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Wednesday, November 6, 2024
Home Poetry India July 2024 Issue

July 2024 Issue

Once in my childhood in this small town
superlative trees towered high above
covering the burning sun
spreading cool shadows;
birds chittered and quarrelled and littered,
now concrete structures loomed high above
The Abandoned Cake
Mango-flavored, creamy, delicious;
wrapped in its sweetened spongy layers
A caring heart’s scintillating love.
The cake from the confectioner’s shelf
Mouth-watering sensuous irresistible

Poems by N. Gopi

The bus can stop
Only if it arrived
If at all it comes,
It comes with a swollen stomach
Gasping, dripping saliva and goes away.
The village folk
In silence, grows the moon
nimbus clouds roll the sky
goldfish in the waters
silently slip
between craigs that house oysters
silently nurturing cold moons
Punjab has been a difficult region.To speak in the language of this volatile region is an ordeal, a death-defying act. The poets of Punjab cannot afford to be poets alone, they have the cultural obligation to speak for its restless people in their idiom and ideology. Poetry, popularity and politics constitute
Like a double edged sword
it cut me.
Nostalgia and nightmare
shaking hands.
Tears closeted in time
and...
There must be something in crawling on the space,
gripping the earth
by forelegs
and then moving the hind legs forward
finding newer grounds to embrace
moving slowly but surely
My great grandmother stopped each day
at the St Alphonsa shrine
on Brodie’s Road in Madras.
Just in case
saints were a bit like
local goddesses–

Poems by Rik Amrit

After enduring a hundred blood tests, this time when you insert the needle, it’s not blood but a crescent moon that swells in the syringe. The stream that has silently flowed for so long, you place its slide under the microscope.
I often bend down to collect a few footprints,
in the shapelessness of darkness, I see a shadow,
I pluck one to meet myself in a new time,
It is a process I do not want to forget anymore.
soft white candles. Each togetherness
calms heart and fills the smell of absence.
When in an ancient Australian forest,
don’t look up,
look down instead.
Beneath your feet, below the veins, laid out in secret–
red, purple,
moss-green mushrooms.

Poems by Sayan Ray

What I knew as nothingness
ought to be my God
All the work is dull and clouded today
Among those clouds I remain a cloud
I love petty remainings, deep darkness
Read me again, I’m a simple moss