By: Mohammad Jashim Uddin O Farruk! Perverted nation is now cursed. Slumbered nation is marching towards Avoiding the blood eyes and being inspired In order to break the Satan’s wall. O Farruk! You are not a lost Sinbad. You are faster…

By: Jeshtha Kamra While our bodies share its secrets In all its mistiness Our memories bake into blackened bricks. I keep searching you Between our melting bodies and frozen minds. Blindfolding reality Into the maddening swirl of shameless confessions. In our…

By: April Mae M. Berza I could have read “The Fault in our Stars” but I chose to hear your laments about your ex who chose his ex over you. The pain in my chest is like an inactive volcano…

By: April Mae M. Berza Forgetting is to inject insulin to a diabetic I feel in my blood the sweetness of pain The pain in my blood is swelling for a week. To remember you is to make me unsick…

By: April Mae M. Berza If I were a river, I will choose you as my destination, to flow like the tears of the cherubs one summer to quench the thirst of the vineyards. I could hear the orchestra, your…

An Australian author Richard Flanagan won this year’s Man Booker Prize. Although he considers the prize not so precious when he talks about it as ‘CHICKEN RAFFLE’. The Hindu newspaper writes that Richard Flanagan is nothing if not a man…

By: Gaither Stewart Damiano ignores the tourists standing four and five deep at the coffee and pastry counter up front, nods amicably at the cashier, and strides purposefully down the red- carpeted corridor that by now he knows centimeter by…

By: Ranjeet Sarpal Pain survives on its capacity to evoke memories Carefully selectively Memories are underpinned Then repetition of selective memories deepens the agonized self Triggering sea storm in blood veins . Words are recalled instinctual touch is forgotten. The broken…

By: JD DeHart My life is a drifting, a constant shuffling forward. Who holds the cards? I do not know the name of the god who is in charge of this, the gambling god, the one with the quick hands at…

By: Linda M Crate the trees and the sun beckon me outside and i follow without thought of the dishes or the laundry mopping or vacuuming floors life is made for the living and dust is for the dead; let…