Poetry

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Ghazal of Mansplaining 

I call on love, he opens the door of mansplainingI seek succour, he scrapes the sore of mansplaining For every word I use, he hurls a hundred better wordsWith hefty jargon he lines the shore of mansplaining Poor woman poet, I repeat

by Basudhara Roy

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

It Sizzles On My Tongue

The taste of my sweetheart The memory of a good mealGood music, great artThe success of a sweet deal Hot melting cheese, popping candyA handful of berries, a glass of warm brandyA beautiful song sungIt all sizzles on my tongue. Blueberry cheesecakes

by Savvy Soumya

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Wolves of Mayo 

(for my grandmother) You kept Irish on your tongue like the last Christmas candyyou try to keep going because you can’t get any more like thatYou were never a local anywhere I ever saw you not since you leftIreland so long before

by Anne Walsh

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Hooked

every time he touches me scars on the moon I know he is fast asleep, he usually is after lovemaking. all the things he does stink bug

by Vandana Parashar

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

I cried

I told him “I am writing a book”. He asked me “What is it about?”I said “It’s about what happened to you”.He rolled his eyes.I looked at his eyes.He said “Another one to hear about how we feel & what we need now

by Sanjee Goonetilake

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

After Valentine`s Day

after Valentine`s day…an empty gondolaswings the moon spring news…the postman stops at the gatewith lilac flowers my new pergola –bougainvillaea still climbingthe moon downwindmy cherry blossoms hat…and then I meet you pink Mount Fuji –pieces of fragrancepiercing its frame our bus makes

by Steliana Voicu

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Smallest Things

The wind up there had teeth.It bit through my blouse, whipping words I’d never said into the city’s hum.My hands gripped the cold railing, Staring at the sleepy hollow. This was it! The final silence, the end of the noise in my head. Then,

by Fazmina Imamudeen

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

When Love Rots

She was perturbedby the strange stenchengulfing the house.She kept lookinginside the fridge,outside the garden,under the bed,over the oven,in the vegetables,in the frozen meat.But nothing was astray. Yet the stench remained.It seemed to come from afarShe followed the fumesthat took her to the

by Vineeta Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Love

I lost my grandmother very earlyand so her sister took her placewith her light coloured sarees,her warm, welcoming smileand her amazing cookingand even whenthe fog in her mindbegan to eclipse everything else,she would still smile andask how we were doing andto stay

by Ronita Chattopadhyay

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Hot like a sunrise…

~ Morning in Ubud A pre-dawn town hums to life with the purr of motorcycles; murmurations of humans and swallows—each indifferent— the latter closer to divinity than the ground-dwellers. Rain Maker ~ After Dewi Sri Balinese goddess of

by Paris Rosemont

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Outage

When the world got dark, five years ago,it was not only my world.An aeroplane got struck by lightning.My brother died long before his time.But even before that, a dear friend had failedIn his bid to start a new kind of life. Then

by Devika Brendon

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

I have always wanted

to share with you the gleam on a harbor seal’s eyeas she and I watch silently the sunrise,afloat together, me in my kayak, she at reston her belly, motionless on the Salish Sea, and that we hear a heron croak and fly

by Thomas A Thomas

Literature·Poetry

Schism

the river dividesyour space and minewhere currents undercut the bankripples hide the undertow. our words erupt freestyleacross the water and tanglein river gum brancheslike giant birds upside downwings spread, beaks snappingblock a way forward. on opposite banksour footprints in the muddy edge.I

by Marilyn Humbert

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Being

No prophecy told me that I would meet youApollo is speechlessIs there a Cassandra for me to listenFor once.I am in confusionEmpedocles’ Love and HateRule in our cosmosIt comes to Being and PerishBut our love is an AtomIndivisible.Everything is mingled togetherLike your

by Muditha Dharmasiri

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Beyond the Stars 

I daydream about standing on the lunar ground,Observe the silence and no earthly sound.Earth would look like a tiny blue marble,Hmm! It seems like a story of Marvel. It is the Universe, where darkness is your only friend,An endless journey where time

by Richa Walia

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Flying Squirrel 

Will you give me a night rideon the magic carpetof your wings? Will youallow me to see the worldfrom dizzying heightsbrush the tops of trees and mountainssavour the taste of pure rainbefore it falls to earth,tip my shoulders with the sky’s inkinessthe

by Kavita Ezekiel

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Peacock and the Pomegranate Tree

