What I Write About

Q. Javon Overton I write about love, the way it can twist in you into knots or lay you down smooth and fulfilling. I write about knowing I will be touched, and my world will be whole. I write about… Read More ›

Some Memories Never Fade

Maryam Qureshi Cold December night, recurrent sound of chilly winds striking against the window panes like a stranger who would keep on knocking on the front door to bring back the fond memories of winter holidays that I used to… Read More ›

Gâteau d’amour

Suhail AlHammady My Milania: It’s quite odd how all places become a replica of one another when you are away! Dreadful is Paris without the tiny wrinkles that so joyfully encircle the edges of your lips every time you laugh…. Read More ›

The Best Day Left is Today

Todd Mercer The next generation push into established neighborhoods,assume leases, move from drone-work to management.Prideful up-and-comers pressure the near aged-out, drop hints of greener pastures. The experienced, now dissipated, lack for business drive, reflexes.Mortality waits at a train stop, not… Read More ›


Ogu Chukwuebuka Kizito Reminiscing on my journey to this sad, dejected state I found myself. I remember when you said: you will always be there for me, but when the time came you were missing in action (MIA). She promised… Read More ›

Moment of Silence

Wafula p’Khisa [In memory of Wakini Kuria] A tale is told of your heart, its warmth and tendernessThat touched lives in ways nobody can properly expressThose who saw you, sing of your beauty, sharpness of mindand the undying spirit you… Read More ›


David Estringel what to do with these moody blues? words capture little, collapsing on the tongue. like wicker baskets of water, the head can’t hold thoughts that run cold, along the lengths of silvery city streets. hope shimmers from afar–… Read More ›

Le Conte

Dana AlNajjar In our middle school walks, I procrastinated our talksI used all the power in my brain, And it wasn’t enough to promote me to your palace I lost the colors in my roads Long time ago And I… Read More ›


Brian Rihlmann a farmers daughter she comes infrom the backyard black handedfrom the soilbrushes sweatplastered hairfrom her browwith the back of her armsmiles brightas the latest flowersshe has plantedand it’s a jungle out therewhere she finds roomfor more I do not knowbut she… Read More ›