Lit Poetry

I wonder why they brought me here, leaving me to rot in this odious jail My biggest crime: wanting justice and basic human rights India’s freedom...

Hello little map, You stamp. A reminder of that time newspaper got stuck, in the same destination and we ripped it off, At bandaid speed, Teething marks of an...

I have decided to reopen that book— the one I abandoned, early last summer, heeding the advice of Suzy and Barbara, and the New York Times reviewer who...

Writing is waking up in the middle of the night with a sentence, a beginning, hanging from your fingers, the whole story still a...

Burgundy bricks and feathers, Will always be symbols of silence to me. We lived in a house built of burgundy bricks. It was a little ranch...

In my house, a cup of tea prepared by the 17-year-old me is appreciated more than my poetry. Strange women with magnifiers instead of eyes scrutinize what I cook best and...

I am small...a speck in the grandeur of your life, already a distant dream ......fading .........................fleeting But you are statuesque and still, a slab of pure marble, unadulterated, unaltered,...

There is a line going through us with words on either side confidence or arrogance bravery or stupidity helping or enabling perseverance or foolishness and others spoken as if it were...

She breathed and the trees sighed in unison, She blinked and the stars flickered back. She laughed and the birds sang along. She touched the universe with...

Her chair was placed by the window so she could face the outside though there was nothing much to see but the yard, a tree, an empty driveway. Her...