By Swati Moheet Agrawal
but the only time she will believe
she’s beautiful is,
when it is said by
the man she loves;
Tag: Poetry
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 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 Raghibul Haque
Turabi’s mastery over syntax and use of inventive zamin, along with his swift addition of Persian phrases, ensures his place as a pioneer in Urdu literature.
By Srirupa Dhar
As we perceive and feel the humanity oozing through Nishi Pulugurtha’s poetic creations, we can’t resist thinking that the most ordinary or the most forgotten and ignored redefine the merging spaces between the real and the unreal.
By Irfan Ahmad
It is true that the most used Urdu word for criticism is tanqīd. However, it is wrong to say, as Faruqi did, that its Persian and Arabic equivalents, intiqād and naqd, are not deployed in Urdu. They are.
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 Gabriel Rosenstock & Ron Rosenstock
imprisoned, enchained
in the confines of the mind
these are the unfree
those whose hearts have turned to stone
alone – needful of our prayers
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
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 