Loneliness of life by Tanushree Mullick

Loneliness of life
Tanushree Mullick

The blue sea in the middle; one country on one side, and one country on one side. One lonely man in one country becomes accustomed to loneliness. On the other hand, a man lives in a lot like a creeper, in which the number of lonely people in the country is rising. Tulip wakes up, and in the country where people live in the forest, there is snow, there is only foggy emptiness, the waves of the sea, which are in touch with the waves.  It strikes the loneliness of other crests. In one country a man is waiting for time, the heart of one's heart wants to touch his heart and the sea understanding of the two sides of both sides of the same kind of pain.

Tanushree Mullick. India.

The Song of Silence by Hassan Al-Mahdi

The Song of Silence 
 Hassan Al-Mahdi

Like this way the days are passing. It's look like the ice sheet splits from the sun's fingers so that the children crib lookalike a cube of ice cream over the pavement of a modern tomb.
I was there and thousands of blue eyes springing in a swamp towards the face of the underground world. Bubbles exploded with drums and arrows even as they appear and formed as a half of 
night on a war pillow.
I saw them there, the trembling ants. The trees of the night lurking in a military march, drawing the colors of the melody of a cold rainbow.
I was so tired, so I was looking for a laugh in the lung of death. I was there in the rush hours, researching there the song of the silent in the mouth of the modern days.

Hassan Almahdi is an award-winning Iraqi poet and he is a founder member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and a member of the International Prose Poetry Society. His name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry. Hassan has a lot of poetry collections printed in Palstine and abroad and he won Tajdeed award for prose poetry.

Light On by Josep Juarez

When you arrived with your lit torch, you lit the lights of my interior; you walked barefoot through the paths of my soul; you opened my windows, but yesterday you left leaving the lights of my interior lit. The cold air enters through my windows and my soul walk alone and barefoot on those roads. You left the lights of my interior lit. I can not turn them off, the darkness would come back without your memory. My soul would again walk in the darkness touching the walls. You went as someone who will return ,leaving in my the lights on.

Josep Juarez


Subhendu Kar

Unto brimming blue of susurrus crave of sky dives deep to mill through the rune of an unstinting dream to coalesce drops of nectar for lips of thirst to quench in wee hours of hot summer.

Breath of void reverberates to hold in tongue of heart. The awes of the cascade steeped in joy to suck immortality of the blaze wrapped of holy ecstasy exalted in resplendence of the ever green garden of heaven by promise of scarlet red ever impounding in quest of freshness of morning dew in reminiscence of euphoric silence as ever adored audacity of own illusive impulsion.

Yet I stand beyond hedge of home to peer into a window of a pulse for a vision to brace up warmth of in adherence empathy to embrace untold gleams of blossom.

Subhendu Kar, India

The little girl by Elvira Kujovic

The little girl 

 Elvira Kujovic

She was looking for the stars! Tireless and unremittingly she knew, she would find them and she kept searching and searching. From time to time she stumbled and fell, and nevertheless she stood up again.She picked up the stones one by one and held them in her hands, she saw they illuminated only when she held them in her palms. She returned them back to earth and went on searching for the stars. She had searched them on the trees between leaves, between rosy petals, in the nests of the birds, in the grass moist of dew, she had searched among the bird’s wings and she had prayed the wind to take her to places at which she had never been.
She asked the sky where it hid them, but the sky was silent. She asked the rivers whether they had taken the stars away and in which seas should she search for them. She asked the clouds whether they hid the stars in their whiteness, but they went away without answer and any word.
She asked her heart in her chest why did the sky hide the stars and why everything only in her hands shone.She met a beggar and smiled at him, and then she sat next to him, wanting to company him and to ask where were the stars. His face had brightened as he to her replied:
“The stars are in the souls of good people, the stars are in the eyes of all who goodness sees in everything, the stars are in the hands which give, the stars are in the hearts which beat for others.” The little girl laughed and the heavenly light appeared. She suddenly became a star and the beggar was blinded by her luminance forgot about his being a beggar.
The sky was laughing, and the clouds returned from the distance to warm up themselves by being near the star, the rivers returned to their sources,the leaves on the tree flashed out of happiness and the rose petals revealed their irresistible fragrance, the birds flew into the sky with their merry chirping and the wind sang the song of love. The little girl had found the stars.

Elvira kujovic is Serbian-German poetess. She has six published books of poetry and a novel as a co-author. Her poems has been translated into 13 languages and will be regularly published in literary magazines in several countries.

