Literature - Page 4

Fictional Arts·Literature

Crayons

In trees, in crayon leaves, a box of autumn with a sharpener of birds. How my eyes flew to them. How flocks of big-horned clouds were un-shepherded like hope and went everywhere they shouldn’t be able to: my hands, my

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

Vanni: A Graphic Novel To Remember

Vanni: A Family’s Struggle Through the Sri Lankan Conflict – A Novel by Benjamin Dix and Lindsay Pollock “The full story of the 2009 war in Sri Lanka has largely been ignored by the global press and international society. This

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

The End Of The Affair

So the cat untwists in midair beneath the apple tree, a blackbird fluttering backwards from her paws as she lands eyes vivid with desire, crouches, wriggles, deliberates, blinks. So, too, an apple springs unbitten from your hand to its twig, unripens

by James Sutherland

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Self-Appointed Friends Of History

Discuss on Facebook the coordinates of the graves of the lost children repeat the knowledge we have of no place, of no name oblivious to the visceral sadness that still abides in living memories. Stillborn silence — the historic trope from the

by Linda Adair

Fictional Arts·Literature

My Funeral Directors

Like corner shops to estate agencies to grocery stores, they have “funeral directors” in almost every street, road or shopping mall. And, it is considered a part of living to plan for death, that shouldn’t become a burden on relatives or

by Nayeema Ahmad Mahjoor

Fictional Arts·Literature

Pieta C.1989

Warm, soft, brown soil of mine No shipped cold hard white marble Parched, tired fingers – also mine Michelangelo’s discarded chisel Does not suffice Beautified, refined you need not be In death, in memory, in life You were sun scorched black-brown Tired, forgotten,

by Asela Abeywardene

Fictional Arts·Literature

Ariel’s Song

Tent flaps flutter in the breeze. Dust stirs and lingers in the air, in the mouth. Another day—and I’m still here. The queue grows longer every morning. By the time our water container is filled, I’ve at least sweated away half that

by Sharon Rundle

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Closet Sanctuary.

I’m a closet smoker, a closet drinker, a closet abuser. I destroy the precious purpose of a closet. I shall now forge a new purpose. A closet sanctuary. No clothes could hide my insecurities.  No lipstick or eyeliner could hide

by Kaviru Samarawickrama

Fictional Arts·Literature

Cherry Blossom

春の風桜の花を連れていく… Cold winter had long passed. The snow had begun to slowly melt away, also taking the sorrows of the villagers along with it, giving way to the fragrant spring odours, and new hopes that kindled in the women’s hearts. The

by Tamuna Tsertsvadze

Fictional Arts·Literature

Whispers

Don’t go to the river mother whispers last days of harvest under the molten sun air is still, breathless waves of heat distort the view beneath boundary trees this drowsy afternoon my toes cooling in the trickle don’t go

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature

Aiyo  

This word comes as the voice of the well;   A thousand children— A hundred artists, drunk, lost their way— those who fell  while crossing over the woven coconut fence, clandestinely, in the ecstasy of desire— I know the chapter of

by Cheran Rudhramoorthy

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Sunken Boat

She’s gone! Moved out of sight. Consumed by a wave of might. The mystery caused a little stir, Until life resumed without her.  Lost at sea without a trace, Her sail was up when she went down in haste.

by Zainab Shamsi

Fictional Arts·Literature

In the Tibetan Autonomous Region

མིའི་རིགས་ཀྱི་མུན་ནག་དེ་  རང་ཁྱིམ་གྱི་མུན་ནག་ཏུ་གྱུར  The darkness of humanity  has become the darkness of my home.  —Kyabchen Deydrol སྐྱབས་ཆེན་བདེ་གྲོལ, translation by Lowell Cook and the author    A Tibetan professor sneaks us home   to share a meal with his family.   He does

by David Allen Sullivan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Gangaramaya 2019

