Poetry by Sukrita Paul Kumar: ‘the golden sheen on the pines / beckons the waves of the grey ocean / and the silver arrows dart forth in unison’

Poems by Abhilipsa Sahoo: ‘Once, I was a little bird slowly blooming out of the warm embrace of the nest to learn the taste of first flight, believing that distance was proof of growth. Now I’m just plainly tired of being the burnt-out lamp on my parents’ windowsill’

Poems by Arya Gopi: ‘I carry my exile in my pocket— / seventeen reminders that buzz / like electronic prayers / to gods who’ve forgotten / how to synchronize.’

Written with understated, sublime beauty, Sarvesh Wahie’s Mussoorie Daze (2025) is a literary and philosophical text that examines the ontology of a lost Himalayan paradise, and the changing character of memory, self, solitude, and community. By Abhimanyu Kumar

Poems by Agni Barathi: ‘What impossible simile / will suffice, my love, / to sing of my real, utter ruin?’

Poetry: ‘Things lying around, still, cautious / Tell-tale signs, of nothing / Butter, a knife and a pen / A diary of poems now lost’

Poem by Maansi Sharma: ‘the rabbit on my foot, startled like the river, / coursing through the bed, giggling at our feet. / there is soup and bread and tea and honey for the quiet ache. / we don’t need to eat god for breakfast.’

Poems by Meenakshi Jauhari: ‘It has all been done – she has aged, and arrived, / and, one day, will leave. / Her day passes, and leaves behind no residue. / Her night weaves a starry reality she remembers briefly, for a few / waking moments. Then it too evaporates, leaving no trace.’

Poetry by Kamakshi Lekshmanan: ‘a man influences a knife, sways the auburn twigs. gentle and soft. // the heap of brunet lay aside, / besides a pair of eyes submit – in gratitude.’

Poems by Laila Brahmbhatt: ‘On the city’s edge, where destiny echoes, / hope crawled through cracks. / Even roses in New Delhi / orphan their thorns.’

Poem by Hiranmayi Krishnakumar: ‘There’s a chair by the window / waiting for someone who doesn’t arrive / in this version. / The cushion sinks on its own. / It has good memory foam. / The fan spins like it’s trying to erase the century.’

Poetry by Mary Tina Shamli Pillay: ‘Pressured through the / mist, we are tormented / by the sharp blue sky, / the muffled din of a / wailing child, the crackle / of a hostess, the wrapping / unwrapping of smiles.’