Month: April 2016

Dear Omar by Saima Rashid

Hey look here! see that I am smiling! But do you think that means I am happy? I am not. You’re having one hell of an illusion. By the way, have you ever heard about cognitive illusions? I am sure you haven’t. Yesterday my uncle was diagnosed with high blood pressure. My mother was like, what pressurized his blood that much? He earns a lot of money. So how come he became the victim of stress. But then I broke the silence and told her, “Mom, being happy is not just having a smile on your lips or laughing out loud, they are just its elements. You all use facebook. Right? Of course you do. I mean who doesn’t. When someone texts me how are you? I am like☺. And they encode it as being happy. We call it virtual belief. I crave for those old times when people were so real. For that matter do you remember when Omar Abdullah lost the elections? Everyone does. He started posting his pictures on twitter with that fake smile. For God’s sake Omar, grow up. We all knew Mehbooba’s victory had shattered your soul. But then all you were doing that time was virtual consoling. Hey don’t mind my joke; I am a big fan of yours. You have been a point of conflict among my friends. Dear Omar: I forgot...

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Poems by Clifford Brooks

The Lasting Melody Made of God (dedicated to Fahim Ali)   When our species decided to discover an accessible deity, one song was slung across an abyss we suspected was only dead space.   What we uncovered was another culture. Together, we articulated earth’s universal tongue. It’s a humming with uncommon notation. Now it was our bloodless kinship.   There is more beyond our mindscape than oblivion or bondage.   No, Genesis split the original, gentle night with a mother-of-mornings. In the day, our instincts naturally listened for hip cats who carve chords that quell chaos, not cause it.   The facts are not farfetched: Prayers progressed into psalms that grew from a fertile, gospel womb. Those notes, hemmed up in a hymn, that today resonates as the rhapsody of God’s first words: We are all kept safe in the Old Man’s hands. Our darkest deeds are blown free, like dandelion seeds in a gale.   Yet, if my concept of soul lacks enough evidence to earn your certainty, rely on reason, sunflowers, starfish, and spider webs. The only theology worth knowing is: None of this is meaningless.     Be on Spring, Good South   Up at her home, still sweaty, the evening is a bulge of what 20-something felt like.  I leave loneliness for a pixie with jet black hair who navigates by an orchid petal-strewn pathway....

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Poems by Bea Litherland

  Scientific Faith Does antimatter matter? I would think it does. The symmetrically perfect Illusion lasts. Matter is the canvas That antimatter mirrors To annihilate at a  given place and time. Perhaps there is anti- me Which theoretically could be. Just at the closer encounter We would blast into babble of energy. Why then is the undefined universe- Mostly consisting of matter Stubbornly unsymmetrical? Could it be That in pursuing antimatter Science is pursuing evidence of the Higher Being? From here to there Sorting times moving tapes disturbingly young  Madame   Tussaud missed my beauty and i    need to  face yet another change. I would love to submerge in plushy quietness of the night i still belong but when the morning comes i will  pack  few more things into  a  travel  bag and go. Bea Litherland graduated in Anthropology.She lived in London from 1998 to 2004. During this time she worked as freelance interpreter and read Philosophy at  Hertfordshire University. From 2004  to 2008 she lived in Ho Chi Ming City. While there she explored the Far East. Among other places she had the opportunity  of visiting Tibet and found herself heavily influenced by the place and Tibetan people. Bea published a book of poetry: Fear After and  her personal memoir of traveling to The Roof of the world ; Tibet my dream. At present Bea lives in Muscat, Oman...

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Poems by Fernando Carrera

THE BLACKBERRY BUSH BURNS   The wood consumes itself in a fatigue of ashes not the light   I am what you are not dust anymore   Light of light, the fire speaks     NOTE   I bear you within, it’s true. As years go by, your presence has shared the bread of its dominion; the sole reading, the unique spelling of its constellations. I bear you within the walls of my flesh; you are the space where the particles that conform the feeling I am move by, the clumsy luck of being a rag or a humble, unknown lounge lamp   I find grotesque crumbs of the dream you are at each centimeter of thought, and even though it’s delightful to tame hurricanes on the palm of my hand, and in even when there are days that leave ashes in the passages of the calendar, your face shines in the center of my bedroom like a midday, forever trapped between two hours     MUTATION   Every day I escape towards nothingness   a cry of light an origin of rust the air is a red crystal faded into a couple of moons (two extended hands)   before the new enigma I am the nested bird in the curvature of silence         Fernando Carrera was born in Guadalajara, México on 1983. He is the author...

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Poems by Abhijit Bera

Court of Crows   Town belongs to the crows. The skies also… We’re imprisoned to them as we’ve axed the old banyan tree in front of our house.   Tomorrow is our judgment day… and it’s in their Court!   The verdict has just come out. The crow who lived there, has won. I’m punished with the plantation of two saplings along with joint crow pecks!   I’ve already planted the trees… but, believe me, I’m escaped of the pecks!   You know, when you live together you can’t follow the Court every time.   Even Crows & Birds also know that…     Mehfil   Other side of the tunnel, where the girl flirts the passersby to sell flowers, I want her tonight. Bring some vintage wine, she’ll read Ghalib today.   In the soft smoky night – I’ll enjoy hookah in the bar… each time when she finishes one I’ll throw grapes & grazes at her even when Mr. Ghalib is sitting right beside me!   This year the valley is smiling with flowers… why don’t you put one black rose behind her ear and cool her with the aroma of Chinar leaves? Come on man! It’s a mehfil after all!   I’ve asked Ghalib Sahib to stay back for few days more…       Abhijit Bera is an Indian poet and writer. Two major poetry...

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