Highly embellished, in the heart of the capital, crammed within its walls, Gangaramaya Temple is infested with exhibits – chandeliers, Buddha statues, sculptures, coins, carvings, collectibles… High-end, ostentatious Buddhist culture from around the world. It looks grand, yet cosy

by Erandika

Fictional Arts·Literature

Apology

I left  Thinking the sun was safely  wrapped up  in a bundle of clothes  at the bottom of my bag but leaving in such a hurry I didn’t realize I left  the sun  in your chest your palms pressed against the

by Manar Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Rebels

Lawanya Wijesekara  A flower’s life on earth is shortened, as it’s plucked from the ground it’s born Yet its death is celebrated in a glass coffin of a vase… Death becomes melodramatic A sight, news, a story to tell A movie

by Lawanya Wijesekara

Fictional Arts·Literature

Skin

I’ve got skin, miles and miles of skin. covered and adorned with colours, be it of cotton, silk or others. It’s perfect in concealing my cells and the scars I possess But your eyes would lurk somewhere that has deeper

by Swastik Mukherjee

Fictional Arts·Literature

Bargaining With The Beast

Mortality isn’t something you think about when you’re seven. Even when your Dadaji dies the year you turn seven. For the rest of your life, you will remember this kind short-sighted man with nausea and outrage. Nausea because he was the first

by Rashida Murphy

Fictional Arts·Literature

From An Australian

I’m not a displaced person living in uncertainty marginalised and not heard. I have the right to vote freedom of speech hard-earned by my migrant ancestors. My children have married into other cultures chosen other religions blessing our family with

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature

Stamping

In a corner of my mother’s kitchen cupboard, there was a brown glass and a plate, slightly cracked, “Reserve them for the Help”, she’d snap “Don’t drink from them, keep them at the back.” There was separate access from the back

by Lawanya Wijesekara

Fictional Arts·Literature

Clocks And Mirrors

Clocks and mirrors Carries on working Even though when No one is staring Today dissolves Into tomorrow Like two different Droplets of dew Travelled from yesterday On the wings of Joy and sorrow.

by Phoebe Gazi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Mother Has Lost Her Tongue

I do no more comprehend the language of this nation For our mother’s tongue tastes soured Fretful rapacity of our fathers has sullied her glory with avarice The tongue of love has been besmirched by despise The tongue of war

by Josekelly Kelechi Anyanwu

Fictional Arts·Literature

That I Cannot Name

It’s a terracotta house. On the terracotta wall there is the painting of my love It’s the painting that changes its hue as the season changes its own. There is a flash at the end of the tunnel A flash

by Salma Ainy

Fictional Arts·Literature

Miss Me

She said: You are far away from home. You can’t meet your friends and family. Who do you miss the most? With a breaking voice, I whispered: I only miss the fact that nobody will miss me.

by Abhishek Bhattacharyya

Fictional Arts·Literature

Poison Apple And Other Things

An Interview With Megan Dhakshini Megan Dhakshini is a multi-faceted creative: a writer, singer and voice actor, and it is her voice and the flowing conveyance of self that is evident in her first book of poems, ‘Poison Apple’. Megan’s

by Devika Brendon

Fictional Arts·Literature

Asterion

There’s one in every family the black sheep the bull there are names for me you won’t find on Wikipedia whispered, rumoured too ugly to share I wanted to tell my story but there are no words only mythologies yes the

by Magdalena Ball

Fictional Arts·Literature

This Is What Happens

It’s Sunday afternoon and she’s in the wash house standing in stocking feet on the roof of theold doll’s house, the one Uncle John Murphy made, and she’s rocking backwards andforwards …bored, bored, bored…rebod rebod rebod rebod rebod rebod rebod rebod rebod

by Moya Pacey

Fictional Arts·Literature

Seattle – In A City Full Of …

In a city full of programmers I’m troubleshooting my life In a city full of coders I’m trying to hold my poise In a city full of hikers I’m walking my own way In a city full of rain I’m

by Amy Lee

Fictional Arts·Literature

I Am No Syrian Woman

I am no Syrian woman. I am no brave, resistant, resilient, heroic Syrian woman. And no matter how many Syrian friends I have, how much Arabic I strive to learn nor how many Nizar Qabbani’s poems I read. I am

by Francesca Scalinci

Fictional Arts·Literature

Poetry Is A Hand Made Out Of Sand

—Kyabchen Dedrol སྐྱབས་ཆེན་བདེ་གྲོལ, translation by Lowell Cook and the author Poetry is the impoverished wick of a spent butter lamp. Poetry is the dog that scuttles an arc around the master’s thrashing body. Poetry is the grinding adzi bead’s sacred blood-spot

by David Allen Sullivan

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Perishable Woman

                     The man                                                       

by Snehashree Mandal

Fictional Arts·Literature

This Poem Cannot Be Finished Off Writing

This poem cannot be finished off writing, this song not ended, thirst not quenched; Every memory refuses to be effaced, every plot declines to produce, every face is reluctant to endure. A dream unwilling to dissolve, lingers forever– although I

by Cheran Rudhramoorthy

Fictional Arts·Literature

We Look Out For Each Other

People have been sharing images of religious co-existence in this country to exemplify who we are as people – so I thought of sharing a story of my own. My father was a very sarcastic atheist – but his looks

by Thulasi Muttulingam

Fictional Arts·Literature

Who’s Going To Marry You Now?

