a very short poem lying on my table for long is picked up one day by my mother; what does this mean? she probes amusingly; spiral in the backwoods i had called it, it’s nothing amma, I quip read it for me, she says it was a strange room or familiar, i didn’t know, there were noises and smiles in crepuscular light, i knew those faces and their uncast … [Read more...]
Crimson | Dhruv Trehan
My mother’s favourite colour was Red. Not the banal shade of withering roses, that has witnessed several empty promises or the monochromatic Saffron that wails for an adulterated history that sings of its virulent glory. But instead, the dark and brooding Crimson with shades of Cherry and hints of Mahogany. When I was still a child, she would always tell me that my … [Read more...]
When you travel to Greece | Dhruv Trehan
Dear friend, When you travel to Greece bring me back nothing but, a fistful of sand from the beaches of Santorini. Hold it in your hands and let it slip into the space between your thumb and index finger. Let it house itself there until you’re back into my arms and once you’re home, let your fists loose and let it slither down from your fingers into mine like … [Read more...]
Yours, naturally | Varsha Jha
My body is resourceful, It is a woman’s body. I will nurture a life within me and therefore I am closer to love, they say. His body is a giver, mine a receiver. I will create and re-create many lives, because I am going to be a mother, like all the other mothers, who are born with their children. I will feed, suckle and bring him up, because to be a good … [Read more...]
When a Dreamer Met a Realist | Likhitha M
What time is it?, you ask I say, it’s twilight. You are still filling up the cracks, In our fractured portrait; Erasing my foibles with each stroke, You embellish its unfinished edges, Redraw our golden silhouette, I’m still writing poems, In the shadow of your soul; I find tapestries among the stars, Retracing the curve of the orbits, Chasing the crimson … [Read more...]
Half-hour | Utsav Kaushik
I hear murmurs of distant sleep. Sometimes, At the half-hour, dreaming dreamlessly insects Crawling up my bed. Waiting, tirelessly waiting To devour my flesh. It’ll vanish soon in this dense air. Just like sand In the tremors of sea. Diminishing slowly, Little by little. For who’d know when The half-hour will come. Then flies swarming upon me, driving me Mad. … [Read more...]
Do not tamper my Blackboard with Pencil | Chandril Chattopadhyay
Blue Is the sky; Red is the sun; Green are the leaves; Yasmin: do not touch my new colours Abbu bought it from Board Bazaar yesterday. We had five dreams meeting At the University Road in “Peasha-War”: Where on days of strike we played cricket I am in my sixth grade- Making mistake while spelling my homeland … [Read more...]
Sleep Time | Gary Beck
I do not have good dreams trapped in a vortex of swirling emotions not of my own making, reenacting the past in nightmare scenarios always menacing, violent, painfully intense until the last moment of manufactured anguish. I awaken trembling, drenched in sweat having barely escaped unconscious disaster. … [Read more...]
Reminisce | Amaal Akhtar
I often dream about our evenings, leaning out the window, half asleep, feeling the cold winter wind and the faint beats of pub music it brings; the zig-zag fairy lights below, tinging everything a golden yellow, loud giggles, flying hormones and the haze of weekend cheer, We found ourselves, together, amid these dreamy spires, these cobbled streets, … [Read more...]
Scars | Indu Parvathi
I hear the teacher’s gruff, detached voice- “This should not leave any scar in the child.” I, child watcher of porn from Grade7! Talking of scars… how many? When they swam in the obscenities that I poured into my English notebook, When they forced me to button up my unbuttoned shirt Or pummelled the peaks Of my gelled hair with water Were there … [Read more...]