Come to me in sunshine Come to me in rain Come to me in pleasure Come to me in pain Breaking news 12 died 58 injured in the shooting of Colorado movie theater The Black Knight Rises as the innocents died Come to me in rain Come to me in sunshine Come to me when …
WHERE
Where I come from And where I go Nobody knows And nobody will ever know Life is a mystery Death is more Belief is there to help you through It’s all a play A perplexing place Shadows come and shadows go shedding behind the shreds of the show Space stretches beyond the boundary of space …
MONROE’S CREMATION
I am in tune. Pain feels like steps down a stairway in my heart where Monroe’s tears smudge her last mascara. Her virgin lips shinea defeated smile as the plastic red melts like afternoon skin. Down my heart’s stairway, she storms out out of glory, out of the silk-painted cotton dress that cracks with every …
THE EPISODICAL SONNETS
by Moyeen Serneabat One Mythical Sonnet (Episode One) The night, playing with violin a violet tune So the rest of the world could remain mute Someone here inciting dreams with a flute I say, wind, take my melody of love to her That she is a solitary one not living so far …
YOUR LIPS FELT WARMER THE LAST TIME
Your lips felt warmer the last time; Could it be my hands grasping tight on your waist, the weight of my legs leisurely pressed against your thighs or my eyes transfixed on your closed ones; Maybe it’s just the confounding summer heat but, When you kiss me, you look beautiful; like a seductive audacious hypnotist …
AN ARTIST’S NIGHTMARE
by Dilruba Z. Ara Her paintings were losing colours, leaving no traces Fading away within their wooden frames, As taste of kiss fades away even though lips Remain there stuck on blank faces. Or, as colour of henna vanishes from An Indian bride’s palm leaving it white like an ant’s eggs. Pigments of colour …
ONION
Peeling the Onion ‘Onions make me cry.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I meant what I just said – “onions make me cry”.’ ‘Oh you are so prosaic.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘I meant what I just said – “you are prosaic”.’ ‘Prose-ike! Well, there is no poetry in onion for sure!’ ‘On the contrary, onion …
SATIN
Where are we ? And what would you ask of me? you nor i can say, and i cannot repay you with tales of archetypal destiny, for i simply cannot perceive any. walking down a narrow street with smells ever amorous, it greets my senses with a foreboding applause. i see a lonely man wrapped …
IGNORANCE
Saffron indulges of the sensual mind. I left when hearts would not beat any longer for You or I, I walked till the ash of love resurfaced from ‘neath the ground and left with every step, a forest, unnoticed.