Literature

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Packed Trains

Our dream trains conjure up faces— known, unknown. You half-recognise a tired mother; I sneer at my drunk uncle who never got to the other side of his third marriage. We pack our dream trains with all we’ve come through. There’s another,

by David Allen Sullivan

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

Deep Sea Green Eyes

In the heart of this sprawling city, where the neon lights flicker like distant stars in an urban galaxy, there exists a place that dances on the boundary between reality and dreams, the Bull Ring. Standing sentinel in the pulsating core of

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Memoir – Chocolate

J, I can’t bear to spell out your name. I see you clearly, even now.Dark, pimple scarred, a smooth voice.You were a neighbour, my Godmother’s brother.About the same age as my uncles.But unlike them. I remember the day at WT.You chose to

by Beatrice Rao

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Ballad for Gem of a Woman!

Lithesome young Gem, her father’s precious lass,born to a family of homely, motherless boys,Endowed with dower of house and jewelsMarried to the first Frankie that pled her troth A jewel of a mother, she bred a brood of threeA son turned preacher,

by Sonali Wijeratne

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

After Lazarus

She left the bright lights of the promenade when the crowd began to feel unpredictable. She could breathe more easily as she headed away from the coastline with its seething beach and festival atmosphere, and into the balm of the darker streets.

by Jane Downing

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Mumbai Goddesses

We lived in Shivaji Park when I first askedmy parents about Santa—because he brought presents, and my picture books showed him flying—in a sleigh drawn by reindeer over fields and mountains of snow in cold countries where white people livedin huge houses

by Zilka Joseph

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

My Cup Runneth Over

Draksha-cha Sharbath. Sherbet of raisins. Our cups overflow with this special drink for Shabbath, or to break the fast at Yom Kippur. Fresh wine made from long, black raisins we bought from New Market in Kolkata for these occasions. Instant sugar high

by Zilka Joseph

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

Nartaki from Ruined a Little When We Are Born

There came a time when the eldest girl of the six kids living in an old house on the hill could bear the caregiving duties no longer and fled her home. She left carrying only the clothes on her back. After travelling

by Tara Zambrano

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Matters of the heart

I had not realisedHands and fingers could be so smallSo pink and crinkly, nails and allA little tiny human beingComplete, perfectExcept that you were notI could not hearI did not want to knowThe complicated diagnosisThey were pressing in upon usI’d never heard

by Denise

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Goddess of Pablo Neruda

In realms obscure, ‘latrine cleaner’ she was named,Love’s tender touch, a stranger’s hand, never claimed.her essence distilled in allure’s potent brew,A deity of desire, in eyes that only knew. Oh, Thangamma, your tale unfolds,beyond the verse of poets renowned,muted whispers, stories untold,in

by Kalpani Dambagolla

Book Reviews·Fictional Arts·Literature

Exploring Femininity and Myth in Mandalas of Time

Malashri Lal is an academic and creative writer based in Delhi. Mandalas of Time is her recent collection of poetry. In the Foreword to the book Bashabi Fraser writes, “We are introduced to the many themes and subjects that fascinate, move and

by Sutanuka Roy

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Shadows in Grey Light

Day folds into nightshe holds herself stillthe sharp angular linesof his cheekbones and the fire flares in the hearth –orange-tinged blue flameshis temper burning fast and hotlike the gidgee wood he mills. don’t pull that sullen face sonbeware his mood…Mother and sonwait…for