Who’s going to want you with all you’ve done? I wonder what crimes I’ve committed other than love the way I felt. Is it really my fault that I’ve loved those who were unworthy? Does my potency as a wife

by Kaveesha Coswatte

Fictional Arts·Literature

Rosewater Women

The Hindi word Dalit can be translated as divided, split, broken, scattered… like a handful of rose petals flung into sugared water to flavour gulab jamun soft, delectable, melt in the mouth dumplings… but there is nothing soft or sweet

by Anita Patel

Fictional Arts·Literature

Faith

They had had another run-in. No matter how much she tried avoiding it. And it was right when she had to rush out of the house too. She hated the way someone could belittle another person and then hours

by Saulat Pervez

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Tears We Cry

I stood against the front door, staring up at her, bags in her hand. As my mother’s voice strengthened, my body weakened. I shrank to the ground, hugging my knees to my chest, wanting to scream: shut the fuck

by Hina Ahmed

Fictional Arts·Literature

Hope

It was a humid Saturday afternoon. The mugginess around had caressed most of my friends at God’s Children into an untimely siesta. Sister, in her white habit, too, was busy sleeping. The cleaning lady, Domenica, had taken the day

by Sudeshna Chowdhury

Fictional Arts·Literature

Hold My Breath I Am Fading Away.

Sunshine gives me the shadows of black Rainstorm brings up the darkest night… Windy atmosphere touches my soul, hay… Hold my breath … I am fading away.. These little things put my mind on stake.. That giant man follows me up

by Sheikh Aatif Tariq

Fictional Arts·Literature

Chadar

It’s 42 Degrees. In between the hustle and bustle of Gardezi Bazaar, Beggars line up at the kerb of each street. Upper-class auratein walk with conceit, draped in their fancy chadars, clacking their heels. Mard blast angraazi music, car windows

by Ayesha Tauseef

Fictional Arts·Literature

Tea With The Demon

Tea with the Demon In terms of beauty that hackneyed dragon still beating its wings everything can be broken down a little further each howling beast like the rest of us imperfect, uncertain bearing witness I didn’t like the look

by Magdalena Ball

Fictional Arts·Literature

Memoir To Future Children

It was a beautiful day in some far future time, and the world is at peace and happiness is everywhere. In a school, a teacher enters the class, and students mainly of 12 to 14 years of age stand up

by Mir Basit

Fictional Arts·Literature

How Muslims Should Fight Against Terrorism

Somebody kills Somebody spills blood I too weep for the people who bleed I too curse the people who make another bleed. “Are you a Muslim? Come out and reply.” Somebody yells outside my house They bang the doors and

by Manushya Puthiran

Fictional Arts·Literature

I Packed My Mother Away Like Winter

I bring you out of the wardrobe dressed in Astrakhan,foetal curls of black wool that never breathed.I stroke and stroke and bury my face in your warmth.Feeling you yield, I lift the heavy collar until it coversmy ears and half my

by Moya Pacey

Fictional Arts·Literature

Reimagining Hurt

How would you like to feel in your body J Mase III asked before beginning his workshop with a group of thirteen womxn and trans folx dealing with body trauma? How would you humanise your scars? Can you write yourself

by Somrita Urni Ganguly

Fictional Arts·Literature

Ashes Of Roses

Not a hop, step and jump, but a stumblefrom the gravel road, when a stubbed toeleads the way to a giant leap since the house was on the low side of the streetapproached by descending steps, flanked by rose bushes

by Jan Dean

Fictional Arts·Literature

Murdered For Love

හෙවත් අනිච්ඡාවත සංකාරා A woman was killed in my neighbourhood in 2011, because of Love! I saw it with my own eyes, as did the many who were around. Millions of women are getting killed everywhere in the world but,

by Charitha Liyanage

Fictional Arts·Literature

#MeToo

At the age of six, probablyI remember my mother sayingthat there are these sacred parts in my body that I should not let anyone touchAnd to me it seemed pretty absurd, how the ugliest and the dirtiest partsbecome sacred? And I

by Lawanya Wijesekara

Fictional Arts·Literature

Selvakumari Of Hatton

Ganesh at Saravana’s flicks, in a frenzy,the sequined sarees off the display lineabove the doorway, as the rain beats in,and Selvakumari crouches on the pavement, her face crumpled, shivering,by the wall of The Happy Food Corner. Dressed in grimy, threadbare rags,Her

by Sakuntala Sachinthanandan

Fictional Arts·Literature

We Dreamt

                                                                                                            To Ali Osama and mewe dreamtof making Palestine free.From Yarmouk* we used to followthe events in Gaza and imaginewe would dieas martyrson Palestinian soil. We could neverhave imagined that warwould knock on our doors.We could never have imaginedthat Osama would leave this

by Francesca Scalinci

Fictional Arts·Literature

If Only They Could See His Face One More Time.