Dawn to duskthe city is pricking the skin of people walking all over it. The Pomegranate Tree flowers a peacock in a dreamalmond moon and hyacinth evenings on its feathers. It breathes in the noises,the lonely cries, the panicking uneasiness and sheds lustre on

by Sufia Khatoon

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Back to Childhood

balerina after dancing…slowly on the shiny floorthe moon in her slippers still in love…a ruby chestnut leaf hangsby the waning moon another Endless Column…the sky turns gold betweenthe chestnuts on the avenue first day of school…on the freshly poured asphaltautumn paints getting

by Steliana Voicu

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Full Circle

I used to roll my eyes at my Ma’s mood swingsWhen she would yell at me for the littlest things. You must be crazy Ma! I would laugh and jeer,Putting the fan at full speed in the dead of winter, Mamma dear!You

by Bashari Chakraborti

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Here, Kitty Kitty

Oh, belle coquette with your noirishallure—Catwoman slinking backinto your boudoir whiskers whet,aftertaste of cream still velveton your tongue. Oh, Pussy-cat, Pussycat, where have you been?To whom did your heart belongthis April night under a swollenmoon sous le pont? Did you lovehim enough

by Paris Rosemont

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Having Received Door-to-Door Blackout Orders

Written during the May 2025 India–Pakistan conflict “Draw the curtainsKill the lightsA curfew’s onBlackout all sights.” As if darkness wasn’t alreadythe landscape of our childhoods?Endless hours of load shedding,homework by candlelight,sleep sliced thinas fans stood stillin the Monsoon heat. And every Ramzan,air

by Mariam Tahir

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

A Triptych of Epiphanies

(I)So, today I learnedthat the word ‘tense’ has many rootsand as David Armstrong on Quora puts itthe word travelled to English‘by doing a little violence to the Latin’and that somehow seemed appropriatein both surreal and specific ways. (II)And, here I am,imagining all

by Ronita Chattopadhyay

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Cat Beneath My Skin

Some nights,I hear him walking inside my ribcage,tail brushing the wet bone.He curls beside my heart,kneading ituntil it leaks to the dreams I have been hiding from.When I wakeMy pulse smells faintly of ashand jasmine.I never owned a cat.

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Dear Knight in Shining Armour

Once a girl told me to shut up,Once a girl told me that burqa-clad women are only capable of speaking through Hindu women,So here I’m being grateful!Grateful to savarnas, men, cisgenders, straight people, abled-bodied and abled-minded, neurotypical and any left out nice

by Nashrah Tanvir

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

To Women who Seek

If love must be begged forOr asked forit morphs…And doesn’t remain love.Take the shedding scalesfrom your skinthe wounds in your heartAnd, build around thema garden of rosesan altar of gemsfor, they’re precious.The knowing,like lighting on an ink blue skyis a gift.Or, didn’t

by Gargi Guha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

On the Banks of the Nile

And where the matter beganI settled on the banks of the NileI beg your pardonAnd the magic carpet overlooked meIt exhausted meIt planted me like green satinWith shining flashesAnd I do not careIf this ageIs about to leave my courtyardOr exaggeratein its

by Nadra Almahdi

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Love is Irrational

Love is IrrationalHumans say that love is complex;It leaves your mind perplexed.Nowadays, augmented arguments and egos are its prime features.Humans are indeed strange creatures,Having no capacity to understand its true essence. Open your vision, look around;You will realise that love is beautiful

by Richa Walia

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Baghera

Baghera is the word for Panther in the Garhwali language. Garhwali is a Central Pahari language belonging to the Northern Zone of Indo-Aryan languages. It is primarily spoken by over 2.5 million Garhwali people who are from the Garhwal Division of the

by Kavita Ezekiel

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Breastmilk

Her finger touching the nether lipSometimes, in pensive thought.At night bent wound like a nippleSucking slow to soothing, sleepHand flung caressing the pillowDreaming the soft breast of her malike it was in her infant state. What pains this proud poised,Independent young woman,A

by Sonali Wijeratne

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Black Pots

Earthen world – clayey, resistant,With compact top and substantive basis,Inside black pots. Farmhands exchange seeds,Now pooled in an inventory,Based on tribal subsistence farming,Inside black pots. Go Dutch with knowledge, diversity, security,Debar killing, monoculture, hybrids,In effect veritiable unsoiled sap varieties present,Inside black pots.