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Scars

To the world the wounds have healedthe scars faded, invisible.Yet all it takesare carelessly spoken wordsor random, fleeting thoughtsfor the hurt to surface.The wounds bleed invisible dropsthe anguish swirling like a black cloud,surrounds the self.The bright smilethe calm demeanourbelie the echo of

by Nishat Wasim

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Epiphany of the Heart

Disconcerted and chagrined,I entwine my fingers tighter around you,glancing from the corner of my eye,a detective of the heart,probing through a maze of veiled secrets—but not to find love,Oh, not now!I eschew discovering it,here and now.I turn my gaze to the other

by Sheelu Cyriac

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Sound of Chaos

I sleep miles away from the landCalled Holy;The people are not mine yetThe pain is,The homes are not mineYet the dust is,The blood is not mine yetTheir Death is.Chalks are drawing the borders,Marking the dead bodies scattered around the dustThat was once

by Katha Sarkar

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Paper Sweet

This old palm leaf tells us children some stories of her time to put us to sleepAbout how she discovered her childhood in watchingHer mother making paper sweets,home filled every day with sharp sun light on the mother’s eager hands, the sheets

by Jyothsnaphanija

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Chai Tea

The smell of chai filled up my apartment when I used to wake up, once. I do not remember how long it has been. Two years, probably five. It’s been six months. I walk through the pavements alongside the palm trees. This

by Maithaly Banik

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

All My Anxieties

All my anxieties…About did I leave the stove on!Or maybe the keys hangingStuck to the outside of the door,instead of the lining of my pockets. Maybe all my worries…about how dreadful the world is going toTurn outare simply attemptsto come home. Time

by Konika

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Girl #3 in the Canteen

My mother—in her heyday—had been quitea looker. Pretty enough to have been a Bond girl, framedin a sniper’s scope, I mused to myself. As a teen, thumbing through plastic sleeved albums (eight curved-edge photographs to a double page spread, fizzing lightly with

by Paris Rosemont

Literature·Poetry

Heroic Stuntwoman or Acrophobia

I look at the ground far, far belowI am nauseous, I sway- left, left right right left right I am  d     z        y  , my head is a            s             i   

by Shruti Sareen

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Radha’s Song

You wouldn’t know how it feels, would you?To love a man who’s claimed by many.Who am I but just another woman,lost in a throng of admirers waitingfor a glimpse of his dark, dimpled face.Tell me something, have you ever knownthe fear of

by Anjana Jolly

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

How to Move through the World as a Woman with a Body

Inspired by Ada Limon Swell like a river.Expand as if your skin isn’t impressive enough already.Pure expression of the body and soul should never be anemic. Don’t tally your uncertainties, showcase your fearslike a movie on repeat. Your skin folds aren’t hiding

by Shikha S. Lamba

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Echoing Mothers

I hear mothers,young and old,rich and not-so-poor,Believers, atheists, heathenI hear their staggering stepszigzagging throughformer husbands,current flings,the faltering economy.I hear their symphonies–son’s first tooth fall,daughter’s first ballet,first culinary experiment.I hear, too, their erratic quartets;custody battles,nursing a sick child,telling the daughterbetter loversawait her yet.As

by Bhaswati Ghosh

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

Bodi Amma’s Theater

Beneath the overcast and uninspiring sky, a training aircraft soared through the air, casting its shadow upon the hills below. If one were to gaze down from the heights of the hill or from the aircraft itself, the fields of cotton would

by Arjun Chavah

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Aligarh

Astir, nightly shows—orchestras of vehicles playthe chords in the streets. True-blue tea-lovers—drinking views with samosas,English coffeehouse. Glistening at daytime—dainty neighbourhoods bask insoft showers of peace. Taking in the town—orange sun ducks behind askyline of jet trees.

by Anam Tariq

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

The Colour of Hunger

“Is the meat ready? How long does it take to cook, you lazy bitch?” I vigorously move the ladle in the wok as Salailen hollers from the living room. “And make sure you make it red hot and spicy – not the

by Urmi Chakravorty

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Noh Mask

lost this moonless nightwithout a starry guidewhere the black dog herdsand the midnight cat’s clawsclick across weary stones.lost where whiteno longer exists.gloom’s black fingerscurl and stretchscratching away layers,the regrets and misstepsuntil my noh mask slipsand I am undone

