by Iqraa Bukhari Continue reading London
A titanic cloud in the shape of an angel’s corpse provides respite from the sun for a moment as I pass it looking up from my car from the motorway. Falling between worlds, the body is downward facing, but floats on, for passing it is passing a living moment. Which is truer of a cloud: its passing, or ours? The colossal corpse keeps … Continue reading A Titanic Cloud
by Anupam Dubey Continue reading Will Smith
Breathing the cold morning air at the station. The taste of coffee turning foul in my mouth. Anxiously awaiting the silence of your touch and the conversation of your lips on mine giving life back to my body. A train arrives. People moving in squirming masses through the metal barricade that is still separating us. I see you. There in the crowd. I see you … Continue reading Lov
There it is again The silence So big it creates a physical presence in the room She feeds silence her cup of tea She sits on her bed and they converse, As she stares at the ceiling. Silence strokes her cheek and gathers her tears. It whirls around her like a hurricane. Somewhere there is more than this. There is noise There is … Continue reading All The Time There Are Things But Not Here
And yet –
cool lips press to colder ivory
as though to bestow
a sweet benediction;
Slippers, apple cores
Plump, warm – her brown eyes sparkle
My pillar of strength.
Long, random strokes, I
Thaw beneath your fingers. Gaze
Grey skies turn to blue.
Mum had a habit of eating the entirety of an apple. The peel, the fruit, the core; all the apple would disappear. The first time I saw her leave an apple core unchallenged, Henry had made a comment, a jibe trying to be a joke that didn’t quite pay off. Henry was always doing that – trying to challenge my mother, to unsettle her. But in his passive aggressive cunning, he didn’t notice the way her eyes glazed over, and how, like hitting restart on a computer, she’d shut down for a short time before putting her face of normality back on and delivering a similarly sharp retort that snapped his neck to the ground with embarrassment. Mum was always doing that – trying to put him in his place, pushing him out of our circle.
By Anupam Dubey Continue reading Narenda Modi