Literature - Page 2

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

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Proposals

With a towel wrapped around her wet hair, Mariam stood in her closet, trying to figure out what shalwar kameez to wear to the family dinner. She rummaged through, passing all the bright-coloured ones and landed on a black one. She

by Hina Ahmed

Fictional Arts·Literature

Buying Stuff with Smiles

“Saleem!” Ami called from the kitchen. “Your friends are almost here. Quickly go and grab a dozen eggs from the barn”. I swiftly hurried down the clay stairs, absorbing their coolness as I went through the blazing morning sun that kept donating

by Azkia Aftab

Fictional Arts·Literature

Wild Meadows

Wild Meadows We were allowed To laugh, but not loud Hushed, the windows must be closed Mind the door, not ajar. It took mind to defy and speak The heart always believed That it was love I was protected and valued. I

by Neha Kumari

Fictional Arts·Literature

Monsoon

Sky shelters the magic bowls that wrapped. Drizzle dances Ahead of street lights. Stillness of the wet city Breeze and chilly. Carving bundles Of memories. I could sense-even a city has nerves Of such emotions. A mid-night sounds Of heavy rain drops.

by Sameera Fathima

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Bonsai

The Bonsai She opened the shining gift wrap And delighted she was to find that exotic bonsai. The beautiful tree so carefully tamed to be dwarfed with gentle love that it was contented inhibited. Excited, she asked friends and the internet some

by Vineeta Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature

One night…

Snow capped purple mountains I see, Whispering a melody for me to feel. The fresh perfumery scent of the Fraser Fir, soothe my lungs in fragment fresh air. Sun dips beyond the hazy mountain range; glow of the rising moon doth search

by Yasomie Peiris

Fictional Arts·Literature

Having Spotted the First Grey

If I were blonde like those princesses from non-woke Disney productions (or more realistically like my fair haired father) it might’ve turned an icy, silvery white like a piece of moonlight frozen by magic or accident and somewhat like the silver tilla

by Mariam Tahir

Fictional Arts·Literature

Lavender Girl

I’ ever toot though ‘m genuine. Do, remember my summer? Rounded three paired chairs, Fourteen I was, eight we’re Grands, brothers and hens. Crew cries if I break Grand says” lavender-Girl” Once A new beard left My pink breast started To feed.

by Riwin Prasath

Fictional Arts·Literature

Poet, Lover, Birdwatcher

The poem bears the same title as the late poet Nissim Ezekiel’s poem and is a take on it. To force the winged creatures to be still For an enduring photograph Is not the way for those who Want to ‘capture’

by Kavita Ezekiel

Fictional Arts·Literature

I was a Candle, Lit for a Poet

He who burnt me to become the best poet! Because of her unstoppable gift for poetry writing, he courted her. He believed that she would have composed her best verses for someone else. Her muse made his life one of content

by Kalpani Dambagolla

Fictional Arts·Literature

Banjaaran

The emarald eyed banjaaran Offers green bangles to me. Where do you get the glass from? I ask her, now crystal eyed. From my tears, says she. I watch the clear gluey stream. Where do you get the green from? I ask

by Ravi Shankar

Fictional Arts·Literature

Happy Family?

1. “Mom left? What do you mean by mom left?” Aman screamed, still standing. The early morning breeze flowing through the huge French-sized window on the opposite wall seemed to have warmed in an instant. Dad looked at him, his eyes were

by Nazia Kamali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Not a Fairy Tale – The Courtroom

PART 1 It was 8 O’Clock on a cold morning in December. The chilling gusts crossed the door and windows and froze her feet and hands. She was sitting confused and afraid on a wooden chair placed in the corner

by Aamir Habib

Fictional Arts·Literature

Anar’s Leaving and the Female Soul

My poetry is about that fire known as language, which a woman carries under water. Anar Anar’s voice is distinct in the arena of contemporary Tamil poetry. Hailing from Sainthemaruthu, Eastern Sri Lanka, Anar’s poems has a mesmerising allure. Anar’s poems are