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

Three Ways to Say Goodbye

I do not have walls around my room. Two sides always remained open, and two sides are occupied by the walls of the house in which the room lived peacefully. It did not worry me that all my secretswere laid bare, dissolving

by Kausik Ghosh

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Green Room

If she gets sometimes offOpens the portfolio from her voice and singsChildren cry for attention or quarrel over shabby rags or iron blade or broken plastic lid.This is the only time she wipes off whiskey stainse-liquid drip in her mist like songs.Frantic

by Jyothsnaphanija

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

My Lizard Brain is Going on Vacation

It used to be alert to threats, waiting on the back porch, ready to run at the first whiff of smoke. The eyes sense it first: the sting from ghosts poking needles in my eye, blinking at betrayal like voodoo dolls that

by Paris Rosemont

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Finding the Bliss

It was a summer, Mason knew, when things were suddenly gone. In the midst of a drought, hundreds of thousands of dead fish in the Murray Basin and no one knew why. Mass fish kill, they called it. A third of Australia’s

by Libby Sommer

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Stories

As she sat down and spread outthe old picture album,all the moments and kinfolkslivened up around herwith all those smiles and tearsand those hugs and gigglesthose partings and unionswhirling around herin a cloud of smokeand faint echoes from afar.Like how she beheld

by Vineeta Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Totally Unbidden

love can find us even when we are not lookingfor it, in the most fortuitous place with the mostunexpected person & at the most inconvenient time.as the waning days & nights of our lives are slowlysettling in around our aging bodies &

by Pamela A.Babusci

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Childhood Phobias – A List

I acquired these fears perhapsfrom dreaming too much, from floating above my headin a state of child-hooded fugue. The fear of falling down backwards while trudging up the stairs at 6 pm– an hour to go before the parental units arrive.My legs

by Konika

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

Date Night

Maybe a cake from that pastry place she likes will seal the deal. The sun was scorching and sweat plastered the shirt on the back. But the walk was important. No penny could be wasted on bus fare when the universe provided

by Maithaly Banik

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Yellow Flowers

If I could pluck yellow petals swaying casually on a field of Mars if I could tally Vincent’s stars record their names in coloured chalk on newly laid pavers beneath unshod feet would you hold this fragile me gently, your arms soft

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Pacificate

Answer me!Where would you go?,when the very life you chase,Suddenly… betrayed you? On the roads you used to run on,now you can’t take a step.The hospital bed is your home now,The window; your eyes to the world. Can’t you see it yet?The

by Hasna Naushad

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

A Late-Night Pedicure is Never a Good Idea

and as I took the blade to my foot,I never meant to make a cut deep enoughfor my blood to flow as freely as it did.And as I sat there for half an hour drenchingbits of cotton, all I could think about

by Shikha S. Lamba

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Haiga

Haiga is a traditional Japanese art form that combines haiku poetry with a complementary visual element, usually a simple painting or a sketch. The word “haiga” is derived from “hai” (haiku) and “ga” (painting or picture). In haiga, the aim is to

by Pamela A.Babusci

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Twenty Years Down the Lane

Twenty years down the lanecobwebs wrapped in my tonguered broken nails gnawing atthe sylvan table, the pressure cookerwhistles, the fading black ink of the recipe book spites at me, scratching the metaphors sealing my white lipswater bickering down the sink, flushing away

by Srilekha Mitra

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Green Muck-stains

All the flashbacks have echoes, the running feet, the stampede untold, my veins bleeding with punch rush as I sit between your legs,The blonde streak and the green shirt, my pinks and your fences.You won’t be home in Spring, they think I

by Samina Tahreem

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Haiku

Flying I felt the Spring breezeSaw some lilies dancing roundWhile I touched the sky. On Growing Just like a saplingNeeds the sun, so do I needThe rain to grow high. Strength To smile is a costTo weep comes easily stillBut both make

