Tuesday, March 9, 2021

November 2018

Poems by Subir Sarkar

(translated from the original Bengali by Tuhin Sanyal) REMAKE The same old story of the hunter and the prey. Yet, no spine-chilling adventure. Coming out of the comfort zone. ‘Remake’ is a mockery-mixed dinner-table. DEPRESSION Wooden houses and continuous days of prose are sub-water swims and chairs laid near the fog, watching the depression of clouds forever is in itself a single scene. BIRD AND FEATHER One should know the...

Poems by Steve Denehan

Sandalwood Some foundation, concealer a little rouge a subtle lipstick her reflection disappoints lines, hard earned, unwanted her reflection smiles it helps She dusts and tidies arranges rearranges old photographs of ghosts She lights a candle sandalwood she vacuums and sweeps she polishes and primps her home herself just in case Two Scientists I should be in work instead, I sit in a Dublin café tightly clutching a cup of tea as if it might...

Poems by Ricky Garni

TRIATHLON Jane was in Vancouver one day and she stood at the window and saw a woman crawling out of the sea. The woman started running really fast on the beach until she reached a bicycle and then she hopped on it and kept going. “Wow!” Jane said, “I just saw the evolution of mankind in...

Poems by Richa Sharma

CREATIVITY Excogitate a rainbow, The piebald mind breaks into, A woolgathering without rains, On furlough during emphasis, Precipitation and tedium. A breakthrough in a belfry, Is not a quantum of peerless words. A sockdolager of a man's oeuvre, Is also a renaissance of mirages. Scant advertency makes him think. DEATH Cessation is a penumbra of the foofaraw. The patina of sandalwood is...

Poems by Moinak Dutta

POTPOURRI 1. The other day When we became very political, We flagged our posts; After the sabbath, We put hashtags On our souls. 2. We survived like tramlines in the city, Some parts remained, Some tracks gone, Some lines forgotten, Some kept like tradition. 3. That plectrum which you held Between your fingers And with which you awakened Fire and ice, Found that under the mattress, And you told...

Poems by Ranu Uniyal

GRANDFATHER You remember more of what is no more. Past steps into your bedroom and your grandson becomes your newly born. You love to address him as Baba – this is how you called your first born. The present blurred and faceless has no challenges for you. Your face perks up and breaks into...

Poems by Pitambar Naik

LONGING How can Kashmir be a hydrogen conspiracy? the passiveness, the aloofness—the longitude they search for their wriggled breathing abandoned history, stooped pride in city squares what is the DNA of their guillotined blood— Dalits they preserve solitariness in a ledge—Dalits they store pain in their barns—Dalits and then the masses of the holy land pray together for the...
Old Men Walk Funny Old men walk funny with shadows and time eating at their heels. Pediatric walkers, prostate exams, bend over, then most die. They grow poor, leave their grocery list at home, and forget their social security checks bank account numbers, dwell on whether they wear dentures, uppers or lowers; did they...

Poems by Lucy Wilson

Distant Thunder I. Monster Mash My sister noticed first: “You walk like an old lady.” I was forty-six, but she was right. I could not, would not, see. One day on the beach in Hermosa, walking along the shore, I stopped and looked back. The sea tried to hide the evidence but I was too quick: step slide, step slide,...
Writa Bhattacharjee Fantasy fiction is one of the fastest growing genres in Indian popular culture today. Spurred by access to international books and media, as well as the rise of a new breed of authors, fantasy has been rising in popularity over the last couple of decades. But what exactly...

Poems by Linda Ashok

MOLD When you left and I left When we both left our glasses to the loneliness that'll babysit our leaving the place that has seen us naked in each one of our eyes There were islands; green irises & black pupils they floated the way we buoyed in that moment of intimacy. INCENSE RIBS I am thinking of you. Don't move. Let the cars run over. Let people walk through. Let rain...

Poems by Kalyani Bindu

TO SEE To see as I see you, through beetle eyes— mosaic percussion of hundred incarnations, to see, as I see you through strange beetle eyes— like strange art on cryptic flowers, strange streaks at strange places. TO THINK Like the one who sits cowered in the haunt of the anticipated halt, mind riveting like a forced swing, head synchronized with the ejaculating bus, the light of creatures and things, passing in and out as it...