The Bangalore Review

You said yes because you believed it would flood you with shiver broken glass blizzard colored not ash showered Schindler but 2001 What Shall We..

Here is nothing that burns yellow giving the light that raised civilisations and enabled following civilisations to see it happening.   Yellow, the colour of..

They were debating what poetry should do best. One says that it should break the shackles of papers strip the oppressive paperback clothing run through..

My son has ears filled with light It is filled so hard with light it Shuts out the noise. I pray he heals of blindness,..

As a pair of overworn ghungroos, their gentle patter across the linoleum floor. My master’s feet fluttering around the room in circles. The poetry of..

I sit at the edge of my driveway drinking an apple juicebox, staring at my purple toenails. I’m eighteen but parts of me have never..

Born 1931 Here, by afternoon the sun slants down like candelabra; heart of mangoes shimmied fairy dust on her back. My grandmother picks the thumba..

I sat at the bar between two men ones ear had recently been cut off he still wore the bandages and the other had one..

A water tank for Allauddin Khilji now stinks of affluence- melts old in new. Memory snakes in through these yellow tunnels like a ghost in..

I see that everything you’ve done is gentle. Let me die gently. Let me breathe a long cotton breath and be done with it. Don’t..