To the One Who Had to Grieve the Parent They Never Really Had You call them......

A pillar, monk-grey, still standing,while the slumbering flesh of stone collapsesinto the slow erasure of desire.Hannah......

Every day, the windows fill with lavender light—I bite my lips, then rinse my face, brush......

po-yum  the whistle blows and the po-yum immediately writes itself in Malayalam slangs of old. I’ve located such blankness......

pp.20-21 Actually, within a few months of her marriage to Giyas Ali, Akina Bibi had understood......

My love for Leila was the fiercest it had ever been on the first Saturday of......

The house rumbled as Nissa pulled a piece of wood out from the wall. Wrapped in......

Afghani poet Parwana Fayyaz’s poem Three Dolls is shaped by her lived experiences of war, exile......

If writing is protest, then writing hope is a powerful, reverberating protest amidst the din of......

The 25th of November 2024 dawns like any other Monday. At a quarter to eight, Mr......