I don’t remember when they took it down. We asked the building supervisor, the cleaners, anyone who would listen, but nobody had a clue.

Seek if you must If you believe the truth shall set you free And then? We heal.

Football, bloody hell! Like the chapters of a book, slowly unfolding towards the eventual climax, this edition of the World Cup has been nothing short of breathtaking. From gorgeous goals to late drama, with a few major upsets sprinkled throughout, this year’s World Cup has probably been the most spectacular iteration of football’s greatest tournament.

It's June–the first day of Summer, You have never come home empty-handed, And I stand by our apartment door, Eye the lift as it totes between floors.

December 24 had always been one of the most awaited days of the year for us. The grand birthday cake for Jesus' birthday, the roasted sausages and meatloaves, and finally, a house-favourite, narrating the story of the Three Wise Men–that is how I had spent Christmas Eve for as long as I could remember.

Returning for its 4th instalment, December's Slam Poetry Nights was different in several ways.

Catch more ghost stories like this from the winners of 'Winter Night Ghost Stories' competition all throughout winter, every weekend, here.

I saw a leaf falling yesterday. The wind took the leaf on its back then disappeared.

Luna strode then to the river’s bank, her loose-fitting blouse and petticoat flapping in the breeze that had speedily arrived. Her nupur, fashioned from mollusk shells, sounded in the wind like wind chimes, and more so when she moved.

I smoked and we stared. We stared and I smoked. One cigarette after another. To this day I’m not certain how the next two hours had passed, but I will never forget the blank look in its eyes and something that resembled a sneer that I never saw on Liton Mia’s face before.

She reminds me of Desdemona,/ A character, a wife, a tramp, but never human! So maybe she was a witch, / Maybe sirens were witches too,

bits and pieces of her day/ get stuck in her hair/ she carries grief quietly

Dickinson shows that mellifluousness of language is what gives a heightened attribute to the essence of a poesy.

The chilliness of the room was unpleasant since I had woken up.

Thoughts of a devoted poet

She remembers the window, A bright envelope opened and gleamed In the dark railway carriage. Its rectangular frame cut back every irrelevant, Decapitated all remainders. Outside an intemperate sky painted everything blue And looked her on the nose.

Writer and academic Elora Shehabuddin has lived in a number of countries and had a fair share of exposure to multicultural environments. Her lived experience must have proved helpful in bringing in a comprehensive perspective to the discussion in Sisters in the Mirror: A History of Muslim Women and the Global Politics of Feminism (University of California Press 2021; University Press Limited 2022).  

Carving mysterious runes with bones A pentagram etched in my soul Pulling on the blistered sinews Of Desperately unrestrained sins

What moon might mean to you

Shamim Reza's poetry is defined by an ethical and religious soul, an undoubtedly attribute of the legendary mystics of India. Gods not only summon us to sing to them, but they also ask us to share such ethics where love and sensuality are fused. That is, precisely, the great contribution of the Sufis and the Baüls. The poetry and artistic language proposed by Reza expresses the affections of a mystical land, its gods, its love for the sacred word and the sacred life that is the human life. Love is a way of expressing feelings, but also is a mechanism of philosophical and poetic knowledge. Love is a way of life: Poetry and music thus constitute an ethical way of living in community.