Book Title: Chambal RevisitedAuthor: Nabanita SenguptaPublisher: Hawakal Publishers, IndiaDate of Publication: February 2022ISBN #: 978-9391431037Reviewer: Dr. Sutanuka Ghosh Roy Enigmatic Chambal The name “Chambal” has a magnetic pull because of the element of drama in it and it immediately pulls us to the images of dacoits on horses, terror, and blood-cuddling violence in our…
Word spread throughout town a “Flower Lady” was wondering about giving out flowers to strangers… “The Flores Family Flower Shop” was founded by my grandfather at a road side stand and grew to become a fifty-year-old favorite within San Diego. I drive the truck to the wholesale flower market at 4:30 in the morning six…
What Says. Do but don’t can learn you —When every by-its-mights backfires you or if clobber is the ways the days have of tendering upWell then just you double get …
Only While I Sleep . 1Float, nourished maternally,tiny hands poised – clasp,release, relaxed in sleepuntil it’s time to emerge. 2Slumber deep beneathblanket of snow, furry onesinsulated from wind, tuckedinto a nest of downy softness. 3Milk-drunk litter lies supineagainst warm body, sleepsoundly, mewling ceases,sated until the next suckling. 4Dormant roots in quietude,nourished, waiting for springsun to…
Is It Love or Mourning? . In the painting, they stand tallagainst the trees, their limbsjust as long. Her black gown.His top hat. Their arms entwinedlike the ivy vines under theirfeet. I can’t see their faces,but some part of me is overcomewith inexplicable grief. Grief doesn’t always spawnfrom death. Sometimes,often times, grief isof your…
Multiple Days of Grief . A vague sniff that lingersafter my chores of daytime and night,I do not sit or restbut multiple in thousandswhere my hands produce a silent conversation of Godsbetween the tongue of a whore and a saint,a barbed wire,a quiet, huge wound.At days, I am as bright as a candlelight,the darkness only…
Blue (a Ghazal) . Am dreaming of eggs laid by blue-birds; am seeing the Mediterranean sea when I close my eyes—the Italian azure bluecolor calls me again, in hidden caves & pools, & this would never make me feel blue.Happiness to me feels like fluffy, silver feathers drifting lazily in the pines, touching the bluesky…
Treehouse A treehouse is a dream builder.A place where you can while awaythe hours that engineer the day.Study wild things like tree creepers. Listen to the serene woodland songs.Breathe in the estuary scent.Forget the troubles and the wrongs.Focus on the messages sent by garrulous herons in the reeds.Industrious squirrels dodging hawks.Trees rustling to and…
‘Creative Activism in Words and Action’ Writers and Activists at the United Nations Presented by Life and Legends at 2022 AWP Date: Friday, March 25, 2022Time: 10:35 AM–11:35 AM ETLocation: #AWP22 Virtual Conference Platform . Panelists Rachel Pittman, Christopher Merrill, Kalpna Singh-Chitnis, Dunya Mikhail, Megha Sood ModeratorKalpna Singh-Chitnis PROGRAM OUTLINE
Unanimously ill What would it beif we’ll got sicksuddenly,If there won’t besomeone us to treat,someone to removebandages and bracket? What if,as our legal right, sayto get sick,we find out quickthat we are ill one dayand had no one at allno one to call? And what if, sayon a damned daywe’d got sickallat once astray? ….
Sharda presumed the letters were for her. For milliseconds, her heart was fooled into a whorl of wild, tropical joy, into a spiral of luminous hope, into becoming a living labyrinth of spinning, concentric, elliptical coils. Her realization of the messages being for another folded her fleeting sensation of being in a happy surge. The…
A Free Snowman I have deserved the gratitude of Italy.I have contributed to their history,To people, art and culture, by and large:I gave them snow. And plenty. Free of charge. Italians, captured on the River Don,Were packed and convoyed in a cattle carAll starved and thirsty, barely hanging onAll hoping that their end was not…
