By Umang Kumar
what need of ceremony,
when the ritual of life
is over?
Tag: Poems
By Nayyar Hilal
In the Dal water has turned to blood –
I tried to write with it but
my hands are trapped in barbed wires.
By Sunil Sharma
We are the fodder, the 99 percenters, for the one percenters of the world – chants the massive crowds in the old public squares, the world over.
By Quratulain Qureshi
So, while we pray for your olives of Filastin to flourish,
We ask you to pray for the olive of Kasheer to wither.
By Swati Moheet Agrawal
but the only time she will believe
she’s beautiful is,
when it is said by
the man she loves;
By Mitali Chakravarty
Can wrecking, destroying
erase an ideal, revive the dead,
rewrite the past?
By Basudhara Roy
She lost thirst, her throat
turning brittle like fish bones in the sun
By Isha Singh
But the country changed, when we weren’t out on the streets,
Fighting for its soul.
Some came and changed its soul to a bituminous one
And now poison runs in its veins.
By Nishi Pulugurtha
As I traverse from one volume to the other, reading and re-reading, finding nuances and tracing patterns, I find an elegance of expression that surely bodes well for Indian Poetry in English.
By Sekhar Banerjee
An empty palm in rain does not hold
anything back; it returns
privacy for privacy, water for water,
solitude for solitude like a forlorn prayer-wheel
left in the courtyard
By Sanjeev Sethi
I tried holding a smoke-filled room
in my palm while you ran out of reefers.
By Gabriel Rosenstock
Gandhiji, oh look
see how downcast he appears
Hindutva’s to blame
those loud-mouthed fanatics
they should stay in bed all day
By Mitali Chakravarty
The skyline fades. The sun yo-yos in play
but, manmade borders, they stay.
Forever slay. Weeping Guernicas
line Kurukshetras and Ayodhyas.
By Nishi Pulugurtha
Weaving expressions, images and feelings brilliantly the poems in this volume add to Jaydeep Sarangi’s poetic oeuvre.
By Azhar Uddin Sahaji
Abba doesn’t understand poetry and identity
He still continues to run that old shop.
By Gargi Dutta
On such days
I count the gashes,
And pledge my love –
To the remains
Of my rapidly diminishing self.
By Mitali Chakravarty
Silences are like the sky.
They stretch out uninterrupted,
punctuated by sounds
accentuating the quiet
By Dustin Pickering
This collection is not for the weak-willed or -minded. Each poem/prose retains a bright reality and sage wisdom. From cover to cover, this volume is intellectually fastidious.
By Gopal Lahiri
On the edge of the chimney and window
a lonely flute man interrupted the silence,
ghost stories leaped from the river water
to greet the ascending stars.
