Poem by Aqsa Gharshin
If there is a world beyond our world
If there is a hereafter
I will wish for you to be with me
Be my soul mate for eternity
I don't believe in reincarnations
But, If I am ever reincarnated
If I am born around you
I will be satiated
I would like to be born
As the the most beautiful flower of your garden
To perfume around you
Your love will pour like rain
On the ground where I am cultivated
Or I'll reborn as a nightingale bird
To sing songs for you
my songs will be pure melody to your ears
I'll build my nest at the tree outside your chamber's window
Or, I'll simply annihilate my physical being
And be consumed by the wind
I'll become the particles of air you breathe in
And become a part of you
Your soul mate for eternity
(More Poems by Aqsa Gharshin)
A poem by
If you and
I must walk
Hand in hand in life
Put away all evil thought
Put away the knife
Start from scratch
With trust and will
That fragile peace
Needs much goodwill
But never hesitate
To do the right
And without strife
For when all is said
And all is done
Truth is reality
poems by Lina Sen)
A Poem by Rohith
the tip of my naked pen
where the colorful ink danced
like the tear trying to burst out
like a drop of blood on edge of a lance
i initiated my luring imagination
relieving my emotions from stifling tyranny
of rendering reality!
Accelerating my senses
killing the jailed melody that tried to
escape from my vocal cords
i screamed in silence...
like Buddha screaming at his mystic existence
at Bodhgaya...where he attained supreme enlightenment.
Mincing many captive words
i flowed with my pen on the life of paper
to explain my existence.
Hiding all my emotions, tears, laughters, love, hate
in the inevitability of my pens flow
my heart continued to beat in a static passion
rendering the depths of my ability.
Mixed with the passion of my pens joy
i continued my life
like a saint...like Hermit
meditating at the continuum of imagination and reality!
A Poem by Rati Agnihotri
The bangles of Meena Bazaar
The bangles of Meena Bazaar
Laugh and shriek and prance about.
Brides in lusty red, ladies in intriguing blues
Young maidens in coy, white churidaars.
An elderly matron stares out sadly
Draped in a grave black shawl.
But a fleeting shimmer of gold softens her lines.
The others merely stare at -
Their pink cheeks blossoming like hell
And the sun kissed bodies of those
who went to the beach last summer
Enticing many a sensual touch.
Their bare olive skin is a treat to the customers
They were called a whore many a times
But they didn't care.
The ones decked in muliticoloured sarongs
Roll their eyes and pout their lips.
Who know not where they are going.
And are ready to slip into the wonders of a sweet lurid
All the bangles are but selfless souls.
The moment they are slipped onto the wrist of the customer
They slip into the skin of their occupant
Heart and soul
Body and mouth.
And the reds, whites, pinks, blues all but become a storyteller
They being the closest companion to many a women
poems by Rati Agnihotri)
A poem by Aiswarya
I have got a group of them
At home, at work, at friends'
They pop at me
Etiquettes, privacy vanish
I have no proper answers
The questions have got them, predesigned
I postpone, evade, elude
Turning a page I loss them
They catch up
In new forms and in more faces
Questioners hide in every realm
Chameleons cannot cheat me
Lonely in a single world
And questioned by a double
I become a question?
poems by Aiswarya S.Babu)
A Poem by Nithya
Smoke and dust-
gathering, murderous silence.
The two spirits,
they drift away,
after dwelling in an
area fenced by dreams,
scratched, hurt sky
bruises and open wounds
The intact handkerchief,
threads give away,
surrender to wrathful
gates to slice the air
and two pieces of
the pattern which was together,
all along. The jealous, angry
full-stop draws the boundary
to fun-loving sentences
rambling mist and fog
verses. Together then cut,
Together then cut,
the cup and saucer
desperation, touch of
trepidition dance in
spiralling twisted messages
until stolen away
from each other.
Hungry leaves bleed
jaws to eat open spaces.....
Poem by Nithya)
Poem by Shalim M Hussain
One monsoon morning when he was ten,
Nana was granted his first set of new
Clothes- a vest and a lungi.
After a decade of semi-nakedness
And his father's over sized rags.
"I laughed and I cried", he is said to have told
His four daughters decades later.
"I wore them once and folded them up for Id".
His white vest and white blue lined lungi.
One monsoon morning when he was ten,
Dysentery felled Nana's elder sister
Three fallen teeth and a hundred stories older
They didn't have the coins for a two meter shroud.
They buried her that rainy day
They buried her in that white-blue dream.
'And I stood in the rain"
Nana is said to have told my ma and her sisters,
"And cried shamelessly'
That white blue-hemmed lungi.
(Nana- Maternal grandfather
Lungi or longyi- Long loose skirt worn by men)
poems by Shalim M Hussain )
A poem by Charles Matthew Sauer
Nothing blues so blue as those. An indigo recovers flight,
following something like the stillness of an azure reflex,
and it revolves again over that, and follows again.
At this moment, nothing is so blue as that. That which . . .
Out of the blue: perhaps while below - bluing spiderwort;
and maybe above - a clear aqua blue, a deepest turquoise;
as if a darkening cobalt (from the blue) bluely spruces up
for some blueness, for that which blues. Truly, for once . . .
