Literature - Page 5

A Monologue About A Ghost & Groundhog Day I never got around to getting a driving license, having my own car. (Pauses, as if sorry). My parents were a little too high strung to teach me. My boyfriend at the time, who always

Waters when they evaporate, meet… at a global conference, to speak of fish dropouts, obscura of clouds, near-deaths, hydrological dynamics, monocultures, and metals: nickel, lead, chromium, at their beds. The bend is notional: water for coffee, cane, banana, paddy, mills, distilleries, fertilizer

I hear the sound coming from the weeping soul You reflect it-the pain and broken heart With the spreading wing of mercy and love Solacing the weeping heart…..! Yes, the wing of the heart is broken The dancing leg is in the

A Short Story Something is finally happening in my life. And I don’t mean like baba noticing the drawings and sketches I’ve been leaving around the house for him to see. No, baba is much too busy to pay attention to something

“I miss those simple times” but maybe We lived through a mere interim False hope Prayed for healing rains on our dreamy heads not ashfalls among the dead. Oh “I miss those simple times” but don’t you remember? Our foundations, our hopes

Last night it rained. I lived that storm in my senses. Felt in my bones that inevitable hush… The calm before the storm. Listened to the distant rumbling of thunder and watched distant flashes of lightning illuminate the night sky. I stepped

In the time between Blooming and withering of a flower…. In the time between One gunshot and another…. In the time between Two explosions you hear… Children set off on perilous journeys, From darkness to darkness… The sun and the moon Armed

I live in borderlands where cobwebs spin my fingers together and sun burns the mark of earth on my tongue. My home is two places and none. Born here and there, speaking the languages of both, my greatest fluency is silence.

01. Sat in the spiritual place on a Friday After checking your availability You are busy at home I entered the place. You too joined me in the line of Prayers shoulder by shoulder with others I smiled at me Not sure

 Amid the limbs of Burning up birch trees, Blazes the crimson sun clock I return home, Doves are fluttering away from my fingers… One blend of yellow and white… An attic pigeon sequinned with beads… A bird with eyes kohled

Wide-opened arms of the poem embrace the solitary flame, dancing alone in this dark. while the book kept aside a girl of half nightingale and devil of another descends Through creviced shells of poetry. “What more do you know about the dark?”

Hair traitorous grey shameful need to pretend anti aging. Plucking, dilapidating; dyeing, dying. Betrayal of knees, hands, feet, neck (knees!) circled & magnified, almost expired  — quick sale! The male body needing no such revision. His landscape a shameless prairie

This word that keeps poppin’ on my Instagram feed Means so little, so it seems To crafty marketers and vacuous beauties Hash-tagging like tomorrow Will never come Kindled to autoignition point, Melanin shot golden stars out of their hiding places

Why all this vilification, boy? Had you thought that I was your toy? That my every day and every night Was dedicated solely to you by right? Designed, was I, to pledge you my troth, By vocation and avocation, both?

You see, You are much too old. Your river seeks canyons to carve. Your melodies are not music. Not yet. Your language is yet to be born. You are of the Sea, the Earth, the Breeze. You are Freedom. You are