Bayou Bed by iravati iyer Sound of the fan haunts me; inexplicable reminder of nightspressed into each other, learning theshapes our souls made as they morphed together, like a sound (I) never heardfrom my mother's lips, like the tinkleof the your wind catcher as it...

If i weren't a woman by anahita sharma if death lay his intricate fingers on the skin of my back and ripped every ounce of hope in my heart, his touch would have been softer, even kinder, than the poison buried deep in your palms his claws would retract and his hands...

Faith, Power and What Constitutes Cultureby anahita sharma Some would say they live for faith. That their faith in God is the only thing that keeps them going. Because what is life if you have no one to believe in? What is life without believing in superstitions that...