By: Zunayet Ahammed i Beauty captivates me Not you I discern Beauty is skinned deep Subject to degeneration and decay Yet you feel proud of it Mysterious! ii You adorn yourself every day with softness, pearly whiteness, tenderness and the grace…

By: Zunayet Ahammed For her impulses intensified We poured and didn’t pour light Into her shadowy recollection Saying all this She faded away Like time flower But doesn’t she pass away afar Making us paranoid More passionately forever? She exists Like…

By: Pijush Kanti Deb The tree is too generous to hide its helplessness and the golden creeper is opportunist to accomplish its earthly compulsion- ‘’The struggle for existence’’. Here, as the difference is significant and debatable too so accountable is…

By Pijush Kanti Deb My old father shouts at me, ‘’Where is the ladder?’’ and throws me too into his spring time to witness a sweet flashback where, the shamefulness and fear are seen climbing a ladder to reach up…

By: Linda M Crate the crows follow me remind me to give wings to my dreams make them a reality, and it must suck to be you standing in monuments of moments that you mean to forget; always buried in…

By: Linda M Crate i have always tempered my tongue before i spoke to remain tactful and kind, but sometimes it’s so tempting to become like the monsters in my life simply ripping people apart with their tongue; but then…

By: Tamara White I She sits And waits. The Angel Trumpet of the Bar Her bloom is full, her vibrant coloring flawless. No sharp edges just soft lines flowing seamlessly together to create her seductiveness. Waist is narrow like a delicate…

By: Bob Kalkreuter The shots were sudden and clear, crisp as breaking sticks. Gary Eason flinched. For a moment Stewart’s lips got pale, his eyes went wild, and he muttered, “Goddamn…” They were both in Gary’s boat. Gary was fishing, but…

By: Tom Sheehan They kicked in then, at sight of the wild-eyed gunman on the Greyhound bus moving into Vermont and on to Canada, my other lives, the separate and strange ones, spinning back through me, each one of them,…

By: Tom Sheehan When asked to read to celebrate my new book of memoirs, I let the audience enter the cubicle from where the work came. I told them: I’ll celebrate with you by telling you what I know, how…