June 10-16, 2024: Poetry from Srishti Saharia and Nikola Milosavljevic

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Srishti Saharia

Srishti Saharia is a fresh high-school graduate aiming to pursue Literature Studies and Political Science. She has pawned her faith to the power of the pen to save humankind and strongly believes all she is and ever will be is literature. An ardent international relations enthusiast, her political activism is an integral part of her identity as a South Asian woman. Visit Srishti on the web here.

The following work is Copyright © 2024, and owned by Srishti Saharia and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Bless You

on nights each of my breath sounds
like an oriental storm inside my throat,
my man becomes an afterthought,
far away at sea, a colonizer of barren land

he has commas for fingers,
mouth- a pulpit of full-stops—
my man brings the realm of punctuation
to halt between my legs

he tells me he can synchronize sneezes
to poppies pawned off in the first week of April
and roosters that penetrate our sleep
i catch snorts in my pregnant nose
and let the plethora of his heat-stroke sour kisses
go sliding down my body
like summer school’s sweat-pickled prepubescents—

even when my body
is an untimely version of french catacombs,
and skin that carries the memory of where it has been– wars on mars, babylon’s fall—
while alzheimer’s swallows me whole
nibbles at my small toe,
and gnaws teeth in my femur

the infant shoes of tissues on my back tell me
that posies of poppies sing unworn satin odes,
that the rooster screams hallelujah
to a sun in another conceiving belly
and this time I sneeze

Nikola Milosavljevic

Nikola was born and raised in Belgrade, Serbia, where he studied literature at the University of Belgrade. For the past ten years, he has lived in Casselberry, Florida where he writes his poetry with a fresh perspective. Nikola crafts verses that explore the complexities of life, love, and identity.

The following work is Copyright © 2024, and owned by Nikola Milosavljevic and may not be distributed or reprinted in any form whatsoever without written permission from the author.

Hearts

Leave it open
for the ones
in the dirt,
misunderstood.
For the
lonesomes
and families
that left them
behind.
For hookers,
single mothers,
and their kids
left at home
with a frozen dinner
in front of the TV,
without a bedtime story.
For weeping beggars
with empty cups
in the big cities.
For the believers,
And the ones with a
weak heart.
Leave it open on
the sidewalk.
Plodded over,
lumped,
beaten and used.
Maybe at the end
someone
will pick it up,
after everyone
is done
toying with it.

 

Burn It Down

Everything that fits your eye is worth taking.
Even If you look back on something,
don’t let it out of sight, as it made you look twice.
If it’s calling your name, it belongs to you.
If you have to fight for it, fight to the death;
If the troops come your way
to stop you from taking what’s yours,
kill their men. All of them!
Take their guns,
spear their chest,
skin them alive,
boil them,
drink ale out of their skulls,
eat their flesh
win their wars
then make love in peace.
Love It
Love Her
Love Him
Love them with the greatest passion,
Love them with flames of the burning armies,
Love them with the force of a thousand men.
So, if it’s calling your name,
burn the world down at night
and make the fire so big that it will make
the shiny side of the moon brighter
and the dark side darker.
Make it yours!
Be the man whose name
is worth mentioning.
Be the Love that changed the world.

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