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Cosmopolitanism

I am in a transcendental trance Of transmutation To transnationalism From nationalism To translatability of cultures And translanguaging! From monolingualism To transhistoricity From historical binaries To transmission of the viruses Of love for humanity! To emancipation From translucent biases To

by Ayesha

Fictional Arts·Literature

House

Sometimes my aunts sit around the stove And talk about their husbands in shy whispers While they talk about countries and their fall in another room This is how it has been ever since I was a child The demarcation

by Bharti Bansal

Fictional Arts·Literature

My Wedding Day

The time I spent with my father for years Never expressing my love for him Making me unease The moment I realised It’s time to go This transition seems easy to the rest As he is the one with I

by Faiza Khadim

Fictional Arts·Literature

When Alamelu Shrugged

‘Mother, to suckle and suckle insatiably The milk sentient from thy life breast’ —Subramania Bharati in Krishna – My Mother Alamelu, my mother, is a small made woman. But from her childhood, heavy burdens were placed on her shoulders.

by Lakshmi C S

Fictional Arts·Literature

Grand Mammaries

My grandma was the first woman to be part of the newly built road. She had only one milch cow. A calf. (I took them grazing on the grass.) Four five hens that laid eggs for us. Boiled egg and

by Ravi Shankar

Fictional Arts·Literature

Two Tales

Cousin Freddie I’ve spoken often of the black sheep I know (if anybody is the black sheep of their family, I surely am) but let me devote some time here to one of the good eggs. Let me mention

by Will Mayo

Fictional Arts·Literature

Upon Reading a Facebook Post

“A well read woman is a dangerous creature,” it says and how about she who writes? to say absolutely nothing of her who should but cannot! Even though she must, she must, she must if she is to leave behind

by Mariam Tahir

Fictional Arts·Literature

To the Boy Down the Road

When I was a little girl, I had a crush on the boy down the road. We’d walk home from school together. He still wouldn’t know that I held on to every moment the two of us had known. Wondered many nights

by Chanika Desilva

Fictional Arts·Literature

Father’s Day

“Fix everything in the apartment, my parents can’t know you practically live here,” Mariam said to her boyfriend, Steve, before getting ready to take her parents to a Father’s Day breakfast. “I will, don’t worry,” Steve said, rolling out of

by Hina Ahmed

Fictional Arts·Literature

Skeleton Smiles

Unstoppable were her wings And each morning she woke up to fly Like a coo-coo, she could sing And aloud she would neigh She jumps, she dances And she loves to fly She delights it so when she glances, Down the

by Pretty Maggam

Fictional Arts·Literature

Abba

Abba was the kind of man you see every day, the kind you see, work with and watch him pass by, maybe even attend his daughter’s marriage reception. But Abba wasn’t the kind of man who’d incite any excitement in

by Poorvi Gaur

Fictional Arts·Literature

Desire and Happiness

It was almost past 5 O’clock. However, the lifts weren’t as crowded as many building officers worked on a roster due to the pandemic. I walked across the narrow alley to get the 174 bus. As usual, the receptionist on

by Yasomie Peiris

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Four Walls

Springing up from the ink of the lifeless lines sketched on the architect’s map the four walls started growing swiftly. Layer upon layer of bricks and mortar kept tearing the open into an inside and an outside. Strong they stood

by Vineeta Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature

Saris Smelling of Naphthalene Balls and Vappumma

The year was 2012. Exams were near. The day after was our exam. My sister and I locked ourselves up in a room and sat with cups of half-drunk tea and notes for the exam.  It was past midnight. Umma, tired of

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Travel Poems

Waiting for the Haripriya Express The train connecting the god of creation To his consort, the goddess of wealth Is late by a half hour;  Men who shed their manes  In utter devotion Utter curses under their breaths; I read

by Maitreyi Karnoor

Fictional Arts·Literature

Demolition

before the streets smell rain an eye spies an opening in the clouds the gaze curdles anticipation,  traces a metronome louder than a bomb.  fear splays the sun into smithereens spreading laughter into the sky I spoke to him once about

by Aranya

Fictional Arts·Literature

I want

I want to walk my hands swinging long and free if these roads were not cobbled eyes but spun trees flowers would become fences or paths at my feet I want to suspend thought wear old jeans pull that thorn

by Sonali Pattnaik

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Interview

The interview was supposed to start at ten in the morning. A worried Bushra in a cream coloured shalwar kameez paced the room in anticipation. What questions will the interviewer ask? How will she answer those questions? Will there be any

by Nazia Kamali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Madam a Sandwich Please

