Buddhadev Nandi
Scaling over the rain-soaked steep mountains 
Or sailing across the tumultuous rivers
In crescent-shaped overloaded boats 
Or pushing through the bushes 
In uneven lands,
They are moving forward without a destination. 
Until they find a land of their own 
in vain,
For they have no right in this earth to remain.
Having no time to stand and stare
But to rush forward.
Chased by the barrels of guns and the lofty bayonets 
Ready to separate their souls from their bodies
They know only 
To run, run, run.
Like the Great Sparrow Campaign
They mustn't be allowed to rest anywhere
Until they collapse.
On the land gazing at the empty sky with lifeless stares.
There will be no congregation to utter their RIP prayer.
Is the lap of the Mother Earth, 
That shelters even the tiniest creature,
Too full to accommodate them?
The so-called civilized people with the obsession of omnipotence 
Have stripped them off their right to be citizens. 
They are terrorists, inborn terrorist.
Even the baby that has just been separated from 
The blood stained umbilical cord of its mother 
Is culpable enough to be mutilated and murdered.
For they are all terrorists preceding their birth.
Oh Alfred! Can't you hear? 
The peal of your dynamites 
Blowing the bodies of those creatures of nowhere?
Oh Lord Buddha! The Tenth Incarnation,
Can't you see with your Divine Eyes 
That your apostles of peace
Have turned into blood sucking beasts
Being oblivious of what their Lord preached?
Buddham Saranang Gacchami
Dhammam Saranang Gacchami
Sangham Saranang Gacchami.

To Every ‘Khilongia’*
Swapnajyoti Bordoloi
Can't we at least 
Stand as one on this?
Although the time has 
Long passed to 
Further pause and ponder 
Any longer on this...
Pledge right now 
To say just say boldly
'NO' to anymore 
Illegal immigrants...
Not even a single,
In any form,
However big may be the cost,
Or else get ready, 
From whichever nook and corner 
May you come from...
Assured to stay here no more 
Tomorrow as legal citizens!
I would even suggest the ones staying 
Outside our borders and calling themselves 
Revolutionaries to come inside again 
And stand as one with their brothers and sisters 
Who are fighting their battle for existence?
Such a shame...
A foreigner in his own 
Indigenous birth land!
'Brave heart' Bishnu Rabha,
'Lokpriya' Gopinath
'Beloved' Bhupen Da...
'Bir' Kanaklata…
Wouldn't they too have
Felt the same?
Won't their ideals
 Never guide us once again...?
* Khilongia - Indigenous Assamese people
Anurag Rudra
sometimes people pick up reputations for nothing
aflazur, the grey haired youth once slept with many
women. love, he says does not teach the difference
between the musky fragrance of different flesh. Inside,
his long-nailed companion flicks gold dust off her filter
tipped fag. she thinks it prevents cancer. and else.
you know my love, I feel lost in these wounded roads
that lead to nowhere but the living dead. while you
walk, every stone round the corner comes off as a false
god hanging on to a failing strand of faith. everywhere,
stray thoughts of women assault me like a childhood
dream my mother says that a woman can make me
go weak in the knees. little does she know that I cherish
love hate exchanges with ten of her kind. I wish she would
know by now. I would happily eschew all pretensions of regret
I am sure.
somewhere around the corner, my eyes twist
like her unkempt hair, on a chilly, rainy day in shillong
We never wrote that poem
Jayati Das
That was supposed to speak like us:
Each interrupting the other,
The rhymes pretending to couple,
But in silence jarring the ear.
We never drew our swords
To stain that crumpled wing
Of our imaginations that once flew in unison:
Now easily plucked separate.
We never wrote that poem-
Merely tied our desires to make-believe prose,
So I plucked out our 'I's
And wrote this.