by Amanda D' Rozario

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Passing of Time

On some nights, walking along thedeserted streets, grief chokes me likethunder that ravishes the sky.The lonely clouds gather aroundmy windowpane like a widowClad in white, sobbing rains into my heart.The moon is lost in the elegies of the night.In the eternal silence,

by Saranya Narayanan

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Primitive State

I refuse to be confined within the defined walls of identity.I don’t want these predetermined labels to define.The claustrophobia in my head space remains a massive threat.Always urging me towards the uncharted territories of freedom.Where authenticity thrives without the shackles of conformity.In

by Ruchira Mukherjee

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

A Wishbone

When I’m gone,The eternity I wanted with you won’t scare you anymore,The promises we made won’t confound you anymore,I’ll come back to you;Not to soothe you but-It’ll be for my eternity that I dreamt of with you;I’ll come back as the first

by Katha Sarkar

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

And They Danced On

They were here to dance the night away, swishing and swaying over the frenzied stage…One by one, they ramped onto the stage,the ground beneath their feet shook with jarring tremors. Were they feeling the tremors too, as the audience clapped on and

by Lopamudra Banerjee

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

To Dance with the Shadows

Let me fetch the courage to live,From the well on the outskirts of my city,Where the forest casts its long shadows,When the night spreads her soft velvet cloak Let me fetch the strength from its depthsTo not give up on myself right

by Michael Balner

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Waiting for the Right Time

I want to tell you,How much I have suffered.How much I have endured.Will YOU listen to me?I saw her drinking vials of tears every day,With blood dripping from her forehead,And bruises on her body.He ripped off her hair,Still, she didn’t utter a

by Oishee Mitra

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

Infernal Seranade

I hear. I listen. I do not utter a word. I patiently sit and absorb sounds. The sound of the first drops of rain, the small calls of tiny birds on branches, the waves hitting the shore. I just sit and listen.

by Maithaly Banik

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Once Upon a Glass Artefact

It was a usual day,Morning brought the cuckoo callAnd your temple broke itself For a while, it made me thinkHow far you had walked for this thingHow many hours it took you to bring this homeTo you, to me, to usAnd then

by Suman Rawat

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Hiraeth

I long for a home that never was– HiraethHere I am again with a glass shard in handWishing to walk on a painless pathAt the end of this torturous road lies a home. Right? Her voice in me saysHis shoe crushing your

by Jayesha Chakrabarti

Fictional Arts·Literature·Storytelling

The Bird of Spring

When I decided to write this, I was unsure. I was unsure of what will happen to my fingers that would go back and forth performing waltz on the pale white page. Would they be paralysed? What will happen to the eyes

by Suvechchha Saha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Streaming Wild

Slid past the scarlet driveanchored on days sanewith a whimsical strain of melody sadharbouring the mind. Lovely sights of days wildgathered on follicles of growthentailing prophesyamidst seasons of hope. Majestic pride overweening:huddled the Self and Souldragging drudgery to the holereadily buried in

by Sheena Winny

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Renunciation

Renounce, renounce and renounce!All that makes me feellike a frantic caged bird,fluttering and shriekingfor escape —— from the morselsIt feeds upon,from its own filththat pollutes the cage,and from the gentle breezethat mockingly caresses its trapped wings!

by Mahnoor Khan

Book Reviews·Fictional Arts·Literature

I Don’t Want to be Married Just to be Married

A Woman’s Quest for Freedom in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society Before the dawn of the digital age, we used to write letters, and we loved writing and receiving letters. Back in the day (I feel so old saying

by Muditha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

At Ten

I didn’t know what decade meantthe year I turned ten. The yearI turned ten, we moved housesand went from two rooms on anupper floor to three rooms onthe ground. I had only just learnedwhat one’s own house meant. Knowing this meant little.The

