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Shweta Mishra

Shweta Mishra

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And not for souls…
Somehow stuck at the first step
Fought battles
For some cause
The cause unreal
Killed mirrored real
Left nothing on the ground
The same dust and air
The same haloed obsolete
They tried to live with high heads
Until they butchered all around
The matter hung around necks
And on the ground
All were grounded to the same
All dead and dark
All shoulderless Atlases

Some egos of different earths
Some politics for unknown futures
Some hoards for unnecessary powers
Has kept us meandering
Our minds looped
We caught

And earth still smiling

The Atlases don’t realize
That shattered and scattered pieces
Cannot be arranged and carried
It will re-join and shape itself
All buried in space
And floating
How would you hold that
Which is no more
How would you hold that
Which is free spirited

You find glory
And let yourself be worshipped
As it allowed you to derive
It decides no more to be

Hollow beings
Self-declared Gods
Settle your bodies
As the earth smiles

Purer than White

When the light was white
The curtains made it blue
The doors
And windows open
To the sky

I died each time
I wrote
To create a new self
And when breath came
From that opening
On the roof top
I found broken
Striving for space to stand

It was good
To die and resurrect
To breathe in pieces

Each time I died
My words lived
And light shone
This time it was pure
Purer than white
And crossed
the opaque walls


Sometimes it was too dark around me
Sometimes it was too unclear
I found that it was not good to be real
Not good to let them know you’re
The darkness reflected a rebel
Who couldn’t stand and shout
Those hours when it was darker than night
Darker than eyes
Darker than lie
Darker than betrayal
Darker than treachery
Darker than evil
Darker than hell
I breathed in hatred
I took all that was ill
When my eyes bled the darkness
The rebel collapsed
Death darker than death


Young and pregnant with dreams
I sang poems on paper
Words wrapped and folded
Hidden from the eyes
Sailed and rocked

Many a words
clung by my side
and crawled onto me
I picked and cradled them on sheets

I then wrinkled the sheets
With mine own hands
And made sharks of water
And eagles of sky
As the sharks dissolved and
Eagles melted away
I saw them on leaves
And flowers
As mist and dew
I saw them as shining twinkling bodies
In air and clouds
I saw them in mud and rocks

My dreams in me
My words everywhere
Suspended somewhere…



Charanjeet Kaur: Editorial

Nicholas Grene: In Conversation with Pawan Kumar
Sami Ahmad Khan: In Discussion with Atreya Sarma

Literary Essay
Aditya Kumar Panda: Meaning and Limits
Ananya Dutta Gupta: Tagore – a Muse or Guardian?

Literary Articles
Animesh Bag & Gobinda Banik: Restless Hollow in The Circle of Reason
Anushree Thareja: The Agony of Being Adivasi
Archana Gupta: Love and Desire in Amrita Pritam’s The Revenue Stamp
I Watitula Longkumer & Nirmala Menon: Mamang Dai’s The Black Hill
Irina Talashi: Kashmiri Proverbs
Juri Dutta: Ideological Conflicts in Birendra Bhattacharya’s fiction
S K Sagir Ali: Short Stories of Afsar Ahmed
Soumana Biswas: Impact of Testimonies in Partition Fiction
Sumallya Mukhopadhyay: Of Forgotten Histories

Book Reviews
Ananya Sarkar: The Liberation of Sita (Volga)
Anubhav Pradhan: Personal and National Destinies in Independent India: A Study of Selected Indian English Novels
Atreya Sarma U: Not Just Another Story (Subhash Chandra)
Gopal Lahiri: Kautik on Embers (Uddhav J Shelke’s Marathi novel trans. by Shanta Gokhale)
Mala Pandurang: Home Between Crossings (Sultan Somjee)
Mona Dash: Spark of Light (Short fiction by women writers from Odisha)
Sobia Abdin: Four Degrees of Separation (Rochelle Potkar)

Ambika Ananth: Editorial Comment
Arunima Takiar
Debatri Das
Maere Damisr
Parvinder Mehta
Sheel Galada
Shernaz Wadia
Shweta Mishra
Venkata Chandeeswar
Zinia Mitra

Smitha Sehgal: Editorial Musings
Jayaram Vengayil: Such a Short Journey
Mondit M Mahanta: Frangipani
Nabanita Sengupta: The Game
Narayani Das: The Little Girl
Nilutpal Gohain: The Sacrifice
Sangeeth Simon: Platform

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