By: Kyle Singh What stood beyond the negatives were the damped reflections of my astigmatism.They spread upon the kitchen table between my mouth and a lighted candle.I spoke my piece and described my memories with automated reflexes. Curdled cottage cheese…

By: Vipul Lunia Flask to the mouth, eyes closed, you take a sip. Despite the small mouth on the flask, you take a big one. It burns you inside. You shake your head and try to close your already closed…

By: Ajay Kumar Nair Rama’s Exile maya stands by the banks of sarayu –the flesh on her feet only grains of sandthat waters of time lick & spit anewas she waits to hold again rama’s hand. what thought of his…

By: Don Tassone The tears in my eyes helped me see more clearly.  From the middle of the church, I could make out the white pall draped over the casket, at rest in the center aisle, just before the Communion…

By: Eric Burbridge             “Funeral homes, I hate them.” Doctor Eli Tonn whispered after he delayed a patient’s appointment so he could view the body of his aunt. He yanked open the huge wooden entrance door and walked into the…

By: William Tubman On the outskirt of west africa;where flames of fire are more than hell,stood my land in the middle of nowhere. Citizens are caged with agony in their own land like a police celland the masses are not…

By: Adam Wan Why do we write? Do we wish to escape into another world? Do we wish to release ourselves and our feelings? Do we wish to gain money and fame or status? Or do we wish to win…

By: Syed Mujtaba Ali Translated by: Md. Saber -E- Montaha, Senior Lecturer, Department of English, Northern University Bangladesh A friend of mine, Jhanduda, frequents Europe and America. He goes abroad so frequently that seeing him anyone might get confused if…

By: Paweł Markiewicz and over and over my most lovely dreameriesthe marvelous time will prophesize the philosophyalway the Erlking ensorcells my soulonce more the heart longs for gentle remoteness of poesyand time after time the meek Apollonian bliss-like tearsagain I…

By Mahala Spillers  Gareth didn’t have a mirror in his room at the boarding house. He had to imagine that his hair was combed to Magda’s liking. He had been at the boarding house for a long time. The landlords…