“In this highly electronic and techno era, where fundamentals, manners and charisma are dwindling from the sector who claims as human beings; somewhere in a corner of the globe lived a child…….” I was drained and exhausted this evening after work

by Yasomie Peiris

Fictional Arts·Literature

Walking Away

beyond the window a net of roots stitches the creek bank to battered earth. red dust swirls, seeds lie in cracks and crevices patient for rain. paddocks of brittle stalks fill the space between us, overhead a crow flaps its

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature

Semantic Dance: Hindi words, English poetry

Accha (Okay, fine) Five monokus i. Sometime fatigue assumes I. I sometimes assume fatigue. Accha. ii. Sometimes I wobble. Dog’s food dispenser, full, unreachable. Accha. iii. Soggy heap of clothes on the floor. On fours searching for nuggets. Accha. iv.

by Anita Nahal

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Bizarre Premonition

About a week before the Berlin Wall came down I had a bit of a bizarre premonition. It came over me as my father and I were watching that old news analysis show on television, Agronsky And Company. “The Wall’s coming

by Will Mayo

Fictional Arts·Literature

To My Daughter Yashfeen

That First day and first sight You were wrapped in a shawl Coloured as pink, green and white Your smile I met was so nice All senses I caught were soothing As if this tranquillity was gifted from the skies It seemed

by Aamir Habib

Fictional Arts·Literature

Glass 2

I’ve only ever been at home in blizzard, the electric pink dollar store glitter eyeshadow slant of it. Make no mistake God is black and trans. I’ve seen her pink slippers slide in drifts, her matching boa off the

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

Impasse

sound of rain fills the gaps between one blink and the next waiting for the storm to pass among shadows in their heads thunder a crescendo of drumfire lightning jags rupture the bloated sky viewed through muddled branches in the

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature

Tears Can Come Anytime

Graphite pencil art by Anthony Gartmond, New Jersey, USA Child: I see you. I see you, a soft bundle of heaven. A melodious dreamland in a tender wrap. One I imagined you’d be handed to me in for the first time.

by Anita Nahal

Fictional Arts·Literature

Black Wave- A Thoughtful Narrative

A thoughtful narrative of the events in 1979 that influenced the Middle East and Southeast Asia Black Wave, a book authored by Kim Ghattas, a Dutch – Lebanese journalist for the BBC for the past 20 years, hit the shelves on 17th

by Sumera Bashir

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Conversation With Mother

My mother and I don’t ask each other Deep Questions. How are you? Did you have lunch? Did your client pay you? How’s the weather? Did you exercise today? Dad asked about you. Stay Safe. This is the gamut of

by Pooja Sarkar

Fictional Arts·Literature

My Tranquil City Tonight

Is it fine with you, love, to live and negotiate through the language of oblivion? It’s a separate matter that this is yet another love story for you. And you can tell us, re-tell, re-tell more tales. Some know parts

by Nandini Sahu

Fictional Arts·Literature

Homesick For Noise

I hated sleeping in India while travelling for a friend’s wedding. a foreign bedroom of sweltering heat enveloped my sticky body as I restlessly slapped pesty mosquitoes rambling in my ear. to my left, a competition took place between the

by Abira Kannan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Dust

Everything is dirty, No matter you keep, Wiping with mop, Or wash it away with water. It keeps coming back, Mumbling grudging, Haunting the house, With its all-swarming presence. The books on the shelf, Are all dusty again, Like

by Neeru

Fictional Arts·Literature

Songs You Should Never Learn From Your Mother

Demure steps pacing up the stairs, my mother sashayed Across a room scented claustrophobia Trailblazer Her mellow rebels watched over Of ripe mounds dangling precarious Hummed into birched silence Blobs That hid cankerous worms, of the immolations She would, Bury

by Adrija Chatterjee

Fictional Arts·Literature

Chede (Wild Figs)

