Raise no alarm, if on a night dimly lit,

That night, the wind howled like the wolves as Shyam and Alameen rowed silently, their boat traversing through the misty air and the water rippling gently beneath them.

A star fell on the ground in the windy night

Glamorous lightweight raindrops  from the October sky keep 

As I read Subimal Misra–I was therefore seized by the urge to bring out his stories, or "anti-stories", in graphic form

The question here should be: Why does the nationality of the poet matter if the sentiment and emotional dimensions are the central focus that keeps the dynamic of a national anthem active?

As if playing a game of chess / Still the world waits for the next dawn

The audience for the jatra was all any Marxist theatre director in Kolkata could have wished for.

The recent attack on “Amar Shonar Bangla” stems from this type of attempt to categorise the national anthem, leading to further allegations against it

Don’t you see— I can only write dark. 

Saikat Majumdar writes with a sharp poignancy that arrows straight to the core of the heart.

This is the third and final part of “Storm Child”, serialised here on Star Literature

August, marked with dying things. Summer’s end, / My freedom spent

Eternity collapses at the wheel of change. / Past is lost

Markan didn't have an answer. The word "Arakan" felt distant, like something from a dream he couldn't quite remember

If such writers lived in, and contributed to the literary legacy of, other countries, I will offer a compromise and propose a hyphenated identity.

but i can't. i cannot be bothered to find / meaning behind the faults in my father's eyes

Hark! / Busy work of Hands

It feels like only two days ago that my dadu was still here, worrying I’d always be too short like her.

teardrops trickling down / the valley / mingling with the static— / hollow waves of Kaptai lake