Billy Goat is the place, man.Blackhawks jerseys bleeding a pungent ocean of scarlet and Indian head.The congealing of people into creatures called Chicagoans.The crappy little tables laden with bottles of bubbles and hops,Stained with suds and Scotch…

By: Dennis Vannatta They’re our secret desires, Freud said of dreams.  If so, why does this endless night of dreams keep bringing me to such wretched places?  Empty streets under dour gray skies in one. Heat and dust in another. …