Elegy
A Room That Forgot How to Echo
The clock in the hallway hadn’t ticked in three years. But Mia still wound it every Sunday morning, like muscle memory that refused to forget. The same way she left the porch light on at night. The same way she kept his shoes by the door.
By Shakil Sorkar8 months ago in Poets
"The Last Cup of Coffee"
The bell above the door chimed as Elena stepped into the tiny café on 7th Avenue, brushing snow from her coat and pulling the scarf tighter around her neck. The place was warm, humming with quiet conversations and the soft hiss of the espresso machine. She ordered her usual — one black coffee, one oat milk latte — and took a seat by the window.
By Shakil Sorkar8 months ago in Poets
The Light Between Two Windows
It was the kind of winter in New York City where even the streetlights looked tired. Snow clung to the sidewalks like forgotten promises, and the city pulsed quietly beneath its usual roar. Somewhere in the East Village, in an aging brownstone split into narrow apartments, two strangers lived across from one another, separated by little more than thirty feet of air and glass.
By Shakil Sorkar9 months ago in Poets
Voicing (A Poem Bought Online)
Vis-à-vis. clever via null and void vernacular, veering from one end of a particular spectrum to another, my voice has the register of a violently vibrating out-of-control velociraptor sex toy(bought from Temu) dancing with General Pinochet, while Sia she dangles from her dang chandelier (bought from Wish). She's unstoppable—unless she's napping. If today is not the day she is unstoppable today. Is it a suggestion—mere interjection—a ramblification? This is not Keats. This is assault with a deftly unsheathed Thesaurus (bought from Aliexpress). Just say how hard when I say hump. Wait, I mean jump. Just say jump when I say how high.
By Paul Stewart9 months ago in Poets
