By Sukla Singha
Shakuntala Road reeks of stale gerberas and lilies.
It silently awaits July rains, wedding
invitations and dead bodies,
in no particular order.
By Raza Naeem
The child laughed a lot watching the peacock dance
As if in those large eyes
Filling all the peacock’s colours
The light beating of the awakened tiny soft palm
Broke the swaying jungle’s calm.
By Somrita Ganguly
I hear the historians discuss history
I hear the linguists discuss etymology
I hear politicians talk about patriotism and nationalism
And wonder where my allegiance lies
বাংলাদেশ/مشرقی پاکستان/ हिंदुस्तान
Bharat/ India/ Hindustan.
By Varsha Sundriyal
Wives tearing their hair out.
Not sindoor but blood on heads.
Clutching their tattered clothes running for their lives.
Hiding children on their breast shielding them from the bullets.
By Sourav Debnath
Never have I thought home as home
Until I was dragged out from mine own.
In that unconscious, uncertain turn,
I left my home to burn.
By Madhusudan Lama
They make me stand
Beside a cracked wall
Memento of a recent earthquake
And make me smile
Click click click…
By Man Prasad Subba
With a flick of the remote control
I teleport myself
to an entertainment channel
And to another whisky
Contents - Faiz Ahmed Faiz (Issue 14)
By Pooja Garg Singh
In this Café Dissensus issue on Faiz, we bring together essays on Faiz’s life and on his poetry of love and protest. The essays, stories, and poems in the second half of the issue are inspired by Faiz’s poetry.
By Ali Madeeh Hashmi
It has been more than three decades since Faiz’s death in Lahore. “Subh-e Aazadi” remains as relevant as ever, sixty eight years after Pakistan came into being. If anything, the sorrows and agonies of Faiz’s native land have intensified and perhaps this time it is Faiz, like Waris Shah, who is being asked to ‘speak from inside his grave’.