Today’s choice
Previous poems
Ibrar Sami
Return
Across the barren land
where blood once played its savage Holi,
the fearless migratory birds
have returned again.
In the melancholy blue sky
their wings beat
with a message of arrival.
Blooming flowers fell
in the middle of the day—
they wait now
for the final hour of night.
The clouds travelled far
and came back as rain
in the twilight of monsoon.
By rivers and marshes,
at the start of the rainy season,
frogs croak endlessly—
announcing the return of peace.
The sea, which wept
through all these months,
has come back as a rising tide
with a vow to flood the shore.
The tired sun had lost itself
in darkness at the end of day—
it returns again at dawn
with its glow of crimson light.
Look there—
inside the chest of the proletariat
the collapsing mist of darkness
still trembles.
In this long exile of waiting—
will you continue to wait,
or will you extend your hand and say,
“Stand tall beside me—
once more?”
Ibrar Sami is a contemporary poet from Dhaka, Bangladesh, whose work explores the intersections of memory, solitude, and social consciousness. His poetry often delves into existential reflection, urban life, and the human struggle amidst silence and societal tension. With a focus on vivid imagery and philosophical depth, his poems have been translated into English for international audiences, making them accessible to readers worldwide. He can be found on Instagram @IbrarSami1
Helen Smith
lunchtime, in the maths department
arranging pencils by colour
two friends, carefully sorting
into clear plastic tubs
Carolyn Oulton
Unexpected as burned stone,
what am I supposed
to do with this memory?
José Buera
Aircon crickets through the night
outside my parents’ bedroom
since brother and I are not allowed AC
given the dangers of cold air to children.
Abraham Aondoana
We did not inherit land,
only remnants of fields they burned—
black fields scorched before we understood
Lorna Rose Gill
Maybe I remember getting brunch;
or the time the dog ate my croissant;
Adam Strickson
He couldn’t play rugby – the oval slithered away
whenever he touched it and he fell in the mud
or more often was pushed with some viciousness.
Leigh-Anne Hallowby
When we first came here two seasons ago
You were barely as high as my hip
Now you can look me right in the eye
It’s almost impossible to believe
Tadhg Carey
When our plaything ricochets
falling
who knows where
everything hinging
on the line
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
I hear the roar of
the ocean. I hear
a series of shrieks
and long screams.