By: Neha Sharma Sarika arrived with her hair tied into two braids with bright pink ribbons, a sack with printed orange marigolds and her skin covered with recently dried up chicken pox. More than a few strands of hair stuck…

  By: Gaither Stewart The last time I saw Algodón was in the instant before the medics pulled the sheet over his face. From my fourth floor balcony across the narrow street, even in the faint late-night illumination I could…

By: Paulo Lorenzo Garcia There’s an ant Scuttling towards me Going off in all directions frantically. A note of urgency alluded to by the length of its strides And the acreage it covered The thought of killing it Had crossed…

By: Paulo Lorenzo Garcia “Tonight I Can Write the Saddest Lines,” Said Pablo Neruda. But be that as it may My soul swivels in harsh repose Beneath a scarcely rippled sheet In response to a rhapsody astray A gash in…

  By William T. Hathaway Review of Recollection of Things Learned By Gaither Stewart The Literary Yard contributor Gaither Stewart is a man of passions. In The Europe Trilogy he shared with us his passion for international espionage and intrigue….

By: Ranjeet Sarpal I heard rainfall In the backyard Descending on patterns of loneliness, Broken bottles, Emptied chips packets, Thrown bus tickets Abandoned puppies, Absorbing their fear of being alone , And Stirring memories In the dustbin of existence, Liquidating bricks…

By: Samiya Javed  There is something oddly discomforting about a large group of people and their mirth, which seems to be contagious, except, I find myself untouched by it. The epidemic of callous loose talk, and feverish sweeping by of…

By: Aneesha Roy The thirst for life runs amok, My hungry loins call forth That bloody pulsating thrust That fills through and bursts, Deep, deep inside where no stories lie, Just darkness and smoke and fog and obscurity, moist and…

By: Aneesha Roy A sad street runs down unhurried by my dull-grey house. It stretches far and wide, dressed in the familiar trappings of charcoal black. It’s worn out in places. It runs along without a destination. It wears a mournful…

By Karthik Shankar The alarm clock announced itself with a rattling ring. My mind had already switched itself on fifteen minutes earlier but my body wasn’t ready to purge itself of the remnants of my daily slumber. I got up…