I saw what green walls, they had cocooned you in, with the refrain of your rosaries, brighter and brighter each evening, hemic knots cored and plucked into half moons, gold -sheaved narcissi starred with cochineal, the lilt of your white…
They justified this war. they justified the fathomless amongst paper tulips and stars made of glue, ink and real hugs. Beyond this the world utters one silver sentence an hour. Beyond the woodcuts of us, the catty and lurid…
A Mystical Poem by Sonnet Mondal from the upcoming ‘Karmic Chanting’ series Promises and Commitments are the most brittle words in the human lexicon of emotions. It is quite expected to get affected by them. Rising and falling through these…
‘Coquetry is a triumph of the spirit over the senses’ Coco Chanel Somethings are too unlovely to discover. the commonest toad has its emerald articulations to suffer. it has perhaps a comely defense, many pale islands of symmetry…
1.’His mind is a violet’ To a six year old, It was easier to contribute his Primitive scrawled vision To a defect easily imprisoned By rainbow crayola Where my brain was meekly lush And perhaps more conflagrated Like a glade-scaly…
In my third eye, I rose out of the Potomac through sun-pierced cloudlight, Ophelianic, offering slippery selkie love to the self-ordained fashionites who reject my cinnamon-laced libation, sacred gift of release. They trample the ashes in their gauche…
I saw you dirty, sleeping in the street, Your dry hide, carbon smudged ancient pottery, Your fingernails, black as oil pooling in the driveway, Your hair spiked like hawk feathers clumped by doormat mud. I mistook you for an asphalt…
Earth dwells in a tent, suffused in light weakly estranged from darkness. The lowering sky is a mordant mangkukulam, invisible. He eyeballs anxious passersby chary of tripping bolts of black magic. Moisture wafting from the soil lingers indefinably like fine…
Early today, the sun leaps brilliantly over the horizon, taking a long, spellbound jump, spinning in slow motion his legs and arms, gliding, a bird of prey. Rising light casts drawn-out shadows running up and down hills and dales. Atop…
Some historians call me Roxanne, But my father called me Roshanak, his bright little star. Born in backwater Bactria under the light of a sulfuric acid-laden planet. Though I prefer the civilized Roxana. At sweet sixteen, I married…
In the cartoon, the crab said Go on and kiss the girl. The young lovers in a late-night lake boat rendezvous. First, we’ve got to create the mood. When I was four, I pretended to be asleep until my parents…