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Issue 43/44 : January - June, 2009 : Volume 11 No 3/4



Tammy Nuzzo-Morgan

Let's Just Call It a Day

And here I go again
Trying to break in
Trying to break thru
Making sense at last
Making strides inward forward

And here we go again
Making love without love
Making war with no guns firing
Trying to keep the peace for peaceís sake
Trying to march forward with heads held high

And here I go again
Thinking too much
Thinking too deep
Popping another pill and all edges erase
Popping another bottle cap and all dread drowns

And here you go again
Taking another pot shot at me
Taking one more blow at my self esteem
Thinking I care anymore
Thinking I can be hurt anymore

And there we go again
Spinning our webs bigger, stronger
Spinning our heads till we canít stand up
Pointing our fingers at each other
Pointing our fingers at ourselves

And here I go again
Writing it all down for the world to read
Writing it all down for you to read
Telling the truth finally
Telling us both letís just call it a day

New York


Rob Frail

Your Morning Smile
I feel the dawn light streaming thru the crack in the blinds
I smell the coffee streaming thru the door to wake our sleepy minds
I roll over to face you, your pillows in a pile
But it's not enough to hide your morning smile

The workday is callin' us uptown, the alarm clock is in its count down
Not so fast, come on lay back down, don't bother with your nightgown
The workday world will have to wait a while, so we can greet the day in style
Give me, give me some more of that morning smile
Your morning smile won't let me sleep,

It's on your face, but it's mine to keep.
It's on your face, but it's in my eyes,
Your morning smile, for when I'm lonely,
Your morning smile, for my eyes only

Well, I guess last night got pretty wild,
Or did you dream we were stuck on a desert isle?
Or were you counting sheep through a turnstile?
Just how do you account for that morning smile?

Let's turn the clock ahead till it's Saturday,
Then we'll have a little more time to play
Not so fast, come on lay back down, don't bother with your nightgown
I'm reaching for my cell phone, but don't get your pretty head all riled
I just wanna take a picture of that morning smile
Hit the snooze again, then roll on top for a while
So that I can put my lips on your morning smile

Your morning smile won't let me sleep,
It's on your face, but it's mine to keep.
It's on your face, but it's in my eyes,
Your morning smile, for when I'm lonely,
Your morning smile, for my eyes only

For my eyes only

New York


Bishnupada Ray

Crisis
We are waiting
for the spirits to return
from the island
where they were banished
where the sea speaks
under a rainbow arch

the crystal refracting
radiation of vision
different points of view
and lucky pick of truth
to be human is to will
to will is to honor
the real self of truth
the hard way to tragedy
the eternal wrongness of original
causes are set in motion
always already like an oracle

sentries are posted
high walls are raised
culture citadel is secured
the chains of silver and gold
and high-rise obstructions
the tradition of reputation
what the world will say
mercenary commitment
and self-imposed maiming
the real self is compromised
for a damn good easy life
our collective guilt waits
for the spirits to return
to listen to what they say.

Kolkata


Kushal Poddar

More From the Attic

The drawing sheets are scattered, lying on the floor
talking their heads off in water-colored words.
The crayons, the tubes are having a bad day,
his mind is playing with the four squares of light,
the real surreal scenes that can be seen
on the little window on the east of his room.
He can draw vividly on the canvas of earth
akin to the true life he has seen so many times.
He has seen the young man from the other village
waiting at the bend of three tamarind trees
for the girl with a port wine mark on her cheek.
They can be made a charcoal sketch, softly sprayed.

Sometimes the window makes him, his attic . . . sadder
sometimes like the lost days since when the boy
the one from the next village stops coming to meet
with a lonely flower with yellow petals.
Sometimes the village embraces rain, lightning
and windows are meant to be closed, shut . . .

Kolkata

Please read more poems in English in the hardcopy...

Shabdaguchha, an International Bilingual Poetry Journal, edited by Hassanal Abdullah