Poetry
By: Garima Sharma A lonely woman takes lovers, no dreams, children, shoe bites, men and brothels of feet. coins, zari, and the young boy outside the hamaam. Freedom was never for the darling slave, whose wrists are bound by spit,…
Posted on
Poetry
By: Garima Sharma I am the one who sweats sadness killing knees and loneliness on slow roads did you hear? when I erupted like a dying river? on those blue sheets my hair greased with horror and navel burning with rejection?…
Posted on
Fiction
By: Gaither Stewart From her seat high in the corner of the grandstand Sophia is at the same altitude as the acrobat on the trapeze. She leans forward from the edge of her seat and gazes across at him. His…
Posted on
Poetry
By: Aneesha Roy I thought of you for days and months. I thought of you in tempestuous storms and insurgent gales. I thought of you in bitter snow and in hale. I thought of your beady eyes, your crooked nose…
Posted on
Poetry
By: Aneesha Roy Dear little Cecilia, sprightly, contumacious, Tiptoed to her room; carefree, audacious, She was to star in a little skit In a few days, too soon. She expected no laurels, no exalted praise, But was determined to give…
Posted on
Poetry
By: Aneesha Roy An unsolicited phrase of reproach Escaped my lips today. It was undeserved and rude And perhaps directed at Her rawest nerve. She said nothing much in defence. She was too hurt to speak. No execration, no distasteful…
Posted on
Poetry
By: Aneesha Roy She strolls into her study in Her characteristic, Neanderthal gait; Her shoulders drooping, Her skin misted with sweat; Her breath heavy And her day laid waste. She approaches her mahogany desk Under the ornate ceiling And devours…
Posted on
Fiction
By: Raymond Greiner My name is Howard Woodward. I have lived in this city for twenty years, have a good paying job and live in an up scale apartment. During formative years I dreamed of city life, an ever-busy place…
Posted on
Non-Fiction
By: William T. Hathaway From the book RADICAL PEACE: People Refusing War I first met the man we’ll call Trucker in 1970 at a rally against the Vietnam War. Our demo was going to start on the Berkeley campus…
Posted on
Poetry
By: Milt Montague Bows dancing on strings Sounds piercing my heart Searing my soul A plaintive cry Out of the past The Renaissance Reconnecting To the ancients Lights on once more After a long desolate night Viola da Gamba’s sonority…
Posted on