Week 3 May 2023
By Vineeta Gupta, 26th May 2023
Lying by my side, I see you heaving
unobtrusively, your soft cheeks
embedded in my arm, Under
my gentle touch you
open up like the iphone — hard, brittle
inseparable — my exploring fingers
move frantically to unearth more
and more the hidden treasure
like a voracious pig, you submit
to my demands telling all
I see myself reflected in you.
My body is a leap year
By Jypthsnaphanija, 25th May 2023
I read a neon
One vertical flash of light’s
“do you feel anything”? They ask to check Real speaking of people
Just another symphony
“today you will go home”. Is what I hear. Midazolam in injection
Slowly flows. I wish to run home
With all the pins and tubes on.
They ask me about what happened to me.
I tell them everything in picture form
Starting with Eddington’s eclipse photos
Every other picture I see in cell.
What is that extra thing lying with you?
You architect of copper on a noisy crush of blackberry flowers.
By Daipayan Nair, 24th May 2023
the tea glasses
fresh harvest spread —
the quid in her vestibule
refuses to bargain
The Chattering Chipmunks
By Santosh Bakaya 23rd May 2023
Poet of the Week
Week 3, May 2023
The night tittered, hand on mouth.
The chipmunks chattered away.
Then came the monkeys screeching
All my chaotic thoughts went ominously quiet.
Jailbirds in death row.
The night watched my shenanigans.
Tittering with a dark hand on its mouth.
The fan whirred.
The lizard eyed me with interest.
The night was allowing me no rest.
Was a blizzard in the offing?
Or was it the night wizard up to its old tricks?
Clink- Clink- Clink
Someone was clinking glasses.
My mind and heart flew to that boisterous brook, now forlorn,
when the sky suddenly became overcast.
My whole body shook under that memory avalanche.
Those precious moments gone!
The waves beat relentlessly at our feet,
greeting us with robust roars.
A frog hopped around.
Hop -Hop –Hop.
Frantically hunting for its lost croaks.
“Life is a hoax” bellowed the wind.
Chop- chop – chop it went.
Always a blabbermouth.
I shook myself free of the memory shards.
As the night continued sharply shuffling cards.
The canny card – sharp !
It tittered, hand on mouth.
And then headed south,
jaywalking in invisible jocund company.
A gnarled, dark hand, on one wobbly knee.