by Bhaswati Ghosh

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Thank You Gentleman

Today, in a meetingOne of my colleaguesWas euphemistic ofHer non-diplomacy; initiallyI was astounded, awestruck!With the flatteryBut it was no puffery.The expression came naturally.Not being euphemistic,The kudos was for a fighter,In a society whereWomen are harassedBy raping gazeAs a sex toy, andThe only

by Ayesha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

It is Always the Same Sunless Season

It is Always the Same Sunless Season HereBlack, overhanging clouds growl and smotherNot one piercing ray of lightThe silent river is desperate for a gleam,The lake beyond craves just a sparkle of lightA dance of sunbeams, just snatches stolen awayThe leafless trees

by Shruti Sareen

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

You Don’t Look Filo

If I’m honest, I downplayed my beauty as generic asian features to try and dissipate some confused expressions at a spin-the-winebag-on-the-Hills-Hoist-party If I’m honest, I have goldfish lips and matching protruding eyes. I see men wave with zealous shouts of nihao and I always

by J. Marahuyo

Fictional Arts·Literature

Cleansing

The dried yellowed leaf, Disowned by the rigid tree, Still dream of the green, Of the roots and seed. Brown was all around, Or to put it right it was black, But the leaf still saw green, Inside out all dreamy green.

by Neeru

Fictional Arts·Literature

Bitter orange @ 2 am

The halfmoon cruelly glowers a chiascuro profile in the smist (cool air dulled by heavy smoke) that wafts upslope from the campfires of misguided tourists travelling to the 6th extinction while notifications ping phones across the sleepless valley.

by Linda Adair

Fictional Arts·Literature

Letter To My Daughter

I know     it is frightening        my darling          your body is seeping blood             like a sewer runnel               from the centre of you                  red like the trail of some wounded creature                     leading in streaks and smears                       straight back to the secret                           the

by Kate Forsyth

Fictional Arts·Literature

How Dare They

how dare they tell her what she may be born, dead or un-free how dare they tell her not to whistle or how her mouth curls sexily as she speaks of freedom from their bottled notions of beauty how dare they tell

by Sonali Pattnaik

Fictional Arts·Literature

Ego Work

When I say a big ego I mean a male ego I mean my ego is a male and a big one at that He knocks us down with doubt and sarcasm pros and cons and taunts an image to maintain

by Raju Tai

Fictional Arts·Literature

Imperfections

I am a lover of imperfections Drawn to the rugged arches of  My backyard patio And the haphazard petunias  In the rough black window boxes. I do not crave  The neatly manicured lawn With the perfect robin Pecking at the perfect

by Kavita Ezekiel

Fictional Arts·Literature

Mouth Organ and I (Mouth Organ aur Mai)

How to ‘actually’ play a mouth organ? Or a harmonica, as Sugunan Sir called it. Be it someone who could play it well. And by well, I mean really well, not just the famous ‘La vie en rose’ piece or a few

by Anuj Bhatt

Fictional Arts·Literature

Feminist Writer Sivakami – Challenging Norms, Inspiring Change

Palanimuthu Sivakami or P. Sivakami is a bureaucrat turned writer, feminist activist and political rights campaigner. She writes about Dalit lives, with a special focus on the problems encountered by Dalit women in rural Tamil Nadu. She believes Dalit women are

by Deepa Nair

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Face

If you share the correct OTP, a face will be delivered to your doorstep. This face is a plateau — a cumulation of lakes darkened by screen time; miles of Instagram glide over beginnings of a body, body of a

by Jhilam Chattaraj

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Colonial

Zareena and her childhood friend Sydney sat in a Mexican restaurant at a bar beneath dim lights, waiting for Sydney’s friend Katie to arrive. It would be Zareena’s first time meeting Katie. Sydney had told Zareena that Katie had recently broken up

by Hina Ahmed

Fictional Arts·Literature

I‛m too Dumb for Poetry

by Paris Rosemont

Fictional Arts·Literature

My World

my world has three bedrooms two bathrooms and one kitchen but I know of things that happen in your world too I know the days when your boss scolds you when he threatens to fire you you come storming inside slamming the

by Maliha Iqbal

Fictional Arts·Literature

A cup of Steaming Tea

1. The sun on the face the chill of a winter morn a cup of steaming tea a book. Bliss incarnate. 2. I burn like ice I melt like dew In the heat of your touch in the fire of your love.