Over this, perhaps this bluely repeats, "a blue moon,"
while all along bluish whatnots illuminate textures
where the blueness tinges this or that; say, of these shades
under waters; or, for instance that, for that deeper shade
of bluish alighting throughout and pinnately where the snow
alights and fades. Cyan, lazulite, sage; pools stained blue . .
Maybe a smudge of cold cerulean slates along a bluish horizon,
and perhaps flight recovers, revolves again. Beyond, this orbits.
Poems by Charles Matthew Sauer)
A Poem by W. F. Lantry
The Fourth Water
"They seem the same to me..."
Teresa of Avila
I don't know how we get
there. How to start
or how to cultivate a near return
to that same place we'd stumbled to before-
the gardener hardly knows why live roots grow
but only knows in certain places thorns
or blossoms once have thrived. And even there
since seasons vary, how can we restore
our recognition of these earthen things?
Once, I was lying prone, and she was there
transformed in flame above me by the wind
a hurricane around us, turning: we
were vortex of the storm, and I thought then
'let her consume me, as she wills, for I
could be her strength forever, yes, her prey
but also sustenance, regenerant.'
I can't explain. That fire had transformed
for half an hour, both of us, and made
me lose all feeling, all volition, all
my sight and hearing gone, and though I knew
the wind, gathered within me, moved to her,
yet there was more to me than there had been
just after, when the waters flowed around
the two of us as flame might flow through air
leaving us stronger, leaving both renewed.
Poems by W. F. Lantry )
Poem by Oindri Sengupta
This is the place where I first arrived,
when I was...
The darkness, the shades of the coconut trees,
the smell of the summer rain, the nests of the sparrows--
welcomed my little eyes.
I arrived here alone.
Lonely as the sea,
lonely as the first rain on the mahogany leaves.
The sky used to be younger then,
and had a voice of it own.
It was that voice, which first taught me to sing,
and my loneliness soon turned into a song.
Amid that vastness, my soul
spread its wings in the wind,
in the soft light of the stars
towards the maiden light of the sun.
( More Poems by Oindri Sengupta)
A Poem by Pronoy
Before you choose to severe the little connection,
Give me quarter a chance to convince you of the situation,
And of my worthiness of being a partner lovable,
One pleasing your sight, love perhaps and chats occasional.
What do we then discuss - I am your worth or not?
How farther should we go in this matter, thought?
Uncertain as I am, if you even come from planet same as mine
Or if you, at the very least, like poetry that attempts to
We both appreciate those, with thoughts deep, if not deeper,
Yes, you talk little and I blabber but that couldn't be a
I can make amends and I shall help you open, I swear,
But let's start this, least, our little love would badly fare.
How would you react, if I said I love you?
Would it confirm your doubts and you'd cast me away too?
Alas, I fear I shall then bury this love deep within,
Deep in my heart, where I have just a few graves elegantly laid
poems by Pronoy Ray)
Poem by Ali Abdolrezaei (Translator: Abol Froushan)
Travel and I have not even been to the top of the alley
I'm still prisoner to the same room whose age I have changed the
last two years
Doing loneliness yet not alone
My mother still comes to my dream to inspect my dreams
And the house I left alone
falls down on my tenant
whenever it feels heart stricken
so I come back
My sin was 'everyone's human but me'
I had got me away with
betraying my mother father friends and all who are human at once
Of course I'm not antihuman I just am
Day runs after day out of my hands
Again I am squandering being human
I'm in immense need of an adequate poet
to go calamitously free in my imagination
even though sorrow laid down with me as my face grew long
but I have not stretched long
I still am more Ali Abdolrezaei than when I was Ali Abdolrezaei
but I don't know where along this 'I don't know' to begin
and with the next I don't know to begin and again...next...
How would I know where is next?
I always wanted if there is anywhere, to be somewhere it was not
The old dolphins flirt with the beach when it's time to die so
at the end of their lives can park with peace of mind in parks
at the edge of the world
The sea too is a delightful cruelty
giving only wooden wrecks to the shore in order not to give
everyone's committing their own calmly exclusive suicides so I
what can I do?
The great teacher doesn't eat more than the shit we talked about
I am still the spelling mistake of this same kid who's doing his
they don't rub it out strike it through so I won't drop a line
If I wanted St Mark's Basilica with its golden domes to come to
my side hailing Jesus
Venice that is my most beautiful wandering jewess
would mount her Bridge of Sighs to drink from my Rio and put the
Thames forever to shame
It's pointless of some to speak Dante Dante
Florence that is a fit flaxen hair damsel
has always been in love with me
is in love with me
You don't believe me take a trip to Ravenna
and follow the trail of Amsterdam's tears in Sicily
which emptied these lines in empty line breaks
Wet your lips on this goblet Senioritta salute!
most enjoyable these lips you're eating
be careful you don't get a fat belly
up the crutch of these words golly!!
no matter how much I try
I don't get a life
It's a pity that only lepers swim in the waters of this Gulf
otherwise if the Caspian could get on the plane
it certainly would land in the middle of Paris so we swimmingly
mix and return as frogs
A river came to my room
with a slender tree on its banks which only wanted me
to pick of its large apples
I had no appetite
what a pity it was
what a lonely birthplace it had become.
( More poems by Ali Abdolrezaei )