The Cafe by Hussain Alghdban


Their play allures me. Playing with water invokes the blaze of childhood. I have to create a child, but they overwhelmed him by their deceit, so he drowned. I left them, over-exhausted and about to kill myself out of grief. The inhabited house stopped me. They said it was inhabited by jennies, since its Indian dwellers left, I don’t know whether they were Persians, Jews, Christians or Moslems. However, they used to work as local cigarettes (Mezben). We were very young, working for our fees. I remember nothing, except for their food and my hand happy with its salary. I felt that a group of jenny is eavesdropping. I took my old self and walked out. It seems that the way to the cafe is difficult today. A white castle severely cuts my way. I got close to its door on top of the stairs, and to the small windows of the cellar. The cold taste of the air we used to breathe while playing movies didn’t change. All actors of the world are our friends. We knew them closely; Allen Lande, Anthony Quinn, and all the sportsmen; ‘unkle Baba’, ‘Jamuli’, the Syrian goalkeeper named ‘Al-Saltaji’, ‘Eusebio’, ‘Pele’, and ‘Moayad Al-Badri’ who is loved by all. Oh, I am starving, the scent of rice with the ‘Sheppard’ butter, the ‘Tarshana’ with beef, is beating in my unsatisfied hunger, while it is still coming out, fresh and steaming with the perfume of ‘Aashuraa’ and the gathering of neighbors. Oh, great. The castle bows down over the body of food, which Time is still eating. This is my third grief, and I know not how many grieves I still have. Somebody screams: the sword is burning. The old ‘Tamer’ dates store has now become a tires garage. If the ‘Tamer’ dates were alive, fuel would not inflame. If I were stronger, I would bring back what the train took away from this abundant spot, around which people roam and see what benefits them; golden ‘Tamer’ dates, fresh vegetables, fruits watered by clay unpolluted by dissolute plants. Burning fuel, dispersing sufferings, a cafe fleeing away, distance is overfull, agonies are running out.

حسين الغضبان1

Hussain Alghdban is an Iraqi poet and he is a member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and the International Prose Poetry Society. His name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry. He isthe author of poetry collections.

My Other Half by Mohammed Yazen


It’s impossible to hang her on to be my second half; she has still rebelled in her feelings just like a body that has never been passed the history on it. She grabbed the chain from the rain joys around the flank of the time. How beautiful is our love in winter where coldness and warmness and coldness has passed to us in seconds.
The night takes us to the paradise of its darkness and the dawn launches with charm and exultation.
My body….. my body has been died when it lost the soul of love with in groans on the the billow that demands from phantoms to disperse its phantoms.Then it lays on a dream which lost its spark of speechless lightness, how often I reveal her to accept a night invitation before life doors has been locked. Before wandering around thirsty hearts
For losing the day I know her. The day I know her, without soul dwelling the body, heavy like a tar on heart breath. Understand the light while it was lightening of my edges of my words. How do you know that a letter has many multiple faces that was tired in withering then entered the passionate thought Multiple clouds of intonations that reads the prayers to keep something stick from sad past, pain swinging between desire and impossibly, you will see my darling that nothing is worth but your love when it becomes honest with its self.

Mohammed Yazen is an Iraqi poet and he is a member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and the International Prose Poetry Society. His name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry.  

The COLDNESS FRUITS by Hauda Asseni

The snow fruitage dangles on the coldness branches. The wind birds are hungry; knock the graon seed. Clouds has chilled while the moon has tramped on the outdoors’ sidewalks begging the lovers whispers to warm his fingers. I will unchain the dawn birds to assault the sun chamber.
هدى الصيني
Translated from Arabic by Anwer Ghani

Hauda Asseni is a Syrian  and she is a member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and the International Prose Poetry Society. Her name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry.  

The Challenge By Fatma Saadallah

 The Challenge By Fatma Saadallah

I am sacredly murmured the young narcissus. I want to see my beautiful face in the pure water. I wish that I find my happiness every morning here between flowers and birds. I am shamed said the kind river :”I am full of blind glances, hateful feelings and disagreeable smells”. Lies which had killed my purity mirrors had dirty habitude. They hide the truth and always lie. “Don’t worry” said a white dove. We will sing and fly in the blue and clear sky. The trees will give golden fruits and all kids shall grow quickly. All people have to fall in love and have to adore beauty. They will pray to peace and mercy.

فاطمة سعدالله

 Fatma Saadallah is a Tunisian poetess and she is a member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and the International Prose Poetry Society. Her name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry.  

