shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare


Calcutta is where she grew up, smelling shiuli flowers and chewing different syllables. To breathe she churns poems; to earn a living she works as a journalist. Her poems have been featured in The McNeese Review, The Nassau Review, Visual Verse, The Foliate Oak Literary Magazine, Open Road Review, Friends Journal, Muse India, Coldnoon Travel Poetics, Wordweavers, Nivasini Publishers, Ræd Leaf Poetry, Contemporary Literary Review India, The Asian Age, The Telegraph, The Times of India and many other publications. She sometimes explores poetry in photography also.

Saima Afreen

Page 1 | 2

A sandbox that was spared by bullets

is a quiet sea, still and old;
with a dash of the sun again
it glitters. A river stone buried
in it has the palm lines of Fatima

meandering, pink and dry. Her small
white sandal, its buckles rusted
is home to ants carrying tiny bits
of sugar left in the burnt bones.

Wind carries salt from her skin
grazed in some busy market place;
a laughter cracks open the square
of maps, lands and story books.

a doll's hand still peeps out from under
the flutter of crows. They wait for flesh.
Spiders spin beautiful traps on milkweed
Seasons surrender nothing but dew.