Hospital As I walked past the mortuary room The morticians were busy picking a coffin And, so were other staff in their roles like there is no tomorrow. I felt like life is nothing But the package of melancholies. As I walked past the psyche- ward I saw miserable souls being bruised Inside the prison of bones and flesh My eyes welled-up with tears Upon seeing their pathos-ridden lives. As I walked past the Emergency I saw the grannies were crying Because of their terminal illness I fast forwarded my life and implanted the futuristic suffering within me. Thus, envisioned the borders between life and death. As I walked past the maternity ward The mother was crying owing to labour Upon receiving the bundle of love Her tears dried up and smile colonized her Facial –geography. After all, hospital is the fountain of knowledge To learn the eclectic mix of philosophies I was enlightened upon observing The hustle and bustle in and around hospital.
Uncategorized
Kushal Poddar
The Obscene Gesture of A Milestone Although the lines these lanes draw meet at the eternity We do not see that while parallel-driving. Then, our ignorance holds more truths than some knowledge and a theory. We pass a few grazing cows, drills, a mill without a single operating hand and some trees withered and waiting. As we drive the first rain hits our car roofs as if clouds have borne the long-term wait's weight until We drive past a certain milestone. Shouldn't it state the distance to eternity? Instead, one digit almost erased expresses an obscenity.
Alan Catlin
The ones with no souls always come in pairs, making the night club scene their own personal floor show, wearing wraparounds so dark they need guide dogs to find a free place at the bar, wear too much makeup and a scent that lingers for days after they go. He wears a too-tight black, silk shirt that would have looked ridiculous on someone ten years younger than he was and his woman looks like a fashion plate left behind at a banquet in the 30’s someone forgot to clean up after, cloaked in the fur of an endangered species that slides down her bare shoulders to reveal designer logo skin art that does everything but glow in the dark. It’s a tossup which one’s nose will begin to bleed first, given how much abuse their sinus cavities have been made to endure. Manage to order something that goes unheard in the din of the band and the strangled-by-professionals voice, imitating songs, she has no business listening to, much less singing. Barely notice their bartender’s choice cocktails in front of them, in fancy glasses, you could have poured expensive poison in, and it would have been acceptable as long as the look was right. They sip and smile, content in their self-contained vacuum sucking everything into the black hole of their lives; all of us there the same, even me, behind the bar, maybe even, me worst of all because I knew better and I still didn’t care.
J.J. Campbell
a little too easy for me my therapist worries that the suicide poems come a little too easy for me that makes me laugh she should be worried how hard the love poems are to come to me death is a natural ending any hack can string a few words together on that love is some fucking mystery that seems to slip away from me like a hardened criminal i know, it all comes back to a shitty childhood
Matt Borczon
I called home At four o clock in the morning because of the nine hour time difference between Afghanistan and the United States it was winter in the desert no snow but a cold like you never feel off Lake Erie I pass a group of village elders sleeping on the ground in light robes and turbans In front of the hospital their family members are staying in peaceful looks on their faces as they lay on frozen rocky ground When my wife answers the phone she always asks what are you thinking about today and I say through chattering teeth that I don’t think anybody is tough enough to take over this country.
Sayani Mukherjee
As Love Is My two penned casual curls Homeland a borderless journal People’s miscommunication Haunted blinds God's own country has fallen asleep Outside glimmering Shaping of thoughts Kites toys pencils crayon days Love’s beauty has its own bliss Torrential calmness As a fish out of water Gets water A splashing lyrical rhythm No boundaries It floats Like mothers are mothers Like children are sweet Candies soft touched skimmed milk Love’s beauty In God’s own country Only bliss of rain Amidst out of love Only Love pours.
Francesca Leader
Treat My Body Like an International House of Pancakes Pretend the pages of my menu are sticky and you don’t care why, don’t give one single fuck about hygiene because you know what you came for, and you’re starving. Make me feel as good as on those all-night college nights imbibing bottomless coffees and secondhand smoke that smelled like love, one plate of hashbrowns split five ways. Flip me. Bite me. Soak me in syrup. You, of all people, should know what I like.
Nicholas Ravnikar
Early Phantasms impressed as the sidewalk by anthills raised among cracks and old names and rock-shaped pocks the tulips peck the sky with tight mouths too sweet for the shaded passion these some trees entail a dazzled train of footprints glows to lake horizon past street signs morning leaves us too drunk always to read right, the taste of eggy sewage treatment air hung in everybody’s nose just you wait until daylight jumps over the shoreline trees to read the petals open in the privacy dawn assumes
Morley Cacoethes
Three Haikus Christian charity… all these cereal boxes and no milk to drink At the soup kitchen, I share my tuna sandwich with the alley cat. a white spot after seagull wings over the lake… stone Buddha’s third eye
Ben Newell
go the distance A liquor store has opened within walking distance of my apt. There was a time when this would have been cause for major celebration/jubilation. But no longer— These days I’m sober and hoping to stay that way. Lest walking distance becomes scuffing, stumbling, tripping, veering into the path of a speeding dump truck distance.
The Beatnik Cowboy 