Sunday, December 16, 2018

Poetry

C.M. Crockford

Cool Masculine Hair careless tangled; dirt bristling on dried skin. I'll be clean, I'll be beautiful again, a cool, cruel image for someone. I press the glass against my cheek, feel the condensation disappear into natural fires. I'm James Dean in the photos, the film, despite all my disabilities... Let me be him for you: I've got that...
Wargame Speak. Seek. Advance. Retreat. Say a word. A thought or two. Sing for me. You know you want to. Canoe down the river. Climb up the waterfall. I’ll be here when you get back. Waiting to give it all. Or maybe I’m not here. I’m deep-sea diving somewhere. I’m searching for...

Sanjeev Sethi

Conation Between perceived hurts and intended harm I cottoned myself to a kingdom of one. Here even the wind fails to tease me. Air-condition- ing has its advantages in intramural settings. Earthshine is nature’s compensatory face. How does the human construct simulate this model to hum its way to happiness? Game plan is within us. Unwrap yourself:...

Dah

Birds Every star has a crack This is how the flash releases the radiance of living things To make sense of this is to know that a bird’s migration is the stars magnetic draw the conveyor from North to South and back again. This generates a bright effect on our lives because birds are a testament to the lightness of innocence to the graceful...

Ra Sh

THE DECLINING ART OF HEART MENDING Cannot deny that I have a brittle heart, weak and fragile like thin ice! As it happens with hearts that are volleyed back and forth, mine too drop and crack with a crunchy sound, like a bag of wafers. Now, you know that girls make the best cardiologists. The Heart is...
THE LIGHT SINKS LOW Here, the light sinks low as a meandering river, into the threshold of my windows when I bake half-grown weeds. My nails are black with smoke. I clean the air around me with my overgrown hair. My kitchen sink is on the other side of the green balcony. It tells me the story of a...

Amit Parmessur

Grandmother Drawing circles like a schoolgirl on the blanket with her finger, she soon detects black ants along the wall, and becomes a traffic cop mad at disobedient vehicles. With her white hair tangled in neglect, she soon turns into a smiling tyrant who tosses swear words like macro* and bobok** at us all. She watches the same...

Tuhin Sanyal

THE FINAL DRAFT I've started living after my death! I was killed Some four years back— Stabbed and drowned! ’Twas a shallow stream; I quivered out, (Ah! Blessed ghoul!) Was yet again Earth-bound With the hope Of new love And assassins For my carcass soul! I've lived and died Many times In my secular half And your non-religious (w)hole! Faced umpteen deaths, Say, in Mohenjodaro, And in the Mayan...
Sea-Smart Lion has your tongue A fool sold you pride Buyer’s remorse when eagles scratched three eyes If you only have one bullet better make sure that it’s pure silver If you’re bound to draw your sword just promise me that you won’t drop it Tiger has your tell-tale A spell cast your path Sweetest reward when whales do higher math If...
Sanctification The pimples on my face seem to have an identity of their own. As if, those are my sins penalized to be worn. However, they make me look a graceful lesser mortal. Thankfully unattractive like Sycorax. A rose infested by fungi. Oddly, they seek a lot of attention: Hormonal imbalance? A digestive disorder? A passion pimple! A dispassionate cycle? Innumerable diagnosis followed...
PLAYMATE As kids, you and I Loved red paper lanterns And exquisite Japanese dolls. In winters, we decorated Our flower vases With chrysanthemums the color Of tiny pink cakes. In summers our fathers Took us to drink Green mango sorbet At the same quaint little joint. Springs and autumns were The times for new clothes During festivals as even trees Turned fashion-conscious And flaunted their...

Ananya S Guha

BLOOD 1 I see the blood in hands of others faces of others smeared like fog or smog, I lift myself from clouds a thin line wavers as I walk into the existence of blood 2 I ask questions the voice is silent asks questions can you rape an eight year old, six months the voice is silent of course, only at the cost of blood 3 I saw a...