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
Anna Chorlton
She curled emerald
tights about the core of
an oak
slumbering with thick bare
limbs.
John Greening
On Stage in a home-made model theatre, c.1967 Glued to your block, in paint and ink you wait for Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life to stop. Smell of hardboard and hot bakelite. The lino curtain’s ready to go up. At which, the straightened coat hanger is shoved and on you...
Anna Bowles
Nothing bad can happen on a plane.
Engine fires, earache, hijackers; but no new grief.
Kirsty Fox
Winged Kirsty Fox is a writer and artist specialising in ecopoetics. She writes lyric essays and poetry, and has had work published by Apricot Press, Arachne Press, and Streetcake Magazine. She has a Masters in Creative Writing and is currently studying...
Jason Ryberg
Sometimes I’d swear that
the ancient box fan I’ve hauled
around with me for
years is a receiver for
the conversations of ghosts
Peter Wallis
Dead in a chest,
are folded matinee jackets, bonnets, bootees and mitts.
Tissue sighs like the sea at Lowestoft,
always Third week in August
Amanda Bell
We clipped a window through the currant, sat on folding chairs with keep-cups,
wrapped in blankets as we yelled through the prescribed two-metre gap.
Then took to mending – darning socks and patching favourite denims
Anna Maughan
Illness had left me
brittle as frost, icicle-thin
swaddled in borrowed warmth
Angeliki Ampelogianni
on marble tiles bird like
I am a pin measuring drops in the toilet bowl