Some fruits were not meant for cutting Formed when stones were soft and Birth was still a kind of bursting See how wild fig flesh bruises when cut By these alien knives, Unschooled in surgical assault No, that firm tart flesh next

by T.Keditsu

Fictional Arts·Literature

Window Screens

Coming home from school. To an empty house. Sometimes we’d forget the key. We were still kids. Five and six. Our neighbouring friends would help us break through the window screens. The ones to keep all the bugs in Australia

by Chanika Desilva

Fictional Arts·Literature

Lament Of A Wounded Dove

Lament of a Wounded Dove See onto my wings These feathers are broken and Claws tied with iron strings I’m showered in the blood Of blameless Orphan children, and of widows of wars Far-sighted from heights Beneath the smoke of

by Aamir Habib

Fictional Arts·Literature

Silence Of Shame

You wake up early on school days. You have chores to do, before you prepare for school. You see your dad walk around, reading the newspaper and drinking black coffee as you wake up. You go and sit by him as

by Swapna Gopinath

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Soaked Rotty Pieces

These Lengthy nights of winter Like a bird which sings in the drizzle Won’t sleep without the warmth of your memories. The heart where I hold Your pose which was Twenty years old Still moist… Evening sunlit wafting from the kitchen window.

by Sameera Fathima

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Things Of The Night

Once when I was young and afoot in an unknown city and was refused lodgings in an abandoned factory and had nowhere to turn I thought I understood the things of the night. But, no, I did not. And, then

by Will Mayo

Fictional Arts·Literature

Diary Of An Insomniac

They are his sounds – the rhythmic stutter of a snore the start of a child squeak of wheels on asphalt as the water drum is dragged down the street. The flapping of tarp as the homeless pile under its

by Zainab Shamsi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Which Person Shall I Burn This Night?

What message did we spurn this night? Whose body did we burn this night? All men in town are godly men. For godliness, I yearn this night. That night they killed my soulfulness. It is my body’s turn this night. This

by Ammar Aziz

Fictional Arts·Literature

Lahore

How my heart beats With the throbs of Lahore! How the beloved streets Embrace! when the whole world Sleeps in deep slumber How the ebb and flow Of day-night movements Make the city gleam … While the people dream Of

by Ayesha

Fictional Arts·Literature

How long?

How long will I hear waves of violence, blown and tossed by the wind? How long will I look at the face of injustices mirrored in the hill? How long must I smell burns of oppression clung against my will?

by Mae Ann

Fictional Arts·Literature

Macaroni Lips

I’m pouting a Fibonacci sequence, a phyllotaxis of impatience, a fern unfurling, the fine pout of a pineapple sprout Don’t you know that the Golden Spiral is just my pout while waiting for you, my pine to uncurl you The

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Swan

from the ledge George Street traffic throbs vehicles thread towards sunset crowds weave neon flashes noise ebbs and flows there’s peace here among clouds among cooing pigeons returning to roost far from demands and fists a helicopter hovers overhead she spreads her

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature

Ode To All Women In The World

The distress signals the 24/7 newsfeed daily brings us Of rapes, molestations, harassment at workplace, domestic violence, eve-teasing, dowry-oriented bride burnings, female foeticides, sexual abuse, trafficking, child marriages, enforced prostitution, incantation of a ‘word’ terminating relationships made in heaven blackmail and

by Nibir Ghosh

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Dream To Soar Like Rose

‘How did you like the film?’ asked Isha. The morning assembly had just ended; now, the students were filing in queues to their respective classrooms. Isha was right ahead of Prapti in their class queue. Isha’s question made her replay the entire

by Parnil Yodha

Fictional Arts·Literature

sHE

sHE, Her limbs drawn in patterns Knitted from his egoist Hands, Zigzag, Yet demanded to be Flawless. Remarks of ancestral womanhood Slit her breasts into two, One for Him and other For His child. Clutched, pressed, sucked, What’s left for her More

by Nourin N K

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Greyhound, The Dark-bearded Man, And The Wind

Did you know that Karma reads all your thoughts? Karma was always watching me vigorously, always beside me. The greyhound sleeping on the doormat will always see through your heart. I couldn’t hide from the glance of the bearded black

by Hasitha Adhikariarachchi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Quill Of Pain