by Nishat Wasim

Fictional Arts·Literature

Echoes of Time – Reconnecting Through Memories and Loss

A couple of weeks ago, my WhatsApp buzzed, announcing a caller who addressed me with the words, “Hello, younger brother Asim.”. He told me he was Nifal and the last time he heard my voice was somewhere in 1974. I couldn’t recognise

by Asim Alavi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Kite Running Days

Kite running days An ambery summer Lay on harvested crops. Our salad days flapped like Dragonflies. We piled up pebbles under Shade of the giant Albizia. Tween us in loosen plaits And frocks with un-tied knots. Shrieks and squeals about the

by Sameera Fathima

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Mask

A soft whiff of air knocking at my window, table of good thoughts turned over. An effort to sew the wound of past, the mask fell off, eyes betraying heartache. Gloom blocking the view of silence, mind forgot to think

by Priya Chouhan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Gulmohur

On the way back from the hospital I ask in the rickshaw — Why this life-long marination in nature and language? Why go desperately Sensing the too-named Naming the too-sensed? Where do I go gutfully as seasons blaze through me?

by Raju Tai

Fictional Arts·Literature

Mt. Luna

Sister, look at the moon fret with you above Mt. Luna. He knows the fiefdom of dissenting clans is upon you, somewhere in a countryside where poetry never had a chance. The fire in the mountains is a torrid metaphor you have to

by Prithvijeet Sinha

Fictional Arts·Literature

My Last Link

I ran hysterically and had no idea what was happening! The village was haunted and dark; only the stars gave me courage. Ghostly silence of humanity, and only a bat flapped its wings, and an owl hooted far away in

by Yasomie Peiris

Fictional Arts·Literature

Melanzane 

After Peter Balakian’s “Eggplant” So much wrapped                                                                      

by Elizabeth Walton

Fictional Arts·Literature

Mother’s Tongue

My mother’s tongue is not her rebellion She has never used it for self empowerment or polarity to speak out against humanity or to construct her identity in the ventures of prose or poetry Her tongue is not her weapon

by Shela Riva

Fictional Arts·Literature

To the Second Book

The bedsheets had different colours with different patterns of creases that spoke of random encounters with a lost and dull civilization. There were nights spent on a lonely continent, with a slowly growing love of the unknown and the foreign, And

by Amrita Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature

Reverie

Is it 9:00 am already? Each day, at this exact hour, a treacherous beam tricks her fellow rays and breaks free into the dark confines of my room. Escaping the opaqueness of a thick brown curtain through a narrow slit.

by Mahnoor Khan

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Portrait Through the Sense of Smell

You are endowed with a misfit of an olfactory organ- a wide bulbous triangle that can be mistaken for a sign of almost-beauty if viewed from the side. You seem to remember, acquire countless allergies and indulge in the pleasures of

by Megan Dhakshini

Fictional Arts·Literature

An Artist’s Burden

Paint the present With past radiant Preserve the glory With pen or brush Glorious, undefiled by the Proliferation of technology Of post-agrarian times…. Down the lane of memory Revisit, recapture and Resuscitate beauty Live present by celebrating past An anchor to

by Ayesha

Fictional Arts·Literature

An Epistolary Poem to Patriarchs

This poem is addressed to All those patriarchal pigs and crackbrained clerics Who use the whip of male power to punish dissenting women. You keep asking women to stop “exciting” male lust – This “lust” is neither etched into unquestionable biology Nor

