Born and raised in Bombay (Mumbai), Pramila Venkateshwaran is a prominent voice in Asian American poetry. In her works, she blends her vision, life experiences, memories, and cultural influences, like an artist, mixes colors to paint a picture on canvas. In her writings, she gently and subtly approaches her readers and exits impactfully, leaving one…
Book Title: What’s Wrong with us Kali Women?Author: (Author): Anita NahalPublisher and Date: Kelsay Books (August 9, 2021)Reviewer: Megha Sood This riveting collection of seventy prose poems exposes the artful mastery of lyrical intensity seeded in Nahal’s poetic craft through which she brilliantly brings out the spectrum of human emotions. The poet speaks with razor-sharp clarity and a deep…
Thirtha 11 The bus conductor thunders, “Haaji Ali,”above the muezzin’s pitch, above cymbals clashingaround the corner by the jasmine vendors. I wait among garish women on a ribbon of road at the head of the bay,where double-decker buses hurtle into town, the domerising behind me, white and gleaming at low tide.Crows and gulls wing about, searching.On…
Leaf Olympics From my office window I watch the October leaves Doing the hundred-meter dash With no starting line, no gun Fueled by an invisible force Racing in harmony. . They pole vault over the roof of the opposite house Hurdle over the fences gracefully Long jump the length of the bridge Gathering the dust…
The Boar With Silver Fangs A Prince from Levant in love with the huntingthrough dark forest’s heart was making his way,For finding his path through the bushes hard fighting,was playing his bone flute and to his men he’d say: Let’s go for the hunt in the deep wildernessthe hunt of the wild boar with silvery…
HALF A FACE Sky is dark.Beneath a green cedar tree,it is quiet on the bench where we sit,thinking darkness is just anothershade of light. Inhaling deep,you clear your throat,stand up,and begin to singin a broken voice,telling stories of unfulfilled dreams. Sometimes you ripple with painbut regain composure soon,to shine like a half moon,thin like a…
A Gust of Wind Curtains are being blown in:asailing boat has crushed into our room,it filled the air with the sea,with blue salt. Parquet on the deck.Salty splashes on the papered walls…Wind with a rose in its teeth,like with a naval boarding sword,had toppled the vase overand is climbing up the carpet.A split second –…
BIKE IN THE GARAGE mounted on the work-out standspindly creature to climb on and sitlegs churning in high gearinto vanishing turns by vast fieldsunder wan blue skywhere I drift no careening into fearstonewalls traffic or ditchtrusting my quads to burnwarn me to cease for the dayheart thudding and breath rapid then easingeasy as leisure to…
Eka More Gaaner Tori (Translated from the original Bengali) A solitary traveler I wasRowing the boat of my music in the stream of my tears.Who are you, the sudden entrant that came alongTo row the boat with me? That which was an illusory dream, a figment of my fertile imaginationEmerged before me in flesh and…
Six Pieces of My Soul 1At the edgeof a scrapyard in Iowaa girl in a blue dress sitson a tire swing, legs flying.A frog croaks hoarselyfrom the well of her throat. 2In a soft September sunrows of stubby, dried-outcorn stalks turninto a gold-leaf frescoby Giotto: maidensin ephemeral negligees. 3The dusty road curlslike uncut ribbon.In the…
The Girl wore red pheran and watched the sunset for the first time in months. There were many visitors sauntering on the way of Ghats of Srinagar’s most famous Dal Lake. The wind had a strange echo hidden. That is felt before news of someone’s death. The old must have been dead by now, thought…
Divided… divided between humilityand disastrous egosreceiving in the plexus his owngroan reflected in wordshe – a precious spicetaken out on special daysfor the hunt on the platter –reminds youwhen it is not the case:I am the poet! . împărţit… împărţit între umilinţăşi orgolii dezastruoaseprimind în plex propriulvaier răsfrînt de cuvinteel – un condiment preţiosscos de…
