It hurts. Twisted, gnarling, rooted pain that knows no age, no boundary it envelopes into me, into others, and I see it reach out with a radiated hand pain is so familiar. I have become desensitized to it. I only know it needs me and that my corporeal and incorporeal existence beckons to it, like …
A raconteur unto himself His deft tales he did not tell Any man or any beast. A self-appointed philosopher Trapped inside his own skull, Thoughts expressed to no soul. They came for him nonetheless, The thought police who patrol These dark, depraved streets; He stands tall, he does defy The higher power of this land, …
i. What domestic image are you scrutinizing this morning, Carlos Williams? What line break have you devised on your carriage, hastening from a measled simp to the hospice gent who attempted, more than once, to so rudely slide into your work through your breathtaking enjambments? ii. I am changing the tire this morning and I …
Monsoonletters bilingual poetry anthology issue ‘বিষলিপি’ First Published February 2020 Available at The University Press Limited (UPL). You can purchase your copy of ‘বিষলিপি’ now from UPL books at https://tinyurl.com/ybdj8eo7 Get your copy while stocks last!
