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By Chandramohan S
Issue no. 11
Every river in my landIs a pulsating relic of anEpic outliving its origin.
By Sonnet Mondal
The mango tree which I rearedis lost today somewhere in the jungle of my wishes.
By Pitambar Naik
Water has no colour, sky is not a trousseau it’s the likeliness of MF Hussain’s paintings
By Salil Chaturvedi
It's hard going to the marsh with her.It's mid-day. We are at my secretplace and the white lilies are in bloom.
Issue no. 10
from thisgreatheight Ijettison(lavender-smelling Kiran, are you listening?)my seed into thenight of Mumbai towards theovum of earth
By Mrinalini Harchandrai
They step outwhen you sleepor you’ve left the housewe gauge their sizefrom whorls in flouror ant lines to fallen honey
By Rochelle Potkar
Waters when they evaporate, meet …at a global conference, to speak of fish dropouts
By Marinella Proenca
The cogu echoes its koyal songglibly — pitching its scores along spring’s tapestry: of birthing pods
By Paresh Tiwari
Issue no. 9
Someday, you may find the rain knocking on your window, seeking shelter for the night. ‘I am being hunted like a wild beast,’ it may say in a small voice dripping with the smell of desolation and musty fables.
By Saima Afreen
Our bodies are waterwaiting to dockat the shoresand give the voyage its closure.It didn’t happen.