Birds
Every star has a crack
This is how the flash
releases the radiance
of living things
To make sense of this
is to know that
a bird’s migration is
the stars magnetic draw
the conveyor from North
to South and back again.
This generates a bright effect
on our lives
because birds are a testament
to the lightness of innocence
to the graceful...
Grandmother
Drawing circles like a schoolgirl on the
blanket with her finger, she soon detects
black ants along the wall, and becomes a
traffic cop mad at disobedient
vehicles. With her white hair tangled in
neglect, she soon turns into a smiling
tyrant who tosses swear words like macro*
and bobok** at us all. She watches the
same...
The Touch
Last night I woke up
to a dream. Foam in the sea
trying to catch time
in myriad forms;
my limbs drenched in waves
my hands outstretched.
A dream touching
the timeless
Alone
The street lights greet me in benevolence
when I look at the night
with a watchman’s eye.
Traffic pauses to think
how busy the road is,
and I become...
Studying 19th Century Bengal’s Civilizational Conflicts in Michael Madhusudan Dutt’s Ekei Ki Bole Sobhyota?
Manisha Bhattacharya
“Civility is claiming and caring for one’s identity, needs and beliefs without degrading someone else’s in the process” (The Institute of Civility in Government).
The idea of civility is about disagreeing without disrespect, seeking common ground...
THE FINAL DRAFT
I've started living after my death!
I was killed
Some four years back—
Stabbed and drowned!
’Twas a shallow stream;
I quivered out,
(Ah! Blessed ghoul!)
Was yet again
Earth-bound
With the hope
Of new love
And assassins
For my carcass soul!
I've lived and died
Many times
In my secular half
And your non-religious (w)hole!
Faced umpteen deaths,
Say, in Mohenjodaro,
And in the Mayan...
BLOOD
1
I see the blood
in hands of others
faces of others
smeared like fog
or smog,
I lift myself from clouds
a thin line wavers
as I walk into the existence
of blood
2
I ask questions
the voice is silent
asks questions
can you rape an eight
year old, six months
the voice is silent
of course, only at
the cost of blood
3
I saw a...
Russ Bickerstaff
A woman’s feet had come to rest in front of an intersection. A sports car drove by followed rapidly by a semi-truck with an advertisement for beer on the side of it. She didn’t notice it because she was looking at the glowing screen she held in her...
Cool Masculine
Hair careless tangled; dirt bristling on dried skin.
I'll be clean, I'll be beautiful again,
a cool, cruel image for someone.
I press the glass against my cheek,
feel the condensation disappear into natural fires.
I'm James Dean in the photos, the film,
despite all my disabilities...
Let me be him for you:
I've got that...
Haiku
1
The flowers have bloomed
and the locusts devour
any sign of life.
2
Oily dressing with
the pit-marked spinach leaves on
my baby-blue plate.
3
A doe has died on
the searing blacktop. It still
continues to smile.
4
My gaze, downward, with
all the plastic faces here;
coffee stains shirt brown.
5
Break up in tiny
distinct pieces. Now, your heart
is not the same.
6
Please and...
wisdom
fire burning to coals
poet looking past embers
seeing distant world
before existence of light
coming of god
untitled
poet on edge
meds not refilled
lost in black silence
static white noise
echoing around skull
deafening suffering soul
seriously considering
ways to kill himself
answer me
telephone without voice
no caller id
broken-hearted poet
wondering if ex-lover
quietly bagging
shrink
routine family counseling
necessary before divorce
doctor’s dark office
framed degrees on the...
Translated from the original Rajbangshi language by Jyotirmoy Prodhani
A Poet You Are
Poet,
come down to the dust
and watch the shades of the setting sun.
Poet,
walk down that path
and watch the lives lived by men.
I Want To Become A Sky
I want to become a sky
a sky I do want to become—
broad and...
Bankim Let
Bibhas Roy Chowdhury’s latest chapbook Jessore Road-er Gach (Trees alongside Jessore Road) is “the sweetest song” that tells of “saddest thought.” It’s a spontaneous, melancholic flow of a sequence or series poetry, resting under the trees, in just fifteen poems. These fifteen well-crafted poems perfectly synchronize with illustrations by Biplab...