By: Pijush Kanti Deb Sunrise in the tune of morning prayer and a lazy flow of whispering breeze carrying the scent of love bloomed somewhere in a muddy meadow and an enchanting melody of her passionate calling for her man…

By: Shivaji Das From Singapore to Hong Kong on a container ship (Disclaimer: All names have been changed to protect the crew’s privacy.) I am armed and ready; with my medical insurance, a declaration that I and only I am…

By: Hardeep Sabharwal How can I forget the color of that pink shirt, And the smile of a translucent face, In the young darkness of evening. That fifteen minutes touch, Or maybe any other of that kind, That turned me positive…

ST Coleridge is one of the few poets who I admire most – not because of his a couple of poems but because of his life-like dedication to create a whole new romantic world in each poem. More than anything…

By: JD DeHart I am thankful for social media and its constant reminder of our wiser choices, its flattering and unflattering images It’s truth Thank God for the landscape of disconnected lines that tie us to one another, without sight…

By: JD DeHart When we first arrived, we noted the flora and fauna, spoke with the wise queen and made sure to locate the dumpster When we first arrived, we communed with the ancient tree spirits that surrounded the canvas of…

By: Michael C. Keith The heavens call to you, and circle about you, displaying to you their eternal splendors, and your eye gazes only to Earth. –– Dante, 1300 “They’ll think we’re grotesque creatures given our eight legs and red…

By: Gaither Stewart I read recently that the conservative government of Hungary has projected a wall along the country’s southern border with Serbia to keep out clandestine Serbs who cross into Hungary in search of work. This prompted me to…

‘Scion of Ikshvaku’ by Amish Tripathi is all set to come out soon. Amish has already gained a lot of acceptance and goodwill through his famous Shiva trilogy that had a runaway success. But ‘Scion of Ikshvaku’ has to stand…

By: Matthew D. Laing Darhaven’s grey, lifeless walls have fallen to ruin. Weather beaten and eroded; mortar crumbling into fine powder; beams of an almost ancient wood soaked and rotting; muddied and impassible road winding up Winby’s Hill, all features…