By Jayanta Mahapatra The yellowed diary’s notes whisper in vernacular.They sound the forgotten posture,the cramped cry that forces me to hear that voice.Now I stumble back in your black-paged wake. No uneasy stir of clouddarkened the white skies of your day; the silenceof dust grazed in the long afterniin sun, Read more…
By Dr.Gieve Patel There may be a very small comfortIn knowing yourself finallyUseless – when even grandchildrenHave grown beyond your love,And your would-be widowHas outhobbled you andWont be around to break withOne or two of her last thick tears,And not caring much forYour fellowmen, the doctorsWont get your body –To Read more…
The rusted swing creakedThe faded, moth eaten cushionsSmelt of musty life; well treadedCardamom tea was freshly brewed however.. The morn was flush with a February breezeThe papers screamed nothing ,for a change;She sighed, the prawns had to be boughtA partner lost to the daily dose of drugs.. The routine never Read more…