Poetry
By: James G. Piatt I devour the rocks that lie Beneath my wandering feet,The bushes with red flowersThat line the hungry brook,Then I digest nouns, verbs andPrepositions that paint the Landscape with edible poems. I listen to the grumbling earth, the…
Literary criticism
By: Linda M. Crate Music moves me. I think it moves all of us. There’s just something in the poetry of words sung out loud to the chorus of a beat or melody that dances emotions to life in the…
Fiction
By: Raymond Greiner My name is Caleb. I am 16 years old and documenting my life thus far. I have no parents or siblings. I was scientifically created and live in a barracks facility among 100 males my age with…
Books Reviews
By: Kousik Adhikari For the last few days rain shut me indoor, Lying on my ancestral bed that shrieks with every Splash of body I see the rain’s youth dancing On roofs, leaves, street’s black face, Water hissing, galloping the streets,…
Poetry
By: Kousik Adhikari Simply you have to mount a taxi That knows the history and geography of roads And fall on Southern Avenue, You will not fall. May I promise? Simply you have to tap the door That gets rusted waiting…
Literary criticism
By: Kousik Adhikari Bankim Chandra Chatterjee (1838-1894) has been undoubtedly and truly the finest product of the 19th century literary renaissance and the pioneer of the novel form in Bengal as the then capital of British ruled India. His first…
Poetry
By: Danny P. Barbare Sitting in the lounge chair by the fire place watching the World Series on a cold October night eating a pumpkin cookie and sipping on sweet apple cider.
Poetry
By: Danny P. Barbare Cleaning the bathroom it’s not a flowery chore so womanly or pretty just ask the shiny tile once covered with mildew or the polished fixtures once covered with scum.
Poetry
By: Kuzhoor Wilson Translated by : Anitha Varma The forgotten umbrella Fretted Did he get wet? Cry because it was missing? Would his mother have given him a beating? Benches and desks Are cozing The board still retains The day’s remnants Night…
Fiction
By: Narasimha Sharma Veturi I opened my eyes to the frantic chaos of porters pushing my fellow passengers to come in and be the first to carry the luggage of the seemingly rich people. I was reasonably hungry and as I…