Cheat and Hypocrisy by Aiad Alkhayat

 Cheat and Hypocrisy 
 Aiad Alkhayat

The sea is colorless and I am looking for color in an imperfect world. t destroys the meaning so the letters are always in conflict. I am tired of them. I am a free ship not interested in drowning and fire has a color but it is united and I do not know why. Is it an integrated world? Or is it a body without a soul? I find myself between them; cheat and hypocrisy. Darkness and light are diffuse but their world is incomprehensible; the one who makes conflicts between them? Perhaps there is who controls them. Hey sea, fire, darkness and light, you are my hope in fight against the wicked king.

Aiad Alkhayat is an Iraqi poet and he is a member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and the International Prose Poetry Society. His name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry. Aiad is the author of poetry collections.

My Queen Shines on my Childhood Tree by Rahmeh Innab

 My Queen Shines on my Childhood Tree
 Rahmeh Innab

Oh mother,I am still a child and childhood has left my little wings between the branches of the mulberry tree beneath its fades my laughs were flying over and racing bird songs. I can remember how my swing could draw blue dreams so wide up on the sky-board. I still hear your shiny voice sliding in the rainbow down to my heart raising my tinny green spikes swinging between my arteries. My queen! I can’t tell you how the whispers of that amazing tree visits my mind and spreads fruits of shinny days all over through your beloved eyes glowingly.

Rahmeh Innab is a Palestinian poetess and she is a member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and the International Prose Poetry Society. Her name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry. She writes in Arabic and English.

A Fasting Heart by Rasha Assayed Ahmed

This is my heart that fasten for all things except for you, so take it. I have come to you with my love and my senses are fast about the universe, but it keeps you inside like the the royal fragrance that does not vanish and the white musk mixes with it. So you are still mixing my spirit, and your perfume is applied to his riotous talk in my veins. Who said that fasting made the poem fast by thinking about you? I go around the corners of the universe in the cities of the spring of my legendary sections, but I find you wherever I walked in the streets of elegant cities and the poem overwhelmed you all the time
I forget the spring of cities and their distress when I am alone to hear you with all happiness. Have you ever thought about how a woman can love turn her into a flying phoenix in the universe, where she does whatever she wants with a girl's heart of joy?
In your absence, the phoenix becomes a Syrian dove who knows nothing but a cooing perfumed with nostalgic play for an old flute. The heart of the inner poetess is the one who writes, but I am reading  these lines with stange straying.

Translated from Arabic By Anwer Ghani

Rasha Assayed Ahmed is an award-winning Syrian poetess and she is a  founding member of the Tajdeed Literary Institute and a member of the International Prose Poetry Society. Her name appeared in Tajdeed literary magazine and Arcs magazine for prose poetry. Rasha is the author of many poetry collections and she won Tajdeed award for prose poetry.

The Soldiers of God by Kareem Abdullah

The Soldiers of God
Kareem Abdullah

A Three-dimensional Text

Heavily armed with their frustration, Your soldiers drag the metropolis misery before your authority that ends up in the blindest tyranny, violate their humanity and you do not know anything about the banks of supplication lounged on by her distant voice that comes to the ears of the sea, whenever the trees of alienation smile, the extensive face of night falls, lying there, ahead the soldiers as deconstructing my lavishing history on the tongues of the ominous war… They led the leftover of a dream crucified in your shining evening, searing it in front of the mockery of stations, elegized by the childbirth of a morning that sleeps on the brink of a glow of the waiting of my return shackled with rifles as tearing the whoop of the resurrection, tattooed on the wings of the colourful butterflies behind the glass of the bombed cars.

The Soldiers of God; a three-dimensional text  by Kareem Abdullah translated by me John Henry Smith.

The Sea by Patricia Amundsen

The Sea
Patricia Amundsen

The Sea is dark today white frills play on the tips of each wave as it finds its destiny on the shore.  I think back on the days of my childhood on Kangaroo Island where from my window in the loft of our cozy home I sat gazing longingly at the wildness of the island ocean wondering how and what moved its’ might.  From where did it come, what secrets it holds and why do some people live in the sea and others on land.  Why can’t I live in the sea, my child’s mind thought. Each fragment of Earth is vibrant with life.  Why is it here filled with so many delights?  Simply God’s living Masterpiece, that’s what we must be, thought this tiniest brushstroke watching the Sea.

I am Patricia Amundsen, Lover of God, Poet, Artist, and Broadcaster, from Kangaroo Island, South Australia, student of Nature and Humanity, now a resident of Valla Beach, Australia.  I endeavour to allow the Universal knowledge to flow freely through poetry, essays and stories, all with messages of Love to nurture Hearts and feed the One Soul.  Peace be with you.

You’re my Salve and Balm by Walid Boureghda

 You’re my