Monday, September 28, 2020

Poetry

On The Vasettha Sutta Two Brahmins brought the Blessed One a dispute. One argued, We were born pure into this caste. The second claimed, Class is by virtue of actions. Buddha, who often stayed silent, untouchable, above such fray, discoursed in no uncertain terms: Grasses or trees are distinct from birth, not man. Still twenty-five hundred...

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...
Where Technocracy Ends The other day, since I couldn’t recall, I googled “What was I just thinking about?” and the computer would not give me the correct information to my inquiry. I asked it this question a million times over and every time it gave me the wrong answer. It felt good knowing there were still some...
My Guest There is nothing more important than you, my guest I will delay my sickness until you leave And I will cover my sadness with a big smile I will give my last bread to you and my hungry kids Don’t worry— I will fill my stomach with water Come on in… My house is full...

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,...
THE MAGIC OF STILLNESS AND THE CHAOTIC Some people, lost souls, caught in the absurdity of noise, create magical stillness out of the chaotic outwitting comprehension. Other lost souls, caught in the absurdity of silence, create the chaotic out of magical stillness sidestepping incomprehension. I, confused by both noise and silence, adoring absurdity yet not knowing which is more magical or comprehensible, stillness or...

Poems by John Hennessy

AFTER ALEXANDRIA What an agony not to wake up next to you. Not to have fallen asleep with your head on my chest. I made the bed quickly, as you did every day, sheets that still smell of your hair and skin. Your pillows, one that you took with you, take with you everywhere, sandalwood...
EMILY AS THE FIELD IS STILL A FIELD Even if Emily is naked in the field the worth of that dirt is determined by the season. Though that has never stopped me from referring to her as the bloom, as the crop, as the reason why all of Ohio’s two-lane highways have been built. I know...

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 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...
True Self Nameless stands with his back to the wall. Desperate grappling of an unsettled mind. Piercing screams emitting from some lost place. Unsure of any fate, real or imagined. Looking past a vague blackness, slowly filling an empty jar on the shelf. Cardboard dreams crumbling, while paint peels off in layers of obscurity. A disease of doubt...

Poems by Sumana Roy

Balasan I’ve met the river before, but this is a new setting— like meeting a parent in their office. Bala—sand, san—stone: a river baptised for spitting its monsoonal gifts, like calling a girl Khushi, to bait happiness. The mountains that fight the grease of dust when we look at it from Matigara, they are here now, my...