By: Adreyo Sen A good flight attendant is the sanctity of service guided by sadness – she is the grey dove transforming into a silent line amidst our feckless ways. Ask a flight attendant the meaning of sadness and she’ll answer…

By: Adreyo Sen A child early on planes will never learn the true meaning of freedom because he has learnt to fly before he has grown wings. Reality, grounded, will keep him crashing till he becomes part of the groveling…

By: Debleena Majumdar She painted the rainbow, He quietly held the corners. She jumped, He was there, tall. She counted the stars, He steadied the ladder. She slipped, His arms broke her fall. She sang a new tune, He held the…

By: Debleena Majumdar You open your bag, take out Alphabets, values, rules, Hoping time will not wash away, The unspoken teachings on the sand. You show her the stars, protect Her from those invisible scars, She runs with you, Tiny fingers…

By: Hannah Thurman Month 1: Olivia realized, for the first time, how quiet everything was. She had just gotten home from her job at the lab, stepping carefully around the gouges in the lawn left by the renovators’ ladders. The…

By: Abhishek Jha I The phone rang waves all around him echoing, bouncing off invisible walls. Petulant ringing, his eardrums on the verge of rebellion. II He opened his eyes stared into the darkness or was it dark at all?…

By: Ranjeet Sarpal Your mother has suffered silently. Washing carrots and potatoes She   retorted to his numbing indifference And retired to soybean oil . Perhaps she still loves him. She Preserving his complaints and grievances In the pickle jar…

By: Ranjeet Sarpal Love happens intermittently sometimes sporadically , For instance , may be between response and reaction , while being with you or without you , between words and silence , by 8pm or by 11 am , On Sunday…

By: Akash Rumade Twas winter of 89, You were just a kid aged ten. Nothing to lose or to win, You enjoyed breaking window panes. Then one night, twas shiny dark, You were lost searching your almighty’s mark. Maybe he…

By: Linda M. Crate  lost in the periphery of your gaze i saw the tulips of red dragon dreams we traverse old haunts you forget me i suppose it’s less painful than remembering because then you’d have to face exactly…