hand washing
apples are crimson
like the faces of children
who exit their births
breathing as fire, raptured by still tears.
she was a silence of horror
the venom of encroachment
tearing up
like wind
a tunnel of thought
I am only left to this fanatical
flaw
centuries of madness, tearing at the curtains.
like Shakespeare’s army ants
actors in drag, frightened wraiths
isolated...
Terry Engel
I stood on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, just a few feet from the engraved words that marked the spot where Martin Luther King Jr. stood to give his “I Have a Dream” speech. At the time of the speech, August 28, 1963, I was three and...
VERTIGO
The falcon soars far above us,
a denizen of light and air
circling different wind currents
in a vastness that eludes us
until he sees the smallest speck,
a rabbit emerging from its hole,
and he zooms down to capture it
in less than a minute -- like the vertigo
of parachuting words on the pages of...
Along the River
We point out the different birds to one another.
Like teenage boys showing off their knowledge of astronomy.
Find goldfinches and cedar waxwings in the trees along the river,
tiny redpolls and grosbeaks chasing gnats down below.
In the water, cormorants lurk, wings spread like vultures
night-herons stalk lumbering carp in slow...
Ankur Konar
Angshuman Kar is a well-known name in the map of Bengali poetry. The anthologies like Khelna Pistol (1998), Apel Saharer Samrat (2001), Nasho Square Feeter Jadukar (2006), Jehadi Tomake (2008) and Amar Sonar Harin (2012) have established Kar as a key figure in the world of contemporary Bengali...
Home
When the tree shed all
leaves under a blue
naked sky,
someone whispered: It’s spring.
I sat a crow on the barren tree
that melted down before
the black bird escaped
in to oblivion.
Pebbles strewn around
the pathway laughed
& walked straight
into my heart
When I found the gate
locked after a long journey,
the road announced:
You’re home.
Skeleton
Standing alone in front,
of...
The Fog of Pain
You told me not to worry. As many speakers would be along the way, entering through the different doors, could tell us about the stars’ songs, theories, and critical turns. But, do you know, in the rain-wet afternoon, among the full house audience, I was absent?...
NOSTALGIA OF A WORKNIGHT
She’s weary as an unused toy—unwrapped,
not touched. She’s not hidden but by herself
in back of a toybox, under the snapped
off arm of her last doll. She thinks a shelf
might be nice. She’d like to hear the soft click
as her nightlight went dark and slipped
into a sleep...
Title: When Lovers Leave and Poetry Stays
Writer: Jhilam Chattaraj
Publisher: Authorspress
Publishing Date: 2018
Language: English
Reviewed by: Juveria Tabassum
The time has come for women to leave the woods andreclaim forbidden spaces. In our vast nation while there are millions of girls who disappear due to traditional cultural evils like dowry and female...
MANNEQUIN
It wants to be alive, to know sense and have lucid dreams. However, the possibility of a lone storefront mannequin awakening is a dream. Frozen in the bright neon of the city lights, unable to motion her wants or needs, the mannequin remains silent.
Yet even the impossible things can...
THE PARTY
Such a mix
at her party—
one worshiped
his own genius.
another was too flippant.
a third was
a freethinker,
a fourth, a savant.
The combination
could only be uncomfortable.
And throw in a hypocrite.
a born pessimist,
the usual boorish academics,
and even the weather
could not settle
on rain or sunshine.
Maybe
the party-giver
was asking too much,
relied on diversity
as a crutch.
ended with discordance...
Midsummer
i
I was inside a labyrinth: A flood in front of me. The endless surge and fall of water. The deep ocean surface wavered before turned in white waves. When the waves receded, they left a little shimmer in my little eyes. At a distance, something washed ashore. A blue...