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Day to Day

Antony King·December 2, 2019

Day to Day written by: Antony King @tonykingwriting The days they pass, Like visions in our mind, Some...

Poetry English

·1 min read

TIME IS MIRROR

Khurram Nizami·February 28, 2017

TIME IS MIRROR written by: Khurram Nizami @Khurram-Nizami-1212452428770885 The time will come When time will be the history....

Poetry English

·1 min read

It’s Time To Ponder

Khurram Nizami·July 22, 2016

It’s Time To Ponder written by: Khurram Nizami @Khurram-Nizami-1212452428770885 When the country becomes no man’s land And you...

English

·1 min read

The Sentencing Of A Word

Anne G·January 12, 2016

The Sentencing Of A Word written by: Anne G @TheInkTruth I sat upon my chair to...

Anne G English Poetry

·1 min read

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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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