By: Prathap Kamath Everyday my window opens into a little patch of paddy laid to waste. Some later owner had grown coconut trees there. All of them turned out to be barren with mournful, drooping, long, yellowish green leaves. They all…

By: William C. Blome Fishing off the low bridge in the dark, I’d guess it’s close to midnight, and I know your window’s five rows down, three boxes across, but I’m watching instead the corner lights on another building flash on-and-off…

By: Pijush Kanti Deb She is going out witnessing a brighter heaven through her babbling friend– the open window of her kitchen, stepping her restless left foot out of my egalitarian door- leading to a hell for her, I believe,…