The Daughter and an Oleander Tree – Hasan Azizul Huq

He wanted to see his own reflection in the water under the big bridge. Inam, Sardar’s younger wife’s oldest son, his nose and mouth hobbled over the silver water. The frost settled almost audibly. The breeze trembled scrunching away peanut shells. A Lunar iridescence spilled from the Ashshyaora leaves. The branch on the east side of the jackfruit tree waved ugly, as if luring. A hundred tambourines clanged.

Poems of Kedarnath Singh

I speak from a place
where bullets
enter the wings of sparrows
Where bread dissolves in water

Song Odyssey – Nandini Bhattacharya

Here Be Roses. Khilte Hain Gul Yahan.

The news went around the planet in forty minutes flat.

Sameera had died. She was fifty-three.

Poems of Abhimanyu Mahato

The milk-drinkers are dead.

Beside those fallen banyan leaves,
with a black umbrella, time walks by.

Ramratan Sarani - Ramanath Ray

I have no idea where Ramratan Sarani (street) is. But I’ve heard a lot about it from my dad.

Poems of Zinia Mitra

Thamma asked me to pinch up her sorrows
like red ants from the bark of her tree
they climb her long brown arms
one by one from the imprisoned nights

Freedom, Defiance, and Anger: understanding art with Hisham Bustan

“…when something is struggling to come out in words it declares itself to me in the form of a “mental boiling”: an idea that keeps tossing and turning until the proper first sentence comes out, dragging with it parts or all of the rest in an embryonic format “

“, any point you can depart from will lead you to all the other points”
, every writing is political, even writing that tries hard to evade being political adopts a political position by doing so”

A Poet Lives by Haldi River : Short Fiction by Amar Mitra

“I’d be long gone and transformed into a Gurguri bird – floating atop the ocean waves. My island moves – you won’t be able to trace it.” The young poet Avijit said, “Why not come to Kolkata with me.”

“No one needs anything else after a drink of moon rays, Selim. Give me a glass of water.”

Weird Birds and an Assessing ‘I’: Some Thoughts on Alokeranjan Dasgupta’s Poetry - Hans Harder

Alokeranjan Dasgupta’s poetry is both fascinating and difficult. There is no passe-partout, or general key, for decoding it – not because it lacks codes, but rather because the codes themselves are not fixed and seem in continuous flux. His poetry is playful and oscillating to a high degree, and in a way constantly redefines itself anew

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