Amaya Rahman’s debut poetry collection Tears of a Flower explores mental health and major Bangladeshi events, including the July uprising and Milestone plane crash, blending personal grief with social commentary to inspire young readers and spark national dialogue.

The unnamed You can get lost trying to  get back to the exit at the Vatican Museum. 

If every leaf that falls is a memory you’ve forgotten, then let my ink become rain— so you might remember how it felt to grow with me.

Tea breaks, the perks of a bike ride.

"The ghosts still sing in Shantinagar" is one of the winning entries for our Halloween themed writing contest, 'Spooktober: Bhooter Adda'

Whose bell rings in the temple tonight? Whose hymn rises from the Gospel's heart? And in the call of Esha, does the muezzin still implore— "Come, come toward salvation"? Across the purified valley of night, from the world's scattered prayers,

I wake up to the smell of coral jasmine Those mushrooms in my garden of dreams.

Winters feel less like winters, the sun burns on my fragile skin. December. Tell me it’s

Do you remember the sunset on the 18th of July? What colour was it?

Review of Mitali Chakravarty’s ‘From Calcutta to Kolkata: A City of Dreams: Poems’ (Hawakal Publishers Pvt Ltd, 2025)

and for every grave / a firefly burns / and for every grave / Dhaka never learns

Scorching in a way the April sun never was. / Scorching in a way a fever never feels. / It wasn't just grief

'On the Other Side of Silence' is a thoughtful volume of poetry, not just because it summarises every existential crisis that visits contemporary life but also because it engages, unlike a postmodern cynic, with the issues that plague the world

It would rain in the rains / And the rest of this poem would be written by someone else

There’s a purgatorial break between these stretches …flaxen against the lights

So go in peace, be free, be kind.

A quiet, seniority in its touch, / A tenderness that feels like it's meant to last

You thought you had escaped, didn't you? / Outran everything that weighed you down

Sometimes at early dawn / You overpower my eyelids / And won’t let me wake up

I love the texture of your hair and I wanted to tell you about it in far too many words than either you or I are comfortable with.