by Yanis Iqbal

Fictional Arts·Literature

Cloth Hanger Body

I just wanted An unobtrusive Body… One of those bodies You can easily Let a light Linen dress Slide on. One of those bodies That are little more Than clothes hangers And that go unnoticed. Straight and blank Like a table

by Francesca Scalinci

Fictional Arts·Literature

Caged

I have seen you sitting in the wrinkled sack of a home Your moist, savory stories slapped shut in the folds of your earth, Pregnant, drunk, and raining. I have seen the blue-red shriek, the aboriginal music Piercing through your

by Lopamudra Banerjee

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Talk about Colour

Equity and Justice are overpowering ideas Yet everything not legitimate exists today That deserves not a space to hide and attack On exploration of the natural environment around One may come across it as a word – Environmental Racism Taking a toll

by Sonali Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Old Ghost of Saria Lane

Smoke engulfs the air as she stokes the embers briskly. The last of the split wood snaps and crackles, disrupting the hush of a house still settled in sleep. Dawn’s pale light traces her rickety door as she quietly lifts the

by Zainab Shamsi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Dying Poem

My poem is dying, a scared death in the lobes of my brain, perturbed by noises of the rapid civilisation My poem is a thought entwined with many more thoughts, unable to breathe out the right patterns of my imagination My

by Mitra Samal

Fictional Arts·Literature

Who Are You and Who Am I?

I have been cornered in the schoolyard, white faces laughed at me; You are coloured, you are not one of us! they repeated… not even your mama or papa is coloured you have been bought from the coloured shop… hahaha…..ululululu…. Who

by Kalpani Dambagolla

Fictional Arts·Literature

Peace At All Costs

Father’s mantra ‘Peace at all costs’ Calmed our sibling quarrels Our petty squabbles soon forgotten We resumed our play with dolls and toys. ‘Peace at all costs, he said to me Standing beside mother, facing me as I tried to win an

by Kavita Ezekiel

Fictional Arts·Literature

Nightingale’s Melody

City lights turned off, roads emptied, flash of moon glow illuminated the eyes. Stream of honey flowed in her throat, in the darkest hour, heard an irresistible nightingale’s melody. Kneeled by my wounded heart, feathers caressed sunken cheeks, was comatose for years,

by Priya Chouhan

Fictional Arts·Literature

These Dark Days

With wars in the world The covid germs lingering in the air Men and women and children being shot and bombed World war three looming Cancers popping up everywhere The bills getting bigger With people starving and homeless in first world countries

by Lynn Reeves

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Hug

The casually slipped arm about the waist the squeeze of the shoulder spoke volumes of the love felt but rarely displayed. A quiet glow spread from the toes upwards spreading its warmth to all the pores driving out the chill felt

by Nishat Wasim

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Consolation

Look at the kites these are still flying Beneath the bright sunlight The sign of morning and dawn’s hue That is life, giving its clue Don’t get fed up, and catch every chance To listen to the rhythm of heartbeat And allow

by Aamir Habib

Fictional Arts·Literature

Lamps

People have lamps for bodies. When you’re in hurricane love you can see it, the light house, the summer rental for the soul lit up like unexpected fireworks that make a holiday. The human body is an arsonist. At any

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

Silence of Crows

A black line of clouds expands upwards above the trees. I watch in confusion. Your boots crumble honeycomb-cracks stepping across the yard towards me. Your frown deepens, battered hat in hand. My smile falters. The stifling heat. On a day like this

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature

I’m PMSing !!

A baby when she wants As evil when she haunts Sometimes Jolly, sometimes Bossy She is the one and only Artsy-Topsy At times as wild as a hungry Raccoon Very soon as mild as the silent Moon Her nails are clean, but

by Pretty Maggam

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Amsterdam App

“ We shall meet again…… by the gates of the Villa of Peace, ‘’ Vidya who was researching in Leiden University had scribbled in my notebook, as I was about to return home to India. It was my second visit to Leiden.

by Umar Nizarudeen