Is this where that karthakolomban tree was?’ Standing near the sun-wilted crimson anthurium flowers, Jude was so deeply lost in thought that he did not realise his Bata flip-flops were being attacked by a sea of angry ants. The cloudy sky above

by Dishani Senaratne

Fictional Arts·Literature

You’ll Never Walk Alone

The grandmother ever at my shoulderWhat harm another little nub of butter?A pinch of sage would lift the whole thing Navigating the gaps as nimbly now as she didIn her dimly-lit kitchen with its three trip-up steps to sprinkle and stirHer

by Anne Casey

Fictional Arts·Literature

Moobs

Men always laughedAbout my slightly overgrown breasts: ‘Boys are not supposed to haveThese things!’This made me a bit of a hunchback. Stiff walk, rounded shoulders, hiding ‘things’, beneath my loose shirt, I was scared of becoming a womanAs a preteen. Why

by Ammar Aziz

Fictional Arts·Literature

Fairy God Mother

Where are you, oh my fairy godmother!You searched this corner and the other.Swabbing the stains of your own goreWhen his anger shoved you and more. Do you exist or did you become extinct?You moaned in silence but distinct.He might hear me cry

by Nifla Hussain Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Medusa

First it was gold the untold storyraindrops in the gardenof longing she wrote it down tore it, ate the wordsthey were anything but sweetswallowed hard what gorgonthat was just a bad hair day my ringlets my pearlshow many men were lost

by Magdalena Ball

Fictional Arts·Literature

Safe Harbour

I learned to love storms as a young man,Because storms were all I knew.Anger and intensity everywhere;Home daily ripped by lightning flashesOf unexpected violence and unexplained pain. I learned to survive on an open sea Of pain and hostility; Hiding

by Richard Young

Fictional Arts·Literature

My Little Singing Bird

My little singing bird Wherever I go I carry it within me Or rather it sits fluttering in my being As I sit down at my desk to dream away It takes me above the valleys of Anatolia Orange groves Strawberry

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Pygmalion

When they found me my eyes were tilted upwards towards the window towards the light. A policeman said it seemed as if I was looking for help — Well of course I was I had been looking for many, many years.

by Alexandra Heatwole

Fictional Arts·Literature

I wish

I wish I believed my mother when she said that there will be better days. That the sky isn’t the limit and I really can do anything if I set my mind to it. I wish I believed her when she

by Grace Wickremasinghe

Fictional Arts·Literature

All Of Me

All of me is nothing but a spark of fire Blowing all the lights in the darkness All of me is nothing but a ray of hope Running through the veins of an unknown soul All of me is nothing but

by Sheikh Aatif Tariq

Fictional Arts·Literature

Purple – Not Only the Colour

The colour reflects the psychology It reads the mind and spells the behaviour Your colour is purple; mine is blue Once, for your festival, you bought light blue It is, yes, colour influence. No doubt. With this influence-driven context, I fly

by Munas Kalden

Fictional Arts·Literature

Grief Is the Throne We All Sit On

The sound of snow in trees makes silence, makes the poem in my pocket sing through the holes, the loose change of angels, all those fallen lights into the world we came in on sound, the stranger cadence. of wave, and

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

Habeus Corpus

I remember the last time my Mama held my hand tight in hers, as though she could never let it go – But she did, in the end, although that very morning in Uncle Sunil’s little house, she’d fed Angela and

by Sakuntala Sachinthanandan

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Salty Kiss

To not sing about the afternoon Is impossible. The one wandering the desert, his voice wringing with grief, is not the singer— in his path, marble tears of sunlight and patti flowers; The nectar’d voice from the mosque that calls one

by Cheran Rudhramoorthy

Fictional Arts·Literature

All The Doors

Of all the doors, You are the one who beckoned me. I stood there, staring at you Contemplating the silent view. I could hear the voices I could smell the fragrance I could feel the living Was it that I incarnated

by Gaana Rupini

Fictional Arts·Literature

Death Alone Is Immortal

A middle-aged man was hurrying along the road in that morning to reach his place of business as early as possible. “Oh, get lost! You bad omen.” He came to a halt seeing a few coffins which were displayed in front

by Shaji John

Fictional Arts·Literature

Paired

I take off my gloves to pull my suitcase up the high steps onto the Tibet-bound train, then wheel my case down the aisle, hoist it into the overhead rack, help my family find seats, and there— out the window, as

by David Allen Sullivan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Revising The Unfruitful

