Short Story ID- 5/2015 1 My name is Shilpa. I believe in ghosts because I am one. I believe in the afterlife because I have been there. I believe in the occult because I have seen it happen. Long…
Why is it glowing, like candles over the grave of dreams , the radiance of affection. Why is it flowing on; like a veil over the face of fate , the river of voids. Why is it lingering on even…
In your town again, the landmarks look newer; Shinier, this used to be my town too. it no longer is. school holidays bring kids in droves into nests and town centres with play areas that compensate in the…
Short Story ID- 3/2015 Seikh Suleiman was made to learn the knowhow of making a bomb.A bomb, which would kill thousands of people. At one go. He knew next to nothing about it before. His father, a daily wage-earner of…
Short Story ID- 2/2015 The shrill screams from the room next door woke Ruma from her sleep. Since the time she had come here sleep had always evaded her, right now she held on tightly to whatever little of sleep…
I saw what green walls, they had cocooned you in, with the refrain of your rosaries, brighter and brighter each evening, hemic knots cored and plucked into half moons, gold -sheaved narcissi starred with cochineal, the lilt of your white…
They justified this war. they justified the fathomless amongst paper tulips and stars made of glue, ink and real hugs. Beyond this the world utters one silver sentence an hour. Beyond the woodcuts of us, the catty and lurid…
A Mystical Poem by Sonnet Mondal from the upcoming ‘Karmic Chanting’ series Promises and Commitments are the most brittle words in the human lexicon of emotions. It is quite expected to get affected by them. Rising and falling through these…
‘Coquetry is a triumph of the spirit over the senses’ Coco Chanel Somethings are too unlovely to discover. the commonest toad has its emerald articulations to suffer. it has perhaps a comely defense, many pale islands of symmetry…
1.’His mind is a violet’ To a six year old, It was easier to contribute his Primitive scrawled vision To a defect easily imprisoned By rainbow crayola Where my brain was meekly lush And perhaps more conflagrated Like a glade-scaly…
In my third eye, I rose out of the Potomac through sun-pierced cloudlight, Ophelianic, offering slippery selkie love to the self-ordained fashionites who reject my cinnamon-laced libation, sacred gift of release. They trample the ashes in their gauche…