Poetry

Listen to Mac Donald Dixon, read “Blood Islands” In the beginning there was nothing, nothing…

Short film by Hope Fa-Kaji   A Bill for the relief of Mary Therese Chen,…

I still think of you. How the heart is an organ with capability to make…

What are you, they ask with their eyes and — the bolder — with their…

look at how they’re sweeping cocoa from
my shell into gold-dusted portmanteaux.
what can i say? my government borrowed from them all.
call me the prodigal son, but i never asked for my
share of this money to squander. my bad.

  A wanderer I’m dreaming of a peaceful world One day I was asked about…

One day I will steal back my freedom The steps I’ve been prevented to take…

In the book of hidden wonders When the night comes She will be found in…

  I finally had found a place where peace was dominant But not for me…

Kabul!

Oh loneliest wayfarer

Loneliest history emerging from war

I am certain

That one day the sun will be jealous

Of the heat of my desire

Remembering to utter,
“Baka bukas.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”