Poetry

by Srijani Dutta The female ones tiptoed to the forest To unburden the agonies of daily wages, Instead they heard the cries of the dead; Wind carried the leaves from the old tree And placed around the yellow swamp At the backyard of a lady’s hut; They went there to listen  To the music of the earth  And count fireflies like the fate lines of palms In the dark autumn night, Eyes stumbled out  Reminding themselves  Of their origins and history As their eyes came across  None  B

by John Swain Agate the sea wreathes mosaic, we wade in the shallow, we float on gold rosettes to the diamondback sandbar, your eyes fletch the sunlight, the sun stills in prism. The sky shines to billow the skirt of your dress like a sail, you move to tilt the wild sphere, you curve to mindful blue. We wash transparent, you necklace sun inscripted on the pendant clasped with agate bound like wind behind my neck.

by Iván A. Salazar M. translated from Spanish by Stefania Rodríguez Castro The pillow cradles a furrow of voice where every echo turns to salt. (A tide‑less moon lets fall a sigh into the silent receiver.) Your name is now a moth, a silent thief that feasts upon the chronicles of days. August has a hole and December bleeds black ink. In the mirror, someone unravels a skein of shadows —is it you?— but logic rots between my fingers: only a clock without hands remain and a tree

by Tazeen Erum The Drone In a ring of happy blossoms— some clamped by stem, others brushing petals by chance— a single drone buzzed, unwinged, earthbound, hating the pull of gravity.          The Blossoms Caught between the soil and the air, they wished for him to circle for their nectar errands: to ferry pollen, to chase sun, to scatter their colour-dust across untended gardens. The Tether Sometimes he wandered away, for a garden of his own, but a bitter incense tether fetch

by Renz Chester R. Gumaru We look and stare, Pretend that we don't care. Hearts start to race, But we hide the trace. Words stay inside, Feelings we set aside. Almost, but not yet. A love we won’t forget. No start, no goodbye. Just you and I. Smiles still sending, Our sweet open ending.

by Roksolana Zharkova I will remember you Even after memory loss, Losing you like a sandal off my foot in very tall grass, like an earring from my left ear when I was little, like a panama hat from my head in a strong wind from the sea, like the letters of a language I didn't learn at school, like the streets of a city I've never been to, like the suitcase I happily carried, like an umbrella (I often lost umbrellas I left them on buses or at bus stops, on park benches, in the