Rain Pit-a-pat drops rain Plant leaves shiver with a thrill Wounds in your heart heal Footprints The road is empty Closely you look and find there Footprints aplenty Love Two beautiful eyes Peep through the window curtains My mind still uncertain Promises When they met again She returned him a bouquet Of promises he broke …
In this room, a deaf bed sleeps Sheafed in a corner, like the pens on her desk The world here stands still, as if a shaft No maudlin tale, no sad song plays A monument of trials stems from her breasts Be careful not to touch her, She is lucky to have made it this …
A vampire in Shanghai, artists on Hydra, and identical twins run away to New Orleans… dazzling novels plus the best politics, history,and memoir to take you away from lockdown Fiction Weather by Jenny OffillA darkly witty distress call from Donald Trump’s US, the follow-up to Dept. of Speculation channels our anxieties about climate collapse and …
more “The great escape: 50 brilliant books to transport you this summer”
2 a.m. on the nineteenth night, resigning to hope in a hopeful resign; Tomorrow is another day to season our taste We’ll train to surrender, and in monotone feign wonder, And queue up to be petted as sub-human. An invite to stand barefoot and to survive– on the same tiled floor. Re-reading the same passage, …
A candle burns somewhere in the room. A pleading voice weeps somewhere else, ‘don’t leave me’; there are hushed whispers that play along with the untimely monsoon breeze. An unapologetic moon hangs carelessly from the navy sky; its beam being the only company to the candle that burns away with the pleading that goes on. …
Too often I stumble. Too often a helix hangs heavily in the air I breathe. Yesterday I was two cloves of crushed garlic. Two days ago on the perpetual snowline I stood. Today I am a shriveled beetle or The beaten snake is me. Now and then I stand with an unlit candle. Without …
One day he will sing his song. And the words will drip from his lips, Ripened with strength. Strong plants will grow from the seeds His aging hands are sowing. He will hold your broken hand In his mouth like a wolf, Then tell you what you write is admirable. He …
I am, The upside-down carcass of everything You loved and desired, But now you look at me with such disdain. Dead and rotten, Twisted and hung On display-for you to see. I am, The cremated remains of the happiness We’d forgotten, that still floats around in the air. If you breathe in, You might still …
ভালো থেকো প্রিয় নগরী। ভালোবাসা রইলো যাতনা অবধি। যদি মনে পড়ে তবে জেনো আছি, এই এখানে, তোমাদের মনের ঘরে, তেমনই সেবা নিমিত্ত। Rest in Peace, Sir #Annisulhuq
Nayon and I sit one day. We are translating a poem I wrote last year; It is called The Fisherman’s Wife. I talk about the smell of the sea And the smell of semen. About heroin and being underwater. We decide to translate backwards. I meet him a week later, and he has pages About …