by Sonali Sharma

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Sand and the Waves

sand dug upto fashion a structure A home that she dreamt ofA home that she thought she hadthe waves washed it away the lone dog looksthe black and pinkBelt around her neck the waves keep lashing A broken piece of woodSunk in

by Nishi Pulugurtha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

A Woman, A Heron

School Reopens It was the end of summer holidays and the start of a new term at Waldorf High. Despite being fatigued from yet another sleepless night, I walked into my classroom at six thirty am— long before the official school hours.

by Debi Mukherjee

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Send No Roses

Valentine’s on February the 14th,The internet drips with UrduAnd its syrupy tropesFor romance.The language of love,With its endless supplyOf affectionBlooming in lettersLike liliesDraped in syllablesOf gossamer.Mohabbat. Mehboob. Jaan-e-jahaan–Love. Beloved. Life of the world.14 lives of the worldIn which lived Bilkis Yakoob Rasool

by Nashrah Tanvir

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Hours

(the hours)Completed on October 23, 2022 The sweet poison of hot water hitting my tired feet at 3 amAll that was left unsaid as you board a 4 am flightMy heart melancholy, waking up late for fajr again at 5 amA forgotten

by Bakhtawar Khan

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Rain

The door creaked open gentlyLike a cat’s paw paving way stealthilyTo peep inside for foodI got up to see if it was a whirlwind…It was drizzle embracing zephyrSinging a regal neomeWith a monophonic harmony.Water washed heat giving birth toPetrichor – the best

by Ayesha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Circle

Iridescent points of lightin the orbit of your eyes shining,in the nightly blackness like a cat’s eyes gleaming.The Hawk watchingh its prey, prowling high,Circling around before the deadly plunge below. Like the time we wed, your ring round my fingerThen my slim

by Sonali Wijeratne

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Soul’s Cost 

I checked today—My wings are shattered.No flights this summer.I’ve scoured every wing shop,“No match,” they say. It’s obvious, isn’t it?Each soul is singular.You can’t just swap a wing—it’s not right.To claim another,you’d have to steal a soul. I’d never take a life.Well,

by Kanchana Amilani

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Mint chocolate chip Ice cream

at some of the hardest points in life,whenever tears gather, ball, and roll out of your eyes,(right through your hair tucked along your ears)making you feel the heat of your head,you want to stop growing up. you want to hold and hang

by Maure Nava

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Floating in Isolation

Floating in Isolation With nameless characters, the film, “Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring” revolves around life and the struggle with time and its inevitable changes. It feels like walking into a painting, with a few dialogues, leaving us to decipher the meaning.

by Muditha Dharmasiri

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Dawn

As the earth adorns the cloak of darkness,A masque it orchestratesWith various creatures at play,Offering typical sights and soundsYet seeming bizarre each time –Be it the waning moonAmidst the shadowy cloudsOr the wolf’s howl in a distant village,The haunt of the croaking

by Shyamolima Saikia

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

I saw you

I saw youWhen I was weak,When my voice was quiet,When my tears were loud… I saw your nailsScratch my flesh,Dig into meLike I was nothing… I saw your hands-Rough, cruel-Grab my breasts,Twist pain into my skin, Prove your manhoodwith violence. I saw

by Shreya

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

When I Return, Will My Home Know Me?

