Havik: Inside Brilliance

tus. Kate looks at me. I look at her. Her hair
isn’t that bad after all. Neither is mine.
I give a loud but involuntary sigh.
“What?” Kate says.
“I no longer feel an obligation to do the
dishes. They’ll still be here tomorrow. You
with me?” I slip arm around her waist and
propel both of us back toward the party.
The Angel and
the Dirty Boy
Poetry
Ranjith Sivaraman
Kochi, Kerala, India
The kid loved playing in the mud
A mud much darker than his skin.
He was comfortable being dirty and ugly
Because all his mates were so.
Deep inside him always dreamed in vain
of a cute little angel who will descent from
the sky
with an alluring smile and tempting soul
The angel took his hand and slowly made
him clean
They walked into the woods, climbed the
hills
ran through the plains and swam in the rivers
they admired the orchids, pissed off cuckoos
drenched in sunlight and burned in rain
They tasted fragrances drank tears
danced in storm, fought for memories
hugged breathlessly and froze in moments
And kid asked the angel, "Where are your
wings?"
The angel told him "I forget to mention;
I was never an Angel, but I didn’t want to
hurt you with the truth!"
Melancholy Is
Poetry
Nezrin Hasanly
Concord, California, USA
To open the window for the first time in the
day
and you find yourself staring at a sunset
To stay up long enough at night
and hear a rainstorm from start to finish
Sometimes we don't need a clock
to tell us how much time we've missed
Nature is that mentor in our lives
with the stern but kind reminders we need
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