White paper don’t stare at me Never crumple you, I guarantee Don’t fly away, When the breeze sways Stay on the old oak desk Tip of the quill is not fake Quill of pain Need you more than I The

by Yasomie Peiris

Fictional Arts·Literature

Ernie

Ernie is another one of those characters that I knew over the years here in Frederick. It happened that he was stuck in New York City during his teenage years on a trip from his native Europe when World War One broke

by Will Mayo

Fictional Arts·Literature

Kisses At The Espresso Bar

The Espresso Bar in Graphite pencil art by Anthony Gartmond, New Jersey, USA All dressed and out. High heels tick-ticking between hide, membrane, and cloth, barely touching, just hinting. So were the shades and lights, and the froths in the cups

by Anita Nahal

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Begum: Our Lady of Graces

A gold shell portrayal of 1830, Clasps firmly on all motile days, The oozing watercolours of time, And History. In it: A look behind the curtain, Clarifies to the vision, An era of feisty patriarchy, And tempestuous wars. In it: An intimately

by Sonali Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature

Life Lesson-Asian Style

Lately, I’ve been thinking about my Korean upbringing. One defining word always comes to mind.Duty; Expectation; Tradition; For the family name. Okay, so I guess more than one word pops up. But my fellow Asians get it. From an early age, my

by Mary Shin

Fictional Arts·Literature

Few Poems From My Haiku Chapbook

working mom when will papa learn to part my hair right …. rearranging itself around me patriarchy …. cancelled engagement was I wrong in asking to keep my maiden name …. arranged marriage an aunt hands me fairness cream …. arranged

by Vandana Parashar

Fictional Arts·Literature

More Lies – Review

A wonderfully warped journey into one man’s unravelling psyche, and a joyous celebration of the necessity of story. – James Bradley, author of Ghost Species A phantasmagoric, avant-garde story set in a lost New York, Richard James Allen’s More Lies both entertains

by Mark Seton

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Curatorial Years

With less ahead than behind she begins to select what will fill this old house past her tenure & what will be left behind for clearance, burning or salvage precise distillation of spirit in the cauldron of words better to prepare

by Linda Adair

Fictional Arts·Literature

Welcome Back The Woman-flesh Illusionist

it came again    the vertigo       in blackness on the pillow    pinball eyes a head  on gimbals        stillness            cut loose  from shadow    this rackety slalom of nothings  

by Kerri Shying

Fictional Arts·Literature

Midnight Dream

I remember the dream on that Midnight. A train passed into my room. Inside my house. Many came in and out, a bunch of Sheets with inks, some blood. Some carried golden pens and Letters. Train named “Dead Poets”, received me that

by Riwin Prasath

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Interruption Of Wonder

I came in listening to oak and snow and walking in them. I was closest to having them tell me their names when I was three. Then school started and interrupted me. Made me articulate and write names for things like days

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Afghans

The Afghans Did not rape her or slit her breasts You did Still, you blame the Afghans And the Afghans Did not with iron rods, impale her You did Still, you blame the Afghans The Afghans did not push stones

by Umar Nizarudeen

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Place Called Home

The flight had landed ten minutes ahead of schedule. Mobile phones came on, and a cacophony of conversation began. No one heeded the requests from the crew about waiting to open the overhead lockers storing the luggage. As passengers on a

by Meera Sundararajan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Pelicans

The full moon Drags the tides The waves dance To and fro I feel I could drown in a Puddle Or I feel like I could dance In a crescent moon Life is like that At times The fish swim

by Lynn Reeves

Fictional Arts·Literature

What’s Wrong With Us Kali Women – A Review

Title:   What’s Wrong with us Kali Women? Author: Anita Nahal   Page: 94 ISBN: 978-1-954353-88-6 (Paperback) Edition: (2021) Published by Kelsay Books. 502 South 1040 East, A-119. American Fork, Utah, 84003. Reviewed by: Dr Sutanuka Ghosh Roy         The history of Indian

by Sutanuka Roy

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Eulogy of Doctored Tresses

  I stand before the mirror Watching the comb work itself upon My hair. Partitioning them in strands That fall and fissure apart.   The teeth, Of the comb press down upon the scalp My medicated one Not the one, victory borne

by Adrija Chatterjee

Fictional Arts·Literature

Amaltas

Last night, while reading out a Gaelic verse to me, She said she’d wanted to see a golden shower tree! We discussed how long it had been since we were out last time, Perhaps even longer since we saw

by FemAsia Team