readers submission

POETRY / Saree

The yard in this noontime is buzzing with/ The white aroma of the guava flower

POETRY / Cyan is my name when I talk about you

I'm tired of living with this nagging thought that we'll cross paths someday, /You and I

POETRY / A Desire or death eats away at my corpse. You are basking in the sun

Do you want my hands/ Will they be enough to keep you warm

POETRY / Sleepy ghost flight

You have made ice out of my heart;/ we were once nothing–you brutalise me

FICTION / The smell

“Stop mocking me, Atif! I am telling you there is something here.”

POETRY / To the Newton of Gaza

Words were never my greatest strength/ But the arsonist's child will read them

FICTION / The last crime against humanity

The only way they chose to do this was probably written or imprinted in our genes–a wild frenzy of carnal expressions filled their faces.

POETRY / My Parents’ Window

Years later, when I would no longer live in my parents' room and grow to have my own,/ I would disregard all the hours I had spent by the window staring at beetles hiding.

That was the first time in my life I’d smelled charred meat. I could tell it was different from the kind you’re supposed to eat, and my mother had to hold me as I threw up violently on the side of the street.

January 20, 2024