Bloodstain on a white sheet confirmed my chastity the morning I woke up from the previous night’s pleasure. A year since then, and I wasn’t able to give a positive answer to my mother-in-law, who started to check up on me

by Nuha Faiz

Fictional Arts·Literature

Whispering Moon

Skies of shimmering gold And blue There is a garden among the Trees The dew on leaves of ivy fluttering Silently shading under the sunbeam A bird on a bough Playing the musical note on a flute: “I go where love

by Phoebe Gazi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Door to Door

There is nothing called a fine morning in a door to door salesperson life. Especially when it comes to saleswomen. She never enjoyed this job. If someone gives her the option to quit this job and start her career all over again,

by Anojan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Oh Blessed one

O Blessed One, you appeared to me in my dreams By Dr Ujjwal Bikram Khadka. Buddha, O Blessed one you appeared to me in my dreams the other day Thank you, what can I say. Dream, oh yes, and what a dream

by Ujjwal Bikram Khadka

Fictional Arts·Literature

If Wallets Were Skirts

Sir, where exactly were you when the alleged offence took place? Ah, and would you agree – as outlined in earlier expert testimony – that this is a dark street? Thank you – and were you alone at the time? And –

by Anne Casey

Fictional Arts·Literature

Incomparable

A girl I know fell in love with the first boy she kissed. She told me all about it, in a darkened bar a few days ago. She was innocent, and ignited; ravenous and heartbroken. She said she had asked him

by Devika Brendon

Fictional Arts·Literature

Oxygen

“What do you think about the X-rays, Dr Smith?” Dr Zoya Khan asked him, over the phone. “I think we should remove that tooth, especially since she has been complaining about its pain for so long. It just needs to come

by Hina Ahmed

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Sweet Thunder And A Pouring Rain

You walked into my dream Without knocking at the door You touched me with a swift glance My body melted like ice in volcanic fire You knelt down by my river To drink its water Every sip you took Another river

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Explaining My Room To My Mother

I will start with the closet which – as some of you may know – is my den. And mother, it’s off limits. I think you will genuinely regret the corpses of memories I hide in there. This entire room is

by Kaviru Samarawickrama

Fictional Arts·Literature

Chronicles Of An Unplanned Tenure

I am not sure what struck me to leave my base in favour of an unknown destination, for unseen – and, more aptly, unforeseen – challenges: leaving a job as a doctor in Kathmandu in favour of a hospital out

by Ujjwal Bikram Khadka

Fictional Arts·Literature

Pricing The Smell

You crossed me suddenly Pervading the smell, It tells you are here You are somewhere in the closer vicinity Then, I add my philosophical underpinning of consumption It has many forms: Seeing, smelling, touching, imagine, actualising, experiencing…! It needs one or

by Munas Kalden

Fictional Arts·Literature

Buddha’s Brain

Birds are happy They are flying, some of them singing sweetly Animals are happy They are walking, some of them running Butterflies are happy They are with vibrant colours Trees are happy They are green and most of them  flowers and

by Rajan

Fictional Arts·Literature

Amma Budu Wewa

Wish blesséd nirvana upon me one day for my nine-month pains, for Turning my blood to milk as the poets and scholars have often droned… perhaps also wish enlightenment one day, my son! I am after all, no real blessing to

by Vasika Udurawane

Fictional Arts·Literature

Sita

Sita – when you followed your blue-skinned lover along tangled forest paths Did he marvel at your fearless laughter filling the darkness with hope? Did his heart lift at the sight of you, his sure-footed wife marching melodically into the wilderness

by Anita Patel

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Sanctuary

‘Don’t come to the office again, not even to meet your friends’ Lila said, in a bitter voice. Her thin lips shrunk. Nadeeka’s face darkened, and I was pleased for a moment. Both Nadeeka and I were suspended from work last

by Hasitha Adhikariarachchi

Fictional Arts·Literature

Second Language

When you have to leave home the word belonging loses the be and just the longing is left. When your language isn’t spoken by anyone, when you have no one to talk to in it but you your memories stop trying

