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?...
The Trickster
Kokopelli, I know what I know.
You are the mysterious humpbacked
flute-playing Casanova of the cliff
dwellers of the American Southwest.
Kokopelli, you are the carousing
peace-loving traveling salesman
seducing women in villages with
your many gifts of music, dancing,
and mischief.
Kokopelli, having seen you in
ancient Anasazi glyphs and rock art;
and having spent time inside the...
Language
this noise binds us in peculiar ways
as if it knows the frequency
at which we resonate
I can predict the weather
by the lilt in your voice and you
can pinpoint my location
by the clamor on the streets.
evening is when the suburb
breaks down into episodes,
but all I can think of is the time...
Masscult
Elation about well-timed ascendancy
has a certain piquancy. It extends to
those not affiliated to it. When *M C
Sher’s flowing tongue capsules his
long haul his happiness is mine, tap-
ping into frozen areas of my campaign.
In rooting for this Gully Boy I begin
to rekindle my abandoned side.
*Siddhant Chaturvedi in Gully Boy, breakout...
RIVERS
Should I multiply or divide my soul
in rivers under sheltering domes?
I have left bits of me
in the Elbe and the Rhine.
I have left liquid tears
in the lighted Seine.
Paris, Berlin, Dresden --
each city is an epic, a tome.
In rose gardens in the day
or beer-gardens at night
I have ranged and roamed.
The...
LOWERED GUILLOTINE
Translated from the original Bengali by Kushal Poddar
1
The stormy shuttle car
climbs up the flyover.
My finger descends into your fist,
joyous, barrier breaking.
Shall stay in touch, infinity.
History's curtain will come down
over the horizon of time.
Moments will guide ahead.
Rain falls on my chest,
windscreen...
2
‘Return, Archismān.’
When red ants smite the chrysalis
no caterpillar wings...
Title: Burrito Deluxe
Writer: Joe Ridgwell
Format: Paperback
Book Length: 234
Publisher: Leamington Books
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0993227201
ISBN-13: 978-0993227202
Price: £ 9.99
Reviewed by: Koushik Sen
The Metaphysical Rebels: Burrito Deluxe as the final Road Novel
“What the fuck are these monsters?” I said.
Ronnie attempted to put one end of the leviathan into his mouth.
--Burrito Deluxe. (Ridgwell, 88)
Joe Ridgwell’s...
Title: Indelible Fingerprints
Writer: David Estringel
Publisher: Alien Buddha Press
Publishing Date: April 2019
Language: English
Reviewed by: Sarbajit Sarkar
Human tenderness could be defined with the virtual space it occupies while confronting melancholy and utter loneliness. Life, as it is perceived in today’s world, possesses a constant threat to our existence and perennially makes...
Paradise
lonely feet on a subway train
at half past midnight
she misses paradise
where every day she would
collect a pocket full of shells
why not give her home away
for another trip to the coastline without a name
our lady train rider flashes back to the nights
where she would stumble drunkenly with
another girl who split...
On the Crossroads
O’ father,
hold my fingers in your firm grip
and help me cross the road.
Suspicion
I’ve burnt myself half, fortuitously.
And deliberately, left the rest unburned.
Bike Accident
Helmet transforms into a skull.
The road runs as usual.
Insomnia
Night burns into an ashtray.
I fly to you with the wings of ashes.
Ode to Muezzins
Muezzins used to climb the minaret to make the call to prayer…
(after Stefan Kaegi)
Oh to be on call five times daily
and feat days
ready to roll
cocksure in your three-balled
alabaster minaret outpost
honeyed and hyssoped throat
nose to the windscreen
positioned just so
between your faith
and a vintage Shure 55SW anodyne mic
an array...
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma
even the violence
seems germane.
same old Wichita,
ain’t it?
bomb every
last life boat,
make the bird
on the bill
soar free above
that ancient tomb.
a camera’s just one eye
but damn
if we don’t know
how to whisk a crowd
after wrongful
frenzy.
the NRA pays less taxes than me
you won’t
find
that shrapnel
wound
in their
tax ID #.
the business
end
of muzzle
is only prelude
of holy
creation.
“be...