Two Poems
By Raeesa Usmani
So travel,
To know not only new space
But also novel self
Lying under layers
Within You
Unexplored and unveiled.
By Raeesa Usmani
So travel,
To know not only new space
But also novel self
Lying under layers
Within You
Unexplored and unveiled.
By Mosarrap H Khan
In Rituals, Kiriti Sengupta does an intriguing job of distilling wisdom from the dross of our daily life, a necessary condition for the possibility of poetry and living.
By Tikuli
I dip my brush again as the pigeons rise
followed by the squirrel
and the upstairs neighbour
pounding fresh ginger for morning chai
By Ananya Guha
but when you do ( arrive)
my tonsured head will
be a prayer in hope, living,
giving, while the sea waves
continue to roar, in a brief
schism of my heart.
By Goirick Brahmachari
Now every second
opens up its mouth to a wild,
suffocated space – white
like a geisha’s face.
By Namrata Pathak
We don’t discuss 377 in office hours.
Not over notices and agendas,
clueless meetings, one after the other.
By Ruhail Andrabi
Cold dawn plays the trumpets of melancholy;
It cacophonously echoes in the chambers of innocence,
And gulps the peaceful silence of heart.
By Prithvijeet Sinha
Environment is coughed up again at the nearest rally,
its syllables have been buried in the land granted to city’s building giant,
while Grandpa lost his hearing aid and the environment became an abstract in isolation.
By Jagari Mukherjee
I fell for you as if
your love was a diary
found in a thrift store –
the thin pages translucent
stained with coffee.
By Goirick B
To our rage then, our defiance,
We must lose. We must lose.
Rejoice this inability.
By Anupama Mohan
Life is a concatenation of habits:
He watches, I forget; he notes, I write;
he scratches the surface of things; I assemble the scab.
At least, the cat, I hope, is grateful.
By Kamalini Natesan
The child runs,
Abandoning home,
Want more, says he.
It hurts, I bleed,
Askance – why me?