- Details
- Written by: Milan Rajkumar
Battle of Imphal –
written on a soldier's grave
'Known Unto God'
Once again, I flip through the worn-out pages of the big volume of WWII. It's not the strategies or forces of the Allied and Axis powers that intrigue me, but rather the aftermath and human conditions. Leaving behind their families and loved ones, the soldiers came in droves and made the soil red.
archive photos—
forgotten tales fading
in monochrome
- Details
- Written by: Sandip Chauhan
In my dream, I walk through the azure days of my childhood. The gentle breeze carries the sweet fragrance of jasmine petals, mingling with the scent of blooming gulmohar trees. Days when weddings were arranged, and old copper pots and gleaming silver spoons bore new names. The gentle sound of mom's hands rolling out rotis fills the kitchen, as I watch them rise in the warmth of the hearth.
autumn dusk
stars settle gently
in open palms
Having crossed many oceans, the homeland I left behind is a soft echo—its presence lingering in my heart. Suspended between two worlds—past and present—I feel the lingering taste of pomegranates, a gentle brush of that distant home.
gentle whispers
the ocean’s pull
in a quiet room
- Details
- Written by: Lavana Kray
Day after day, after day, after day, until one day...
And then, not even a day goes by and someone
(someone else) comes to clean up the place...
Few garbage bags: our memories.
rustling shadows –
an origami crane
through the shredder
- Details
- Written by: Joanna Delalande (prose) & Oscar Luparia (haiku)
Here where I live, it seldom snows. Sometimes tiny flakes fall from the sky unexpectedly, only to disappear just as quickly, leaving no trace. Just an old photo I saw this morning was enough to make the memory of a real winter come alive. This view recalled snowy stretches shimmering gently in the January sun, footprints left by the crows, and the silence that accompanies the infinite whiteness, the moments I long for . . .
It was a time of long walks and small joys. Also today, I celebrate this ritual from the past, I lightly follow a familiar path, feeling a hint of spring. It is like a different land of small vegetable patches covered at present with the remains of last year's harvest, fruit trees, and a pergola where vines grow whenever the weather is mild. And a pond with redfish. Nature is never in a hurry. Even the raindrops slowly fall from the last leaves. Here and now: the moment I am living.
still winter
a lonely chirping
colors the day