PM Review

  Between Two Rivers By Palash Mahmud A man in the force wrestlin’ into the blood of the boy he shot.   The boy’s last breath crept down the stairs of the Turkish Restaurant Over the Sadoun street Immixin’ with the sodden pebbles of Tigris Euphrates.   A woman on the Square Turnin’ into a Cypress tree Metamorphosed 500 bullets into redleaves Engravin’ the names of Hammurabi Nebuchadnezzar Alexander Ali.   A goddess in a glazed brick Gatherin’ in a vigil with Dragon, Bull Lion.   To find a way to drive away the smoke Of chaos, Rockin’ the cradle of civilization.   To define freedom! The most romantic invention In space for whom we Swimin’ into The dialectical lake  

  A Sunken Soul By Palash Mahmud                                             PC:   Deposits photos In the nights of sorrows she sang the songs of the days of happiness; I slept with empty stomach but had a heart filled with dreams   Since her first breath she suffering the pains rode on the shoulder of her soul till last grasp; she needed more space the earth was less to place her soul adequately   She craved for perpetuity where oblivion resides So she sunk herself only to see the soul the way swam in the water; the eyes were wide open for a long while with great relief   Like Autumn winds drifting aimlessly Life on earth, said in undertones, is stranger than anything

  Recollection and Reconciliation in Brandon Taylor’s Real Life “There was a knot of tension high in his chest, something hard and coiled. It felt like a black ball stuck to the inside of his lungs.” This line within a few pages of  Real Life , Brandon Taylor’s electrifying debut, which was shortlisted for the 2020 Booker Prize, strikes the reader with its imagery rooted in the real life. There are many such feelings we experience in our lives but cannot express due to the lack of appropriate lexical resources. Taylor seems to achieve this effortlessly, and impeccably. Real Life ’s narrative deals, at a time, with so many old issues, shedding new lights on, peeling the imposed truths and white lies out: the fluidity of reality in respect of space and time; the fixation of identity in terms of race and sexual orientation; and the refined understandings of loss, grief, memory and mourning. Its protagonist’s evaluation by his peers and authority through the microscope of ‘white d...

As breezes flowing low By Palash Mahmud                                                              Photo Credit: Pixabay I sailin’ back through the same passage I standin’ up under the old bridges.   What you know?   Those chantin’ branches of dead trees Whispered your fadin’ name on edges As breezes flowin’ low.   Those lost stingin’ summer days Those gone sneezin’ winter nights. Those fallin’ leaves turn’d ashes Those floatin’ clouds turn’d leashes.   What a crime not to remind your name! What a shame not to recite your rhyme! Your name merged in my shades-   Never mind.   Your face unseen through my senses   Never mind.   As I went the passage you came so.   How I know?   We will not see either ever- When everything is feelin’ Who cares the not-seein’?