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| Acuff, Gale |
| Ahearn, Edward |
| Beckman, Paul |
| Berriozábal, Luis Cuauhtémoc |
| Burke, Wayne F. |
| Bushloper, Lida |
| Campbell, J J |
| Clifton, Gary |
| Costello, Bruce |
| Crist, Kenneth James |
| De Anda, Victor |
| DeGregorio, Anthony |
| Dorman, Roy |
| Ebel, Pamela |
| Fahy, Adrian |
| French, Steven |
| Graysol, Jacob |
| Grey, John |
| Hagerty, David |
| Held, Shari |
| Helden, John |
| Holtzman, Bernice |
| Huffman, Tammy |
| Hubbs, Damon |
| Johnston, Douglas Perenara |
| Kitcher, William |
| Kirchner, Craig |
| Kummerer, Louis |
| LeDue, Richard |
| Lewis, James H. |
| Lukas, Anthony |
| Lyon, Hillary |
| Middleton, Bradford |
| Molina, Tawny |
| Newell, Ben |
| Petyo, Robert |
| Plath, Rob |
| Radcliffe, Paul |
| Rodriquez, Albert |
| Rosenberger, Brian |
| Rosmus, Cindy |
| Russell, Wayne |
| Sarkar, Partha |
| Sesling, Zvi A. |
| Sheff, Jake |
| Sheirer, John |
| Simpson, Henry |
| Snethen, Daniel G. |
| Teja, Ed |
| Tures, John A. |
| Tustin, John |
| Waldman, Dr. Mel |
| Al Wassif, Amirah |
| Wesick, Jon |
| Wilhide, Zach |
| Williams, E. E. |
| Wiseman-Rose, Sophia |
| Zelvin, Elizabeth |
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Pus or cancer—I vote neither by Partha Sarkar I am in the sun. The green bird at the window—The beautiful
fragrance from the east. (rippling the grasshopper’s
alphabet.) I am in the sun. The white clouds over
my face— Glorious jasmine brings Unknown imagination from birth. I learn my first lesson. I am in the sun. The birds are flying to and fro—Innocent Pegasus
Goes beyond human liberation. I follow it as far as I can. . . . And then a knock on
the door. Does one call me? I peep outside. No, it is no one. It is something. It is
the election. Will
I tell it to go back Or kick
it on its back?
A play in the street
by Partha Sarkar
The silent
cosmos.
Another day
clamors with a different invitation
To join the
tent full of permanent refugees.
But a question
haunts–Is the rendezvous a friendly
one?
No answer
But a dead
telegram and
“Turn
the page if you can, Good Samaritan . . .”
A call from
a crawling potter with muddy hands.
None feel
sorry for the pigeon that has lost its
way
To return
to its nest.
Partha Sarkar, a resident of Ichapur, a small
town of a province West Bengal of India, is a graduate who writes poems inspired by his
brother, the late Sankar Sarkar, and his friends (especially Deb kumar Khan) to protest
against social injustice and crimes against nature. His poems have been in different magazines
both in Bangla and in English. He once believed in revolution but now he is confused
because of the obscurity of human beings, though he keeps the fire in his soul
despite this.
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In Association with Fossil Publications
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