Star Literature
FICTION / The hawk and the mice
Bolstered, the six little mice lead their army up–up–up the trunk of the poor, ravaged oak they were so desperate to save.
FICTION / Ira in my town
After many years, Ira has returned to my town. She hops four towns to get here. We are supposed to meet today. I’ve been ready since morning. We will meet by the lakeside.
POETRY / The ghost of Arun Das
Raise no alarm, if on a night dimly lit,
ESSAY / A surreal graphic novel by Subimal Misra
As I read Subimal Misra–I was therefore seized by the urge to bring out his stories, or "anti-stories", in graphic form
POETRY / October: An unfinished poem
Glamorous lightweight raindrops from the October sky keep
POETRY / Silence
A star fell on the ground in the windy night
ESSAY / On the national anthem of Bangladesh: An apologetic discourse (part two)
The question here should be: Why does the nationality of the poet matter if the sentiment and emotional dimensions are the central focus that keeps the dynamic of a national anthem active?
POETRY / Republic of the dead
As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn
REFLECTIONS / Utpal Dutt and the new dawn
The audience for the jatra was all any Marxist theatre director in Kolkata could have wished for.
Shadhin
Sumedha replied with annoyance, "I will make him say the words. It's so simple, 'Apni kemon achhen, bhalo?' Why can't he say it?"
Silent friday
Somehow, the taste of tear gas
Anger and other blessings
A walkway through the crystal-clear lies
There was complete silence around the time of your birth
the way there was complete silence when you lied for the first time. You opened your eyes
Pest control
Geronimo rushed inside the hole coughing, somehow managing to shut the door behind him. His mother Telapatra grabbed her son, hugging her tight for an instant before smacking him across the back. “How many times did I tell you not to go out at this hour?” cried Telapatra.
The song of freedom
the bullet hole/ in my brother's chest/ unfolds like a pandora's box
Ghostly tenants
My father speaks in a dismantled language that goes up in smoke.
Prayers of a mother for the sons and daughters on the street
justice—where is justice?
Rebel is a letter in red
Where voices unite, a chorus strong, / Demanding justice, righting wrong
PeaceCity alley
The Notorious Loverboy, Slum Boy and Millionaire’s Daughter, My Bride or My Mother, My Mother’s Body in a Wedding Saree,