I have seen A nightjar now and then, A bird flying at night, Flying past at night, Something like a bird Flying past at night, Something flying past At night, Just when The headlights alighted On them. A head-on collision Of two contrary needs. Light. And darkness. Our lights won. Our seeing lost. 20 June 2022
Poetry
Nightjar | Ananya Dutta Gupta
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Confessions of a dutiful daughter | Rangona Bandyopadhyay
Winter dissolves inside my mouth I bite on it as hard as I can Trying mighty hard with a shovel in my hand – negotiating with the dead; What we wouldn’t do to know if we are lost on the…
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The Husband Question | Rangona Bandyopadhyay
Even as you leave for office, your strapped briefcase in hand temper the size of a sprouting plant So hollow. So little. The side of my mouth bending into a half-stained sun I am reminded the way we raced –…
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Harmonium on the bed | Sakkho Gun
By: Sakkho GunAt sunset, my Amma had a violent urge to play the harmonium While my mother was getting ready for her evening prayer. The sound of the Shankha collided with my Amma’s fragmented tunes While my father, dressed sharply, went out,…
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Blood & Water | Karishma V.M
By: Karishma V.MAs it seeps through the walls, across the floor and down the stairs, there’s a dead silence. It glides slowly through the open door, moving with a purpose. It touches first a shoe, but the leg is not attached to…
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The moon and the tree | Rachit Sharma
By: Rachit SharmaWhat do the moon and the tree have in common? After a long, dark, and bitter coffee we edged towards a bookstore – mound of sand tombs with little gods and little things… the taste of coffee lingers on the…
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Sunday | Anandi Kar
By: Anandi KarIt is Sunday again and The doorbell rings My boyfriend’s friends Are a noisy bunch of mad lads They reek of the ugly taste Of emptied, plastic soda bottles, Their brains are as tiny As their cig-butts Whose souls they…
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Shame Shame | Anchal Soni
By: Anchal SoniRemember the time our mothers tagged our body parts with our fingers as pointers we learnt that the white space with black clots
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Busy | Alex K.O
By: Alex K.OBusy. It is not a word of an excuse but an affirmation that priorities change and people too. Busy. When it comes like an uninvited guest in our words, we break and fall apart as a fragile glass flower vase.…
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Glory and Gore | Pia Oza
By: Pia OzaMother is telling meTo stop writing angry poetry.She wonders where the blood comes from –Did I breed this violence, birth it from a lifeless form?Did I nurture it with hate and sun it with rage?Did I fight a war and…
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My skin is as soft as my mother’s sobs | Pia Oza
By: Pia OzaI am not used to seeing mother cry,So, every time I see those rosy cheeks wet,I cry myself, because her tearsAre a shrine and a curse, and I bow down to themWith nothing to offer them, but more of themselves.…
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beautiful until… | Pia Oza
By: Pia Ozai am beautiful until i take my clothes off/ and before the mirror, i stand/ starred (scarred)/ a constellation of/ all the things i hate/ a galaxy of stains, a solar system of blemishes/ and meteors that crack my surface. i…
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Inside | Sanjeevani Saikia
I sit on the ceiling (I am a mosquito.)I see her wriggling like a worm She cries, she smilesShe cries, she smiles… My air is in hers,It’s plagued with misery There! Her face melts away And yellow wounds come alive…