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Falling Back To Butterflies

By Raymond Greiner Three summers past we experienced a horrid drought. Crops failed, ponds dried up and grass was brown creating an apocalyptic scene. The poplar trees took the biggest hit; we lost ten, yet some survived. It was a…

Why

By: James Aitchison Why did I write a particular poemon a particular day?What strange convergence of forcessuddenly came into play? Did I catch words as they fell free from God?Were my thoughts plucked from the sky?If so, I am grateful…

What happens next?

By: Liaa Kumar “Oh my god, can you imagine?” she said, her voice full and bright, the words tumbling out in a passionate jumble. She holds her arms up against the night sky, beaming, eyes searching the stars as if…

Warm Hands, Cold Knuckles

By: T. R. Bates “My hands are warm,But my knuckles are cold,” Barbara announces.I tell her it’s because there’s no blood in your knuckles.This is an example of our conversation these days.Her world has shrunk and getting smaller.Observations are minutely…

‘She’ and ‘Assumptions’

By: Shyama Laxman She She goes around the officeAsking if we have any foodA banana or even a can of tunaFor her ten-year oldWho is on the cusp of a tantrumFuelled by hunger She looks sleep deprivedThough her hair is…