You must be the one I bumped shoulders with on the crossway.
It’s not a folktale, it was yesterday.
I believe…
I believe that every atom that has ever touched me has touched you too.
I believe the zephyr that blew against my lashes had your scent.
I believe as I am sitting here staring at the moon, you too somewhere must be chasing the moonlight.
The moon is our common.
Belief is our thing.
That’s how I am discovering you, bit by bit.
Poetry
Our Things | Khyati Maurya
-
ecLIPse | Sarjatha
By: SarjathaWho met my lips, for which I am writing today wet, inert and inked in blood A pair of upper and lower flesh Untold, doomed love affair between the two. Who met my lips, for which I am writing today…
-
An Ode on Forgiveness | Vaishnavi Saritha
I forgive you For all the hopes and dreams. I forgive you All the broken promises we made. I forgive you for not being my anchor When I was being lapped up by the tides I forgive you for not…
-
Horrid Orders for a Plane. | Caleb Delos-Santos
Rise, you plane. Swarm the sky, You steel stain. Make God cry. Conquer, plane, You man-spawn. Become Cain. Slaughter Dawn. Why not, plane? If you can, Why not drain Heaven’s pan? Cinder, plane. Grey each Blue. Feast, witch-train. Who’ll stop…
-
Rubies and Other Gems (after you were gone)For Barimama | Shikha S. Lamba
By: Shikha S. LambaYour steel Godrej made a loud sound each time you opened and shut it. Yanking the metal handle, you’d check the lock twice, slamming the door shut, checking a few times more. Sarees with tender frayed gold edges hung inside…
-
Ode to words writ in water | Rangona Bandopadhyay
The end of the night is always dry I blink and get redressed out of breath. Gone by the wind something revolves, slippery touches find you gone, trying too hard is not the trend Apparently. The yellow stings on the…
-
Nostos/Algos | Rangona Bandopadhyay
The blue walks around my room, lingers in the air just a little longer than it should; I have taken the plug off, turned the lights out – in hope someone might come looking for I guess I do not…
-
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…
-
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 –…
-
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,…
-
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…
-
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…
-
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…