By Azhar Uddin Sahaji
Abba doesn’t understand poetry and identity
He still continues to run that old shop.
Tag: Poems
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.
By Sutputra Radheye
We must bring poetry and art to the streets again. It must speak to common people. It must use a vocabulary that all can understand, and thematically, it should spit blood on the face of the crown, the establishment. It must end the elitist cycle of producing art.
By Rini Bhattacharya
I tend to express her sadness, her frustrations of being
A failed wife, a failed activist, a failed poet, a failed mother
By Jharna Sanyal
At the end of the day, I find my words
mending gaps and pores with the vowels.
There are only five.
By Vidya Tewani
A leaf from the Paath Sahib nani would choose
Her book wrapped in silk folds
Placed on a wooden lattice frame
By Meher Shah
Two women separated by culturally different societies,
kept apart by several oceans
each weaving their craft using different tones.
By Amrita Valan
Knowledge is Truth, it germinates
In the soil of free thinking minds,
God’s Holiest Books are we,
Living and loving, weaving parables
By Megha Sood
your face is like a poem
those deep lines
etched for eternity
tells a story
written by the verses
deeply lodged in your soul
By Goirick Brahmachari
Together we could
Change the colours of the words
Change the sharp meanings
Of colours, colourlessness
For all art must melt in sound
By Sanghamitra Bhumana
Make no mistake, when women march
They bend the arc of History,
Make no mistake, it’s Herstory too!
By Gabriel Rosenstock
Liberty, what’s this
it looks like a crown of thorns
do you bleed inside
By Nishi Pulugurtha
Of trying times and reaching out – of
Life going awry, yet holding on –
A different time, a quarantine.
By Tikuli
searching for a home
all I wanted
were two arms
to hold me in love
By Sutputra Radheye
You also call her a slut
if she has slept with you
and even when she hasn’t.
By Ritamvara Bhattacharya
This is the only hope, stolen marks of each other we carry.
Vignettes that only the street lamp stands as a vigil.
