Poems: The Bombay Trilogy
By Akanksha
That night, I kissed the city
with as much ardor as I did
the boy in the white shirt
inside a black and yellow box
moving somewhere.
By Akanksha
That night, I kissed the city
with as much ardor as I did
the boy in the white shirt
inside a black and yellow box
moving somewhere.
By Pooja Ugrani
I can draw a C on your bum
when you stand sideways.
It was after you said this
that I started using
three limp layers
to drown a C of flesh.
By Aneek Chatterjee
This is the rule of the game.
Spectators sit in the dark, here
The playing field is dark.
Positions alter now and then
A spectator changes
into a player any time,
and vice versa
By Sabyasachi Nag
I fear, you too might die Akbari, all of eighty-five,
tied to the steel bed and forced to choke in this fire
someone else started, somewhere else;
or like Ankit Sharma, first beaten, then shot,
facing the gutter, by the house you were born;
By Prithvijeet Sinha
This is his town,
with backyards of open-ended youth and trampolines next to pools.
By Goirick B
Silence won’t answer, will leave it to us.
For reasons, like lovers, must now disappear.
Mind floats, an empty boat, stories, grass;
Breathing out some of this coldness we fear.
By Kashiana Singh
The arrows of your eyes pierce into a fog
You conquer hysteria with textured words
in flags of fingers festooned into poems
By Nishi Pulugurtha
Rathore’s poetry draws on the everyday, to emotions and feelings that are real and perceptive, to literature, history and Indian myths and stories that have to do chiefly with love. This collection, his first volume of poems, records impressions and facets of lived everyday moments.
By Ishrat Bashir
That their great-grand uncle was
pecked at by vultures, unattended!
That the people of their mother were
Buried live in the waters of Keta Kol.
By Mujeeb Jaihoon
You flatter the visiting guests at the Mahal
And feast on the biryani, kababs and jamuns
You flex your patriotic muscles at the Fort
And reign in the city that the Sultans built
By Sabyasachi Nag
Because a Fascist can be weird –
He can’t stay still and almost always falls
Even to the slightest breeze.
By Nishi Pulugurtha
Gopal Lahiri’s Return to Solitude: haiku and other short poems, published by Hawakal Publishers, is a slim volume of poetry written in genres not very often used in India. A bilingual poet who has authored seven collections of poems in English and Bengali, editor, critic and translator, Lahiri has also written short stories.