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...
Civil Guardsmen
From a field of grasses dried
by wind, two civil guardsmen stare
toward the sun for traffic
on the lonely road
they have been stationed to protect.
They are tall
against the burnt horizon,
still as the ground itself,
and one is the reflection of the other
as, side by side, they stand
in place. Should one
turn around,...
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...
suicide
paula’s weak moment
leaving me early
sad lonely feeling
nightly she returns
softly whispering
her lost love
still in my heart
bliss
alone in library
empty used bookstore
roaming shelves
sacred experience
like attending church
feeling hopeful promise
quietly turning pages
becoming dreamer again
freedom
waking to birdsong
before first light
building small fire
boiling water from stream
instant coffee
oats in tin cup
ready for journey
picking way over deadfall
brushing aside cobwebs
escaping...
Kiriti Sengupta
I forget the poems I write. I don’t blame memory. Thanks to the two molar teeth I lost in spite of being a dental surgeon. They were badly broken. I had excruciating pain and did not listen to the consultant who had advised Root Canal Therapy. I wanted...
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...
Introduction:
It takes guts to speak with artistes, especially poets. They are sensitive, they refuse to speak much about themselves (here I’m talking about old-time poets, the present clan is more vocal), and it is even more difficult to understand their mood and psyche. When I asked Nikita Parik, assistant...
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,...
STEPHEN MCQUIGGAN
The voice from the intercom froze Tina in the act of adjusting her garter belt. It wasn’t the information the voice relayed, for in truth she had been checking the digital readout (half concealed by condom packets, jars of lube, whips and furry handcuffs) every few minutes and...
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...
Debasis Tripathy
He had lost interest in life. His life had turned into one like those countless chickens in poultry farms, just that unlike the chicken he had the capability as a human being to end his life by his own will. There were many a time when he had...
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...