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Aftab Rizvi, Toronto-based motivational speaker, writer and satirist reads poet Vineet Panchhi’s poem Baap aur Beta’. Who is Vineet Panchhi? Vineet Kumar Kamal Nain ‘Panchhi’ (born August 13, 1974) is
Continue readingAftab Rizvi’s Recital of ‘Baap Aur Beta’ by Poet Panchhi
Wars and crises tend to reveal the true, unrivaled power of art, which is often the last redoubt of freedom in the face of the suffering that such politicians cause. … Continue readingWhen Art Is All That Remains
I sangto atoms emptied in a mother’s feetreplicating the prosody of Adhān itselfthe dust trembling like a lost childburgeoning parable-like when her feetshot up vertically & as her facedescended to
I am taken with the hot animalof my skin, grateful to swing my limbs and have them move as I intend, thoughmy knee, though my shoulder, though somethingis torn or
Continue readingSunday Poem: The Moon Rose Over the Bay. I Had a Lot of Feelings.
A big bush called to a tree man: Hey tree,what are you doing up there? Are you justdoing a dance move? Are you just doing theABCs, like the letters? I don’t
Our era is dyingyet who has killed it?Have we, who are it? In the middle of voluted spaceits knell has struck.And in the middle of every atom, which is the
Leo Robson in Sidecar: It has not materialised in any formal sense, and the term is not in use. As a mode of classification, the idea of succession, one cohort
Continue readingIs there a ‘Seventh Generation’ of Chinese film-makers?
On Seeing Bahadur Shah ZafarThe Last Mughal Emperor1775 – 1862 The king is a subject—A worldReversed Son of a pig—A viceroy will take pleasureIn a king exposed Bolstered on a
by Vivian Huang (age 15): a contrapuntal poem dedicated to my family. —from 2024 Rattle Young Poets Anthology Why do you like to write poetry?Vivian Huang: “I like to write poetry
I hear flowing notes.smooth and soothing cool.They rush through my earsand filter my brainof all anxieties.I feel relaxed-calmas after heroinor salicylate. A violin it’s now.a sitar also.Lifeless dreams becomeliving, and
My view is of nothingother than the black dot of Icarushung beneath the canopy of awax wing in a field of grey,a boy suspended by invisiblefilaments thinner than humanhairs strung