The top selections in poetry, flash fiction and artwork for Day 2 of the Sehri Tales challenge; prompt: Candle.

That evening, a blade sliced through string, through skin, red on red on red. Kutta, the man in khaki says. It is only later I realize it is me he is calling dog. Dog. Dog.

Using a Fulbright fellowship, Tarfia decided to come to Bangladesh to research the war and interview the women whom the Bangladesh government, in 1972, titled Birangona (war heroines). These interviews resulted in 'Seam' (Southern Illinois University Press, 2014).

my eyes can barely take the weight of sleep/ now/ now that you are wording sentences on wars

Watch this print space for the Talespeople's weekly reflections on creative writing.

How can you talk about peace without taking into account war? Both are subjects not only of Tolstoy’s great novel but also of the two founding epic poems of Greek as well as Indian literature.

On moonlit nights when the perfume of the roses thickened the air, I was in a trance, an ecstasy of body and mind. The beauty of the night has held an allure for me my whole life.

The top selections in poetry, flash fiction and artwork for Day 1 of the Sehri Tales challenge; prompt: Begin

“How tragic it would be if you were wasted”, made me smile in a melancholic way. I know moments when “unnecessary things are our only necessities”. And I’ve not been hesitant to give “rebellion its fascination” and “disobedience its charm.”

The verses remind us that a withering, war-torn Earth can still birth new life and hopes of freedom.

Today, I am no dead man. But I am not happy, I will not lie to you.

When Coke Studio Bangla released Meghdol’s Bonobibi, their second song of season 2, listeners found themselves torn between loving the song and questioning it. Questioning as to why the song was done under the banner of Coke Studio, a project funded by an American-based multinational corporation; questioning what qualifies Meghdol, a band known for singing about urban life in Dhaka city, to sing about tales originating in the Sundarbans; and why the song didn’t delve deeper into the history and background of the stories they were trying to tell. It has raised a wider question about how music plays a role in storytelling.

Great Man, now that you are dead, allow me to squeeze your hand. The sage bushes in Umbria are heavy with bees, so I’m killing them with hypnosis.

Indigenous women are read even less. There are multiple root causes–lack of editorial support for indigenous authors writing in their mother tongues, the predominance of oral traditions, gender inequality and bias.

I spent the whole day running on the roads near Ramna park. Riding a bicycle alone through the narrow alleys of Mohammadpur without the fear of anyone jumping out at me from the corners.

I hurt my left knee quite seriously but was too afraid of my father to tell anyone about it. I thought the fault was mine, as though my injury was some kind of crime. So for several days I wore long dresses and kept my knee hidden from everyone even as the wound became infected and the bone began to show.

In celebration of Gabriel Garcia Márquez, born on this day, March 6, 1927.

You do not read Plath,/ Nor Milton./ Or Wordsworth./ Or Shakespeare. What do you read?/ Newspapers, current affairs,/ How to be great when you're good.

A daughter reflects on time and Bengali culture as she revels in the excitement of cooking her parents a meal.

Soundless on my flaking wall, you/ rest like a sniper in frigid fear,