Three Poems
By Sumallya Mukhopadhyay
Five-thousand drugged souls cannot penetrate my chilling voice –
Voice, which plays in loop to my ears, that this street
Is the only poetry I will ever read, and perhaps
Understand.
Of Love
By Sahana Mukherjee
every Summer evening,
my hands shake and I
only write about you
and our inter-caste
same-sex
volatile love.
Three Poems
By Raj Shekhar Sen
pain has a universal language;
pain opens all borders,
and pain knows Korean and wounds;
tongjeung
Spice and Life: Women Writing in a Local Train
By Nishi Pulugurtha
We chose the name, “Panchphoron” (পাঁচ ফোড়ন), for the magazine. In Bengali, “Panchphoron” literally means five spices; it is whole spice blend consisting of fenugreek seeds, nigella seeds, cumin seeds, black mustard seeds and fennel seeds mixed in equal proportions.
In defense of losers
By Goirick Brahmachari
The heat rises like a desert storm
for the lack of water in my rhyme
dehydrates a traffic jam through my
morning high, expanding time, looping lives.
Four Poems
By Deeptesh Sen
All through the winter,
I fucked strange women
to convince myself
that trauma is a carnival of truth.
Eyeballs Don’t Grow Old
By Prasanta Chakravarty
Delhi is a kind city
(contrary to the myth)
The rake’s boudoir
The scholars’ club
The pizza delivery boy’s tip
Seven Poems
By Tikuli
cigarettes, float like decomposed corpses
bloated with memories, voices, tense with
longing, rustle through the trees, possessed
and restless the midnight lingers.
Asiya’s Story
By Safia Begum
One fine day, I went away with him and started living with him. We never married but lived together. I suspected that I might have been pregnant.
Two Poems
By Kalpana Sinha
The food is Indian, South Indian;
The clientele Malaysian;
This is Devi’s Corner, Bangsar, Kuala Lumpur,
A part of my Malaysia.
Three Poems
By Raj Shekhar Sen
and suddenly Bukowski walks in through the doors
and before he jumps out the windows
he tells you like he would,
all great art is horse-shit,
buy tacos.
In Conversation with Poet, Larissa Shmailo
By Ajit Kumar
I was asked to leave Brown University for not doing any school work. I struggled with alcoholism and bipolar disorder as a young woman, but managed to graduate from Barnard College.
Cafe Dissensus Everyday 