of the MILKWEED AWARD
in the night I wake up. The Cobra is standing over my bed. His tongue flicks
out and licks my lips. It nudges its way into my mouth and coils tightly
around my tongue. ‘Baba!’ I try to scream, but my tongue is locked. ‘Baba!’
I scream again as the Cobra’s tail lashes out and coils around my tummy
and legs, thick, blue-black, glistening, thrashing and squeezing its way
in, hurting, hurting, hurting.
'Go go elsewhere but here!'
Review of the Penguin Anthology of New Indian Writing
This is the first of an annual venture
planned by Penguin India, a book of new writing that will eventually cover
everything from prose to graphic novels to poetry.
Journals of William Clifford
As today is auspicious, today is
also the day on which work commences on the armature of the goddess for
the autumn festival.
“Boy,” he said, “when I went in there
by myself and sat in silence next to a stream, under the shady cocoa trees
where no bush grows, I say this is heaven.”
Note to our contributors:
The present issue is somewhat truncated
because of various reasons, including illness on staff. Most manuscripts
submitted prior to August 2005 will be considered for the next issue of
due out in autumn 2005.
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