Read Poem: Native places, by Abhya Kajal

A motionless, eloquent wave would hit me, every now and then.
That could do things to me, not even a curse can.
Soothe me, for what I dreamt; leave some hope
Then break me into infinite pieces; hang me over the love rope.

Those blue orbs would hold me in their dark prison
In all those bilious moments of disagreement
Still, I would not sue you for invasion
’cause you came, played with my sentiments.
Oh I cried, yeah, those screams echoed in my mind
I focused on letting it go, but they held me and rewind.
All pearls of lonesomeness flew away,
I was left with deaf and senseless minutes of the day.

No one, but you can help me.
No voice, but your sweet sayings will set me.
No hands will toy with mine,
Only your eyes will make thy twinkle and shine.
I sighed alone with distress.
Could he not hear me; had he gone passionless,
Such a tender heart and still won’t express.

Why am I not as are the dead?
Then, I’d better die in his arms
One short hour of native air, and indeed,
I haven’t found that yet!

Read Poem: You My Dusky Hue, by Renee Bousquet

The range in its majesty gives way to open thoughts of the wild things in taming, I have eaten hard pan and dust as my regular meal to be had.

I to the constant trail beaten into the saddle just see what could not be tamed. There is beauty found within the beasts of the fields, within the tree’s to the treeline. They all feeble things next to you my dusky hue.

I but a small man in wealth not much to the offering bowl, to live from the saddle bags by choice not many would do.

I live half-feral, fighting the hard winds when necessary, blanketed in snow a brutal life. I follow in blindness of white, head down in the snowstorm– yes driven to see you.

I would but to give my all in any form to last breath in glimpsing you my dusky hue. I would then give open hand an outstretching for the touching of you; I worn hard and worked but still yours.

Goat trails and sage with the buck and antelopes, I follow from shade and shadow. I’ve seen all the crooked paths and mountain spires, ancient writing from lost tribes guiding me the man the myth to you.

I’ve sung from the saddle to the moon with the wolf and his brother the coyote. They answered in crescent smile, howling as my accompaniment…she just before the next rise was the answer.

The ever wanderer to you in my own solitude I driven as the whirlwind, eyes squint, cheeks leathered, living on the surface of the sun I travel.

Always to the horizon line is my sight, waiting, watching, praying today’s the day of salvation. I ride and say this day….this days the one.

I ask nothing for myself, I the sole provider of me the simple one, but to seek out you my dusky hue is my life I born to.

I wish a want of you from afar waiting, watching. Yes, it is more than I could bear to think always you’ve been real to me.

A man can only be a man when he’s succumbed to the knowledge that he is nothing without his dusky hue. She in my sight in the good drunk, in lonesomeness at times the only way to sleep.

She is the maker of the man– the maker of me in hard times, yes to be molded by the hand of the master by her will makes what could not be molded to the driven man…the hard man.

Perfection comes in many shades in the ways of the weary soul, I see and yet give way to the mirage in deep thirst and delirium. I know your face as the one and only, even if you know not I exist.

It’s to the will of it to dream the dream of the most beautiful, even if she’s not yours and can never be. A man can not be one, without a sacred thing to love even in a quest.

I feel the pains in the contortions of love. I see the exorcism of the heart to the soul open handed. Love…love…love…Oh! how I hate to love so much, an image I’ve never seen in real form which is you my dusky hue.

I say one day before the howling moon rises, I shall pull the hard drink before I die thinking you will be before me by mornings light and kissing sun.

You my dusky hue, my dream that’s kept me driven to the hard life. I worn by the saddle eating sand by the pound, sand by the day. It’s worth it to me to be what I must, in this world revolving around me.

I shall live till I die for just one silhouette of you, in the open plains watching waiting for me at least in my dreams of perfection… I live to die, always to you my dusky hue.

By Renee Bousquet

Read Poetry: THE DREAM FLIGHT, by NIKITA HEMANI

In the dim lights of those deep dark nights,
I kept scuffling some imaginary fights.

In my mind, there’s a riptide,
It didn’t let your thoughts rest aside.

It screwed up my mind,
And eventually gave a chill down my spine.

I was scared to board my dream flight,
Cause i was afraid of those heights.

But the dilemma required me only to chase those heights,
To let me assure that our dreams decorated there, are all fine.

So, putting all the guts from my side,
I decided to catch my own dream flight.
Because I’ve never liked,
If the nightmares dared to snatch my rights.

Suddenly, the flight took me off,
To fly on the cloud nine.
And showed me how the stars shine bright,
That too, on the same scary night.

