Smoother violence fills our hearts like charming splinters. The irony is I am the first of my women
Be a tree Get wet in sorrow’s shower and you’ll recover. From envy’s scorching sun gather strength
His five sons/ Were killed and the books...
These words are not just some veils adorning the valour and victory of our freedom fighters; they're not just tributes but testaments to the rare occasion of the oppressed overpowering the oppressor.
I cannot, for the life of me, definitively describe what makes music. Growing up in a family where music of any form was not typically paid any reverence, my exposure to it was tunnelled into mainstream pop songs for the longest time.
The Instagram account for Escapril posts all 30 prompts for the month ahead of time, and the poet is only required to write by taking inspiration from said prompts
As bird flocks take wing at the rattle of Sten guns
It was noontime when I arrived home the sun was shining bright
I was nine years of age the first time I set eyes on a Dhaka street. I received my first welcome from a group of beggars tapping on my car window.
Be a tree Get wet in sorrow’s shower and you’ll recover. From envy’s scorching sun gather strength
Smoother violence fills our hearts like charming splinters. The irony is I am the first of my women
His five sons/ Were killed and the books...
These words are not just some veils adorning the valour and victory of our freedom fighters; they're not just tributes but testaments to the rare occasion of the oppressed overpowering the oppressor.
I cannot, for the life of me, definitively describe what makes music. Growing up in a family where music of any form was not typically paid any reverence, my exposure to it was tunnelled into mainstream pop songs for the longest time.
The Instagram account for Escapril posts all 30 prompts for the month ahead of time, and the poet is only required to write by taking inspiration from said prompts
It was noontime when I arrived home the sun was shining bright
As bird flocks take wing at the rattle of Sten guns
I was nine years of age the first time I set eyes on a Dhaka street. I received my first welcome from a group of beggars tapping on my car window.
Break me into numbers and spirals, and blood and flesh make me all that I don't wish to be.
