Literary Yard

Search for meaning

Fiction

By: Michael C. Keith Fear is faith that it won’t work out. –– Anonymous Maxwell Booth sits in his doctor’s lobby awaiting the results of his x-ray. A cough that started months earlier has worsened to the point that he has…

Fiction

By: Raja Jaiswal The railway station of a small town, near Gorakhpur, had been renovated to a new level, on the theme of palace. A flash crowd appeared very timely, routinely, humming and driving their luggage to platform, through the…

Fiction

By: Samantha Memi The early morning light streamed through the hospital windows, capturing floating specks of dust, and glistening on the polished floor. The two sisters waited in the reception area, not noticing the sunlight outside. Having travelled through the…

NewsPoetry

By: Soma Roy This book of poems by Dr. Kiriti Sengupta is elegant and is a pleasure to hold. The depth of the richness of the images of the Floating Lamps invites the reader to explore further and accompany the…

Fiction

By: Rajendra Roul The weather could not have been more pleasant.  There was no humidity. No sweating either. A soft breeze was blowing calmly darting a romantic surge through their spines. The sun was nowhere in the sky. That does not…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i guess the biggest lie anyone has ever told me is that people care for all they ever have cared about is what they can take from me because greed seems the economy of these times,…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i. we are over like july now forgotten by snow white winter, and his chariots of ice there is no more red because it had to end. ii. the butterflies had fallen into the blackness of…

Poetry

By: Linda M Crate i don’t understand the purport of shaking up my little world, and throwing me into an alien world because as pleasurable as it was it means nothing now; you manipulated my emotions and shook up my…

Poetry

By: Pavithra Joseph Pretty, frilly dresses, unsuited to trees and skinned knees; perfect, though, with stilts for shoes that cramp toes, and that wind-swept Munroe-esque pose. We learn young to confuse discomfort with comfort

Poetry

By: Pavithra Joseph She’s not a c***, not a cuss word, or a b a t t e r r e d suitcase of disembodied. unclaimed. parts. She’s as complete, and incomplete, as human as you.