When I return again,I will forget which cornerI buried my memories…which crack in the wall held my laughter,which soap smelled like my mother. I will knock before entering my own past. Because exile isn’t always forced.Sometimes, it’s chosen. But the ache?The ache

by Shameela Yoosuf Ali

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Hyde and Seek

Hyde and Seek

by Paris Rosemont

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

I awaken

i awakento the beginningof a new dawnbreathing inthe saffron raysof our blazing sunnaked & exposedas wheni was first bornundera falling starjoyfulthat my soulwas ridinga blue moonbeamstraight intothe cool greenevening breezepast the billowingcloudspast themilky wayimmersing intomy mother’spure white & eagerimmaculate breasts

by Pamela A.Babusci

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

At least we have poetry

nobody wants to hearabout the things we really want to sayor the things we should be saying.like every time I step outto go somewhere aloneI can think of nothing morethan my father once upon a living man hereor how we are living

by Sonali Pattnaik

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

When Fire Met Water

When Fire Met Water Stop acting coy now, and come right back here! Don’t you dare raise your voice…stop testing my patience! Did you say no? Thwack, thwack!! Try saying that again! Ambika sat up with a start, beads of sweat lining

by Urmi Chakravorty

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

First Spring Blossoms

first spring blossomsstreaming down in thehot-pink windagainst an azure skyone by oneexudingtheir spicy perfumeinto the earth’s poresintoxicating scentsswirlingaround & aroundmaking the airheavy & drunk below insidethe mother treea cluster of blue flowerssprouting like childrenopeningtheir armsheavenwardawaiting their maturityto shedtheir petalsto pour out theirfiery

by Pamela A.Babusci

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Pastel Pink

spring deepens…almost open lilac budspulsating light cherry tree in bloom –love is sweeterunder its branches it flows from the gutter –the morning sun carressingthe house porch blossoms after dark –the sky pulsating perfumein pastel pink the solar lampin the garden turns on…cherry

by Steliana Voicu

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Craving Time

Scattered sunrise peeks out from the horizon,its warm colour clotting the sheets, oh! that Indian blush, the morning awakensslowly on flushed skin. If one can only be so lucky to find oneselfin these moments in time, when there is balance to be

by Shikha S. Lamba

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Ship

If you were to travelto the opposite hemispherethe moonwould appear upside down.I think about that a lot.— my moon is a capsized shipto people way up north— if I were everto set foot on the motherland,my world would be flipped entirely.What does

by Z Cedar

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

White-necked Crow on Coffee Tree

An Unending DreamLike a moss coatedon the balconies of childhood…The white-necked crow ,who perches dailyon the branchesof coffee tree .In Umma’s languageit’s a ‘town crow.’my imagination haswings larger than the crow’s.Would the town crowcarry my message to “Waappa?When Umma gave a tinkling

by Sameera Fathima

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

As the Red Threads Ornate Keffiyeh

Ohh Mother, oh dear mother…Where are you…Did Abu bring the chart papers for my project..? Does my sister still steal my rosy robes..? Does your Musakhan taste as delicious as before..? Ohh mother , how I crave,for a fleeting moment to grasp

by Gouri Krishna

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Women are Never Hungry

Women are never hungryyou see, through the artists eyesthey are but food, noodle-like,long, voluptuous or nubileand ham-med in,always sitting besideupon but never at the tablewomen are to be consumed. women are never hungryas through the system of servitudethey make and make food,stirring,

by Sonali Pattnaik

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

She’s Missing

when she goes missing, we ought to be screaming our lungs blue and throats running parched but when we cry out the first thing we will be told is to go silent, a pillow placed upon our screech. a girl missing is

by Sonali Pattnaik

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Neiman Marcus Cookies

Preheat the ovenBeat the sugar with the wet ingredientsSift together dry ingredientsStir everything togetherRoll into ballsBake for 8-10 minutes I preheateverything.The oven ready forthe next batchbut nothing goes in. And stillit isn’t enough.I tried to put theingredients in there,the salmon,the avocado,the other

by Samantha WL Lee

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

In the night garden 

Some nights I commune with the ghostof my mother’s younger self.She floats in the cold half-light,like a Rose of Sharon,serene in her surrender. In this dreamscape,I touch the splicing on her torso,where a ribbon of jute binds her graftings.We walk hand in

by Oormila V Prahlad

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Sona Bis Speaking

“Sona Bis,” they announce from the stage. My name. I think to myself. My truncated, distorted name. Like a lot of things about me. Ma nudges my arm. I take some time getting up, as I gather the end of my saree

by Bashari Chakraborti

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Sealed Forever

On the bed of snowI bled happinesspeering at my kin,swallowed by sorrow.The valley illuminedin goblets of red;the vista transformedinto humdrum high.Elated, heaved…my pulse of hopedeclined steadily —eternity blossomed.

