By: Mary Bone Storms of Blue The storms of bluematched your eyes-sapphire orbs,moongazing into the universe,leaving twinkleson the horizon. ### Embracing the Sun A vacation beganby embracing the sun.With arms open wide,I was on an adventureas I relaxed in crystal…

By: Oormila Vijayakrishnan Prahlad Chandelier Waltz The chandelier was sparedin the renovation spreeMarty who sold us the placeripped up wall and plankto clean lines, spartan spacebut for reasons known only to himleft this fixture untouched. a neighbour tells me stories…

By Onkar Sharma Santiago, a shepherd and the protagonist of Paulo Coelho’s ‘The Alchemist’, goes after a treasure but finds many as far as I understood the tale. I suddenly drew out the book from my library after many years…

By: Anthony Rosa The Eternal Reflection I look into the mirrorand what do I see?A broken man,is staring at me. A meek old manwith a soft, wrinkled mind,a short skinny body,torn apart by time. Where is the boyI used to…

By: Bruce Levine The rain had lasted for three days and the streets looked more like a river than pavement. Walking his dog became more of an effort each time as the torrents of water washed against them and the…

By Gaither Stewart                                            1. At thirty-six years I’m on record as the youngest Operations Director in the history of the international cultural organization where I’ve worked for the last nine years. Now as my best friends know, I’m not…

By Chandra Shekhar Dubey Who are they?Shouting slogans, filling the airwith toxic slogans , lies in the streets?Knowing not , what they are protestingExhaling fangs of fire and distrust on the frozen roads to block the flow? Who are they?…

By: Paweł Markiewicz the enticing aspiration is sucha golden Apollonian sunshinemy muse-like tune of a bosomas the dainty cherubic dreamletor it is a tender ringthat shines atthe magnanimous chevalierand it is an embellishmentof the metaphysics the dazzling wishfulness is able…

By: Sandeep Kumar Mishra Books are in restless wintry mood,Their voices seem urgent,What the books whisperwe prefer not to mention in social circlesYet they know more,Have been where we can’t goin the clothes we wear They are unsettled, we are…

By: James Aitchison A poem is a collection of wordsthat don’t belong anywhere else. But don’t let the writing show, they say.Hide the scaffold of structure. Break forms!Have I made an exciting mistake? Some words are scabs to be picked…