Contents: Poetry and the City (Issue 60)
By Sayan Aich Bhowmik
Not only do we have poets addressing the glitz and glamour and the neon-lit airspace of the cities, we also have poignant expressions of the loneliness and the solitude that such a life brings with it.
By Ritoshree Chatterjee
Neon-signs, parrot-green prostitutes rise –
Office-cubicles, ghosts, dust, skyscrapers rise
Mud-jargons, brittle-boned city-slickers rise
Only our shadows shorten each day.
By Amit Ranjan
I had wished this curved road may manifest often
To fly through my exclusive clouds
And so it did, with elephants in the sky
And unearthly sunsets
And I exited completely once to swallow
An ocean whole.
By Malini Bhattacharya
Six days’ pounding
And the house is dust
A farrago of wood bits and metal
By Bhaswati Ghosh
Once, during August afternoons,
when monsoon licked the
city's streets silver, the air
danced wearing jamun
By Abhay K
I sense your changing mood,
your lingering lust
for blood and wealth,
and your deadliest addiction—
By Maaz Bin Bilal
Opposite the college stands in the middle of the street, a monument unremarked, unnoticed, unremarkable, unglanced. Colloquially called Khooni Darwaza, the Bloody Gate
By Sumana Roy
I’ve watched you like I have this city –
like a mason without a job,
pairing without repairing,
knowing that I was only
laying roads on water.
By Aditi Dhabe
And it’s quiet,
a thumping of sorts.
A man stands outside a shop window and I bang open my apartment.
By Aekta Khubchandani
Smoke, and you’re full of sweat
and haze, only washing hands
in cold water is real. You feel like fireworks
on a cold night in Manhattan.
By Mandira Mitra
Hour long shower has turned thoroughfares
To estuaries coursing around narrow lanes, behind
A synagogue of dreams.