by Sheena Winny

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

The Morning Chorus,

The Morning Chorus,Buner, Khyber Pakhtun Khwa, Pakistan The lazy sun stretches across the skyAnd with it rises a haze of wood smokeThroughout the mountain valleyThe chorus of the world wakingUshers us into a new day The lowing of cows laden with milkSteady

by Amenazeb Khan

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

I Remember

A girl-child in a man’s worldBorn of the same lineageBut lower-birthed. A free spirit – a little fighterLouder, faster, bolderIn spite of being the ‘weaker’ gender. Not less lovedBut lower-rankedAnd always a bit outmanned. Not less specialBut never firstAlways just second or

by Alaknanda Sengupta

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Full inbox…

Full inbox…how does the moon lightthe Earth in one night? Tangled morning moonthrough my sour-cherry blossoms…another woman breastfeeding Forest deepens…untangling my daughter curly hairwith argan oil First moon beams…the lotus sinksinto its past Aurora…God stirs the whole skywith a finger A swan

by Steliana Voicu

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

China Doll White

I hang white sheets,never crispsomehow wrinkledlike my crow’s feet,forehead,around my lips,crinkle on my nose,below my eyes,no matter how I try to iron,cleanse, tone, moisturise,the folds come back. White swaddles, burp cloths,become beige,sand,hessian,almond.Almond eyes.Get the colourout.I tie the burp cloths together,plan my escape.

by Samantha WL Lee

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Final Call

You smell of forgotten woollensstuffed in old closets, five roundsof radioiodine nearly scrubbing outyour inherent talcum scent,no more than a whiff of a life that was.I whisper-shout toward rowsof sterile doors, visits fromthree feet apart (prison or recovery),hoping my voice breaches the

by Zainab Shamsi

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Terracotta knuckles 

I remember the game of knuckles we used to play as kids in the dirt lanebehind the old storage sheds, corrugated rooves lined with squished flesh of fermenting persimmons. I found it unsettling the way we keptdisembodied knuckles rattling around inside old

by Paris Rosemont

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Storytelling

A round steel thali winks at me as steam arises from a bowlof curry, a stick of cinnamon floats like driftwood seekingwelcoming shores. Little fingers trace the faint etchings of a name engraved lovingly by a twice removed aunt. A pigeonwith eyes

by Jahnavi Gogoi

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

All the Things That I Can’t Say Out Loud

I hope I find enough courage somedayTo tell the world or at least the people that care about meThat;I love the darkness but I fear daylight the most,Not like others, I hate sunsets just as much as I hate goodbyes,I hate loud

by Gethmini Gihansa

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Liquid Stars

A Tanka Sequence Prayingall day & all nightto Godnever questioning whycancer invaded my life until the doctortells me what stage canceri have, my fearswill hang like dewdropson a bleeding heart pale gray cloudsacross the morning stari gatherstrength & couragefor my first chemo

by Pamela A.Babusci

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Lost

I don’t remember my first English wordbut I remember all the Khmer-dubbed Thai moviesthat raised me in the living roomover the hum of sewing machines from the garage.Not a word of English was uttered in my homeexcept for MJ, Madonna and INXS.I

by Samantha

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Flame Bowerbird

I amthe bowerbird of flameentranced by the rainforest almost indecent, you see beyond skindeeper than marrowdeeper in ghost laway strings let me nestle in your lung’s capillariestuck me in to your grey matter,I’ll make myself at home drink deepfrom the pulse of

by J. Marahuyo

Fictional Arts·Literature·Poetry

Pleasure Thy Name is Food

A thundery, lightning struck, rainy evening. Water flowing from everywhere; the skies, water rankling the asbestos roofs of houses and pouring onto the streets, the gutters, the drains, the potholes on the roads …. And in that loud, furious melee, I spot

by Shilpa Rao

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·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·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·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

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·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·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·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·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