A Lunatic Hit by a Car

In the pool of blood lies the Finger—decapitated and snatched From its owner’s hand. Whose finger was that? Every one knew nothing of the man; Every one knows something of the man. Lonely and singular finger was thumb; The nail of whose has been uprooted And now there a fly flies Shading its hazed shadow...

Sparrows

On the slab of my southern windows they sat and chirped Telling it's time, and we are here. They dance, they prance on the patterned grills-- grabbing the attention, you can say. They chirp, they dance letting the world know-- we are still here. Once, not long ago, they have disappeared just to return. They...

Into the Kalbaisakhi

Dida used to say the sky is performing deyala. The clouds formed up in the corner of the sky, and the wind breath like last breathe, Naturally unnaturally the darkness descend bringing the night in early, when there should be sun on the crescendo at the city summer sky (or) when the sun is getting...

A Summer Morning Pentatonic

Things Needed for Repairing the Nest Last Saturday, the two had sat on the electric wire. Distance between them was grabbing attention in the night halogened darkness. Their nest had been damaged by the twin evening storms. This morning the male crow working on the nest again while female crow awaits on another branch dancing...

Few Minutes Away From Ten O’Clock

i Looking from a window above, it's like a story of love; can you hear me. [1] All are busy, all are in their own worlds, in their thoughts. Oh think twice, 'cause it's another day for you and me in paradise. [2] ii The sun is shining high on the summer sky; rain has...

Morn Kissed Leaves

Not all the time I had of the earth as I stand in my little bit of balcony, Morning tea in my hand; waiting for the office cab to turned up at my door. There's a chill in the wind; winter was bidding letting the spring in. The neighbor neem tree stands there, bare and...

Fossil

National Poem Writing Month 2018 Day#23: Today... Kate Greenstreet’s poetry is spare, but gives a very palpable sense of being spoken aloud – it reads like spoken language sounds. In our interview with her, she underscores this, stating that “when you hear it, you write it down.” Today, we challenge you to honor this idea with a poem...

Late Morning Drool

This transient period between the morning and the noon is the laziest one. The vehicles that have been honking, since morning, rather blurting out their heart screaming their mechanical nasal warning (or distress) shrilled sound, now seems to be tired. The office-goers that are going now seems to be not in hurry, but, they are...

Mean(the)while…

Today someone may present his resignation to enjoy his life fullest. Some lady today may stand up against the oppression against her. Some loving couple might flee to enjoy their life together from now. There might be rain in the evening, but, the morning clouded sunny The noon should be like this like a trailer...