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

Unseen Galaxy

Amid the hurriedness and haste there lazes stillness, motionless and chaste In an unseen galaxy of a trifling territory It is but a forgotten keyhole of a lost realm As you step within spreads out a Universe trimming your dream bundle

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

Relational Shadow

I got refuge under the shadow you left It should be of yours in the desert of relationship Composed by the song of the heart joined together You are not there How does the shadow remain? Possible, because it is for

by Munas Kalden

Fictional Arts·Literature

Trash Can

The trash can filled with all invaluable items Items, those I preserved On and on for years together Started to open the day I understood Understood What is what Who is who? Where is who? Why is what? My charismatic articles

by Salma Ainy

Fictional Arts·Literature

Whores of MadTown

Days are tricky as dogs, you don’t know what they will offer you on the next day even if you had been running on your own routine. I was really tired of handling everything on my own. I had been so

by Farhan Wahab

Fictional Arts·Literature

Bystanders of Glory

‘Great! I will meet you there in a bit!’ Mo said, via text message to Zareena. One message filled with the expression of his desire for her was enough to make Zareena squirm in delight. How weak she was to Mo’s

by Hina Ahmed

Fictional Arts·Literature

Portrait Of The Poet

Her hair Freshly harvested dreadlocks Unedited gospel of love Off limits to combs. Tresses like streams Of eternal fire- From the arsenal of her body. Poems conceived in a celestial tongue When stars align with cesarean precision. It is our own

by Chandramohan S

Fictional Arts·Literature

Blending

by that river I bend down to note down in my notebook for I hear the water flow but see not the bottom of the bed, not even knee deep I breathe the fresh air but creeps that doubt I think

by Henry Victor

Fictional Arts·Literature

Mummy’s Boy

He shouted: Middle of night – is it time to wake up? I screamed: why can’t you check by yourself? I don’t want my sleep to be disturbed I wish my mum was here to tell the time. He complained of

by Maureen Ernest

Fictional Arts·Literature

Come Again, Another Day

Come Again, Another Day When it rains like this in the City I think of you Like being inside a waterfall The thundering cascade Can the glass in the windowpane stand it? It is morning, and the sky is dark grey

by Devika Brendon

Fictional Arts·Literature

A Little Bit Of Heart

His budget-conscious ma-ma used to make him fill-up on a steamed pork or chicken bun before going to an extended family yum cha luncheon So he never really developed an honest appreciation for the more gourmet seafood dumpling. And though he

by Kathryn Yuen

Fictional Arts·Literature

I Am An Old Soul.

Breeze of autumn swooshes the leaves, The world gushes forth fast and furious. As I sit in a solemn wooden chair, Resting my neck in a wine red cushion By my window, lacy white curtains pushed aside Sun sets behind the cedars

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature

In The Name Of The Almighty

Clouds swarmed in great dark clumps a malformed day transformed to murk as she was dumped – a squall settling beyond wailing walls, wind bawling Following through the icy halls head bowed, bag in hand flat soles slapping cold stone flags and

by Anne Casey

Fictional Arts·Literature

Death Before Dishonour

In this case There’s no honour in being violent No honour in unleashing feelings that refuse to stay silent There’s nothing worse than Leaving your daughter more than frightened But still Some would go beyond those limits To protect the family name

by Mizan The Poet

Fictional Arts·Literature

Little Golden Books

I used to feel it a lot when I was younger. The sense of bitumen laid smoothly over something so much wilder, and more complex. The awareness of what exists, past the boundaries of the nature strip. It is a great country,

by Devika Brendon

Fictional Arts·Literature

You Can’t Write A Poem Without Me In It

No one is speaking, but everything is. The wordless hanging hurricane lanterns on breath, firefly words electric over forever’s backyard shiver me sideways inside the blizzard of myself. I’ve kissed you with that breath, the shawl of snow. Now, wherever you go

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature

My Salad

is made with a poetic love, like breaking lines in my poem I chop into pieces the Roma tomatoes and the English cucumber with the yellow onions, all raw adding also some boiled dried Indian chickpeas with un-fried sunflower seed, sprinkling generously

by Henry Victor

Fictional Arts·Literature

The Baton

Verbal, verb-less, jabs of manifold colour crimson, gleaming gold and darkling from sisters of the cross of the familial kingdom arches of the eyebrows, with pits and crests on the turbulent waters of marital seas bobbing sisters, aunts, nephews, and nieces, and,

by Divya Athmanathan