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Kim Jesteś

Danuta Czerwińska Murawska·August 26, 2021

Kim Jesteś written by: Danuta Czerwińska Murawska Kim jesteś…?! Że wchodzisz bez pytania Zaglądasz do okien Przez...

Poetry Polish International Featured Post

·1 min read

House of The Hag

Zach Ellenberger·December 6, 2020

House of The Hag written by: Zach Ellenberger @zak4prez911 When my father told me, we’d be moving...

Featured Post Haunted Holidays English Literature

·15 mins read

COVID-19

JahArt Kushite·April 3, 2020

COVID-19 written by: JahArt Kushite there is a dark cloud hovering over mother earth she is clasped...

English Poetry

·1 min read

Deaf

Rakind Kaur·January 11, 2020

Deaf written by: Rakind Kaur @khwabgah Can’t you hear the screams? Of the souls being burnt alive My flowing...

English Poetry

·1 min read

You Think

Irena Ewa Idzikowska·September 18, 2019

English International Poetry Polish

·1 min read

Suman Pokhrel is a Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator, and artist. He debuted in 1999 with a poetry collection and has since published works, including translations of Shakespeare and global poets. His poems are translated into many languages and taught across South Asia. A two-time SAARC Literary Awardee, he also received Asia’s Inspiring Poet Award and was named Author of the Month by Spillwords in June 2023. Beyond literature, he works as a freelance consultant in socio-economic research, rural development, entrepreneurial development and creative writing. He began his career in Nepal’s civil service and later worked with international NGOs. He holds degrees in Science, Law, Business Administration, and Economics.

Condoms by Seán Óg Ó Murchú

They all laughed at me. All the dinner ladies. It started with your one, I’m after forgetting her name now… Smelly Nelly’s ma. A wet little tear trickled toward her tattooed cheekbone. She was roaring red. Her harsh, wheezing laughter sounded like a black taxi tackling the Whiterock Road, her throat destroyed from all the fegs she used to be hoofing into her. She called over the other dinner ladies then, an army of them. Or maybe it was the curiosity of her horrid laughing that brought them over… I can’t remember.
“Tell the girls what you’re only after asking me there ni wee mawn.”
I looked between herself and the girls. Jesus Christ, I said in my own mind, Mental Mick is after stealing all my crayons that I’d been hoarding for myself there before the break...

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