PENNED BY- NIKITA HEMANI
INSTA HANDLE- @nicky_hemani

Read Poetry: August 14th, by Christian Castaneda

I fought bears to reach the peak.
My worst enemy, conquered.
At peace within, I’ve killed the ego and faced the shadows.
Serene and Whole.
Symbolic, Spiritual & Infinite.
Rightfully so, the views and gifts fit for all the kings and queens.
Among the peaks, hawks own their flight.
Gliding in their freedom.
Emotional baggage dropped, eloquently drifted,
Reminiscing on those shooting stars, the final night.
I have forgiven myself, so let’s sit in our power;
Vast, Just, Beautiful & Thankful.

Poetry by Avijeet Das

“From centuries ago before the dawn of civilization, I have been wandering. I am the wanderer. I can’t stay at one place. I am destined to wander from place to place!

And I keep wandering in search of a nothingness. The river embraces me and guides me to swim inside her and to drink the nectar of love from her bosom. She tells me her secrets and I tell her mine. She makes me sensitive and soft.

The mountain greets me with respect and guides me to traverse the rocks and crevices of its body! He is strong and vigorous and he appreciates my stamina and toughness.

After dusk in the night, the stars smile at me and they show me light to travel in the darkness. They tell me their stories and I tell them mine.

The moon embalms me with her love and she kisses me good night. The nightingale sings her song of love when I take rest in the arms of darkness in the night!

And after the dawn of the morning, the sun greets me and acknowledges my spirit and strength!
I am the wanderer and I keep wandering in search of a nothingness.

I am the wanderer and wandering is my destiny!”

― Avijeet Das

Read Poetry by Girish Gupta

I walk in the shadow of a cloud

of you, of your memories screaming loud

Of us, of that night and of the pedals of my car

Of my foot on accelerator while the break’s a little far

Of you, and of your pain and of your hand on mine

Of the world slowing down, of being lost in time

Of me withering away, of not being dead yet not alive

Of grabbing the keys that night saying “I’ll drive”

Of your eyes not shining as you lay on your bed

Of you unable to hear my apology being said

Of you in a coma, while I got away with just a scar

Of how different we were, yet how similar we are

You lie there silent while i read poems of you

Of the bracelet you had, and I did too

Of us and friendship and how faithful you are

Of how I’m still sad, and you’re my only star

I wanna see you smile, jumping away every noon

But all I can yet say is that I hope you get well soon

Read Poem: THE SWAN, by Jackie M

The Swan glides effortlessly across the River
The only sign, rings on the water that look as though the River shivers

Six cygnets by their side
Protecting their young, their eyes cast far and wide.
Fear for their young makes them angry
Makes them shriek and shrill
Don’t get too close they will bite you with their bill

On a good day though, you will see them, displaying their feathers magnificently
Wings out wide and neck held high
As they prepare to leave the waters and take to the sky

The Swan so full of grace
You really do enhance our space.

Read Poem: Gyroidal Women, by Aurora Eden

It comes as no surprise that we turn away from this whirl
How we burn and turn through the Kali Yuga,
Spinning as women do

As the time comes to observe what we’re making
With our hands and breath—
Past enemy lines.

And we contemplate how to strengthen the torus field—
How to turn inward and see
With the heart.

It is the Gyroidal Women, they are crowning the men
Who have risen and dared to serve and protect
The holy of holies, the golden spiral of women.

As it comes as fire and ice, on the days of trial and tribulation
Yet, embedded in the feminine will, is the courage to preserve
The web of life, on earth as in heaven.

Planets rotate from inner space; they sing above the ashes
Miles of walking and talking at the cost of our lives
To hear the quiet humming of the mother’s wrath.

Read Poem: HE LOOKS HUMAN TO ME, by Elly Paul A. Tomas

the news megaphones he is sporting a new look
i wanted to react like WTF, is that even news?

he is buying wet market carcasses in candid photos

gamely

like it was not expected for him to do so
like he is not eating
like he lives on astronaut’s food pills

but Pablo Neruda would probably say
“at least, it’s no longer a difficult time for him”

and sure enough, i would agree

i would agree.

Read Poem: OUR LEGACY?, by Andrew Smith

I think about the future,
I think about the past,
I think about the little ones,
That seem to grow up fast,
I think about their years to come,
And the world in which they’ll live,
And I think about the legacy,
Our generation hopes to give.

But what will be that legacy,
That gift we’ll leave behind,
These things we deem important,
For the furtherance of mankind,
As we rush headlong in denial,
See things through blinkered eyes,
And in our wake we’ll leave dead seas,
And toxic polluted skies.

We’ll kill off the pollinators,
Raise the forests to the ground,
We’ll build our concrete jungles,
And say that they’re New Towns,
An opportunity for all to live,
How can we be so blind,
To destroy the things that we all need,
For the future of mankind.

So I think about the future,
And I think about the past,
I think of all the little ones,
That may not grow so fast,
For their future is looking bleaker,
Unless we open our eyes to see,
That a sad and dying planet,

Will be the legacy that we’ll leave