
آخری اسٹاپ – از عثمان بلال ساحر
by Usman Bilal Sahir · عثمان بلال ساحر
رات کے بارہ بج کر چالیس منٹ بس خالی ہے صرف ایک لڑکی پچھلی سیٹ پر سوئی ہوئی ہے آخری اسٹاپ آتا ہے میں انجن بند نہیں کرتا …
Nov 1, 2026Tag
51 writings · page 2 of 3

by Usman Bilal Sahir · عثمان بلال ساحر
رات کے بارہ بج کر چالیس منٹ بس خالی ہے صرف ایک لڑکی پچھلی سیٹ پر سوئی ہوئی ہے آخری اسٹاپ آتا ہے میں انجن بند نہیں کرتا …
Nov 1, 2026
by Usha Gangwar · उषा गंगवार
एक दिन बोले चंदा मामा, "मैं भी छुट्टी जाऊँगा, रोज़-रोज़ जगता हूँ रातें, अब तो मैं सो जाऊँगा।" तारे बोले, "मामा, मामा, ऐसे कैसे जाओगे? अँधियारे में …
Nov 1, 2026
by Seo Ga-on
A business trip to Busan, two colleagues, a typhoon warning, and the thirty steps of hotel corridor between his door and hers.
Nov 1, 2026
by Jyoti Minj · ज्योति मिंज
रात दो बजे वार्ड नंबर सात में सिर्फ़ दो चीज़ें जागती हैं— मॉनिटर की हरी लकीर और मैं। बेड नंबर चार की अम्मा नींद में अपने बेटे का नाम लेती हैं, जो दिन …
Nov 1, 2026
by Nazma Khatun · নাজমা খাতুন
নিশা দুই বজা। / ৱাৰ্ডৰ টিউবলাইটটো
Oct 31, 2026
by Danae Kritikopoulou
A long poem in Ariadne's voice: left asleep on the beach at Naxos by the hero she saved, she wakes to the wine god walking out of the sea. She knows how his kind of love ends. She goes to him anyway.
Oct 31, 2026
by Rumana Kabir Shetu
A Dhaka power cut on a June night, the children at their grandmother's, a hand fan, a candle and a husband she suddenly sees again.
Oct 31, 2026
by Partha Pratim Lahkar
The orders always come after midnight. Plain rice, one boiled egg, one tamul. Leave at gate. No contact. And the tips are better than a week's pay.
Oct 31, 2026
by Josephine Arceneaux Pryor
A photographer in New Orleans has taken three hundred and twelve instant photos of the same jazz singer. She knows every angle of his face. Then she climbs the stairs to his balcony on Esplanade Avenue and finds out who's really been watching whom.
Oct 31, 2026
by Kavya Raghunathan
Every night at 2:40 the same rider waits outside an unfinished tech park on OMR. She tips in five stars. She only ever wants one stop, for jasmine.
Oct 31, 2026
by Catarina Vilaverde Moita
A Lisbon fado singer writes the song she will never sing on stage: about one body, one night, and the guitar that was in the room.
Oct 31, 2026
by Margaux Thibodeau-Grant
Every winter she carves a hotel out of ice outside Quebec City, and every winter the same married man books the same suite. This year she carved his face into the headboard. Only she knows it's there. Only she knows what melts in April.
Oct 30, 2026
by Anvita Sahay Kothari
Forty-four degrees at midnight, a string cot on the roof, a sweating clay pot, and a wife of twelve years who has decided tonight is not for sleeping.
Oct 30, 2026
by Matilde Sequeira Brandão
She came to the Douro to pick grapes and forget Lisbon. The heir of the old quinta has a drowned brother, a mother who covers every mirror, and a way of looking at her as if he's seen her face before.
Oct 30, 2026
by Carmina Dimaculangan-Reyes
Signal number three over Manila, the power out, one candle, and two people who had agreed to stay just friends.
Oct 30, 2026
by Jaskirat Bains
Every night at two minutes to eleven he comes in dripping, asks for twenty Lambert & Butler, and pays in coins that are warm, wet and nearly fifty years old.
Oct 29, 2026
by Šárka Vlčinská-Doubravová
A long poem in eleven letters, each one fed to an old iron stove in a Prague attic in January. Burning them was supposed to be the end. It turns out fire is just another way of reading.
Oct 28, 2026
by Salomé Arbeláez Quintero
A colonial room in Cartagena, a slow ceiling fan, rum with melting ice, and a heat that might be the weather and might be someone.
Oct 28, 2026
by Emiliano Barragán Ochoa
Every Thursday the knife sharpener's whistle comes down her street in Oaxaca. He has a scar along his jaw, hands like a surgeon's, and a past in the north that two men in a grey truck have come looking for.
Oct 28, 2026
by Chidinma Ezeugo
Last danfo out of Oworonshoki, past midnight, and Sunday the conductor keeps counting heads. Eleven paid. Fourteen sitting. Nobody has asked to stop yet.
Oct 27, 2026
by Saoirse Mulqueeny-Dorgan
Two years after the sea took him, she goes back to his cottage in Connemara and lights the turf. Every night the fire burns, he comes home a little warmer. Every night, she gets a little colder.
Oct 26, 2026
by Delphine Mabry-Toussaint
A New Orleans balcony, a slow brass band two streets over, and a long, admiring catalogue of one person's mouth.
Oct 26, 2026
by Aoife Kinsella-Dunne
A Galway pub at closing time, a lipstick mark on a pint glass, and a woman who has decided she is finished being polite.
Oct 25, 2026
by Jonaki Rajkonwar
A long ballad from the banks of the Luit: a boatman's wife, a lover with a lantern, and a river that has loved her longer than either of them and will not share.
Oct 24, 2026