By Chinese Poet Hongri YuanTranslated by Yuanbing zhang An Illusion in The Bright Mirror of Eternity Every day is an illusion in the bright mirror of eternity. You see yourself from teenager to white hair, as if you are a…

By: Abasiama Udom TO THEM Bring the gin and beer,let us call again to themwho even before us have gone.Let us bring our problems and a sacrifice,lifting the shouting hen.Let us again remember our lineage and fathers,in memory of them…

By: James Croal Jackson Aeromexico I sit alone in this two-seat rowand the cabin lights are off. I cannot locate the clouds beneaththe wing’s intermittent flashing– my only light its metronome.It’s my fault I don’t know Spanish and understood so…

By Hiba Heba A kitchen table is ornamented with the paragons of humanity. It is the beginning, as well as the end of the world. Joy Harjo and her pensiveness record history around a kitchen table in her spellbinding, homely…

In a recent cover launch of his poetry collection titled ‘Songs of Suicide’, Onkar Sharma revealed the reason why he penned poems with an underlying theme of suicide. He argued that it is critical to extend a helping hand to…

By: J. K. Durick Plague Poem for Day Eleven I remember all the saints’ lives from school – Sister Mary putting on an LP and there they’d be – martyrdom in various forms and miracles of every sort. Violence and…

By: Jamal Siddiqui Humanity is in danger as it passes through tough times due to this pandemic. The Indian greeting system Namaste and the Muslim system of doing Ablution have become essential things for humanity. Making the practice of Namaste…

By: Christopher Johnson “God, it’s cold!” he bellowed. He felt as though he had immersed his feet and ankles into a bucket of ice water. Skeeter just laughed. “Pick it up, Dad! You’ll get used to it!” Skeeter, being 12…

By: Josh Adair As soon as she told me I had the job, I couldn’t stop hearing Shirley Bassey and dreaming of De Beers commercials. I felt certain selling jewelry would expose me to a distinctive, sophisticated clientele, sure to…

By Chandra Shekhar Dubey There lived an old, lanky monkIn the city of WuhanHe had a staff and a piped gourd pitcher               Hanging down his hump.Once a man called Cring Pring            Walked down his esoteric denGreeting majestically he sat by…