Poetry
By: Linda M. Crate intimate dance beneath the sheets two tangoing hearts beating in sync the whole world paused forgotten as breaths beat with the ferocity of an angry rain lashing the windows — all that exists is you and…
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Fiction
By: Kailash Sundaram The new Student McMurphy stands looking a minute, his hair out long and beard real shaggy. His And 1 Basketball Shorts sag below his boxers, almost like he’s inviting girls to check out his ass. His faded…
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Poetry
By: Adesina Idris D. Yet another day. A day to right wrongs. A day not to wrong rights. A day to check the plugs The oil in the engine The fuel level The overall working combustions And not the external body!…
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Poetry
By: Adesina Idris D. The day was bright Such a day was good in sight! But a sound came with aplomb Deafening was it cos it was a bomb! Helter skelter we ran Searching for shelter that we can Find to…
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Poetry
By: Shailendra Chauhan Translated By: Balkrishna Kabra ‘Etesh’ I left behind Sorrows Adversities I adopted silence No talks I walked Behind them For sometime Who misled me Later I found myself In the other direction I bowed down To the red…
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Poetry
By: Shailendra Chauhan Translated by: Balkrishna Kabra ‘Etesh’ On the edge of time Withered is mind Lowered are Senses Cherished desire hangs Carefully like an arch Frigidity domineers Body and mind It’s hard To escape unarmed In this difficult time…
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Fiction
By: Michael C. Keith Nearly all the best people are dead! –– Punch “Hey, I ate a freaking jar of Pickled Snake Head Fish washed down by African Pee Cola, so you can do this,” declared Howie Clarkson. “Yeah,…
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Poetry
By: Kousik Adhikari In the colored morning of light Twenty insects hover Under the thick edge of green leaves In a wishful play, Like your coming after several storms Like you have to say something just now, It makes me conscious of…
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Non-Fiction
Cara Andréa, I am staying on Rue Marcadet it could be said to be la belle quartier, it starts from Rue Caulaincourt like St Germaine and ends on Rue Clignancourt the veritable ghetto. I am typing from a Parisian brasserie…
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Non-Fiction
By Fayroze Lutta To you, Your surname means youthful, tender, smooth and in French pronounced souplé and all for me crémeuse. As you talk to a crowd you have an awkward stammer and stutter, slightly punctuating your speech .The way…
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