The writer Sandeep Jain writes under the pen name Timeless Poetry. He is a real estate broker to whom words come in an endless flow.
Pain is a bedside lamp. It blinks like a jackal’s eyes, from the night bushes.
I am a pitch-dark womb. I shelter God's fetus...standing on my toes. I am a whore: a flung open door through which men come and go pretending innocence.
Shantashree Mohanty writes a poem about the experience of eating together with family.
Eventually, my ideas of an all-powerful yet inherently benevolent entity called God turned into the mythical boulder crushing the shape of my Sisyphean mind.
Melting grassroots/in an extrovert honey/her passionate lips...like the cappadocia balloons- primrose, pastel pink.
It wasn’t evening yet. The drowning sun was dragging itself back into its hiding while the muezzin’s call to prayer announced itself from the speakers at a distant nook on the street which was called Sultanahmet.
To all appearances, life seems to be like a ‘pencil box’. The traffic light at the intersection looks like the rounded pencil ferrule —functioning with...
Here are four poems of Wilson Kateel that have been translated by Kamalakar Kadave.
Dare I mention the desire of writing ever again in life? There came upon my ear a terse reply — Yes! Rightfully, in my place, to enjoy this pleasure that...
I came to the world like a dead telegram...Locked in the jail, accused of stealing electric wire, the village thief’s faint sobs sparkle like my mother’s...
They want to shackle her, But who can stop the rising sun? They want to silence her, But who can muzzle the raging wind?
As bulldozer had pierced our own land, own home. Those cruel people, on the bulldozer, had nothing their own.
Much as in Brazil, Mexico, South Africa, Kenya, Turkey, and Malaysia, democracy in India has been a key plank of political legitimacy for anti-colonial elites...
When Lord Parashurama, the incarnation of God, Was cursing me, You were watching me, Oh time, You will be a witness for the future Karna.
Their heads bent, countless human-like figures drive automobiles, hang onto the railings of clean metros which move hurriedly, and some also walk with...
Weekend poems: From the fistful firmament fostering frenzied fabliau, I gobbled up life at the city airport.
So many years have I left behind, the times of hardship and grind. I have no words to aptly describe, how my fruits of labour turned ripe.
At the edge of the cliff. The world shrinks into two. Your good self and the depths below.
'Traces of the Europe Nirmal Verma invented can be found in all his books. But it was with 'Shabd Aur Smriti' that I first encountered this imaginary...
I remember reading somewhere...How children were taught young...At the dining table, to be precise...That conversation must never be inane.
Colonel Chengappa and his wife were there to receive them outside their charming, colonial-era cottage, located on top of a hill and only a short walk away...
The individualist poet, novelist, playwright and essayist still lives on not only in the words she had written, but also the significant drift in the societal...
