You have gifted me rainy day's First Kadam flower, O my beloved I offer you songs of monsoon rain.

A convergence of religions through Dharma, not swords. Friendship as an expression of political resistance.

People my age are one of the last few generations that grew up in Dhaka without twenty-four hour television or the Internet. We would read.

They had set sail in hope in dinghies or rickety boats,

I would love to be proven wrong that day,

This week Shahpar Selim does a double take on a childhood favourite, reminding us that while we are ‘LOLing’ at the world around us (or in our computers), we must remember to laugh at ourselves too.

He seemed to be in a paradoxical state of discomfort and pleasure. “It's as if you've never tasted anything spicy before,” I said. “You have to pay for that, mind you.” “Of course I will,” he grinned. Soon enough, the hot sauce began its attack and he began to draw in cool air to soothe his burning tongue. “Oi, give me a cold Coke!” “All right, hold your horses.” I replied, walking over to the refrigerator. A few minutes later he had emptied the bottle. I shook my head at him wearily.

The beeps of the monitors were mute for him. Everything was fading away.

Many years had passed since I last saw him. He used to sit under the bridge during the hot summer days; the quintessential jhaal-muri-wala.

From my balcony I look down at

I wept endlessly the day I turned twenty-two,

I wish I could, Fly for 22 days like a bird!

Here are the winners of our latest SLR writing competition.

Amidst the endless contest for power, every nation-state is beset with insurgencies. A casualty in these conflicts is often the freedom of thought and expression.

I miss my unborn child

She believed she was about thirty

This week we welcome back the ever-prolific poet and academic Kaiser Haq tracing lines of connection between the wireless and the lyrical.

The amount of poetry on the net is simply staggering. All the great and popular poems we have – or ought to have – read are a mouse click away.

Should a writer write to please the reader or himself/herself?

The alarm rings at the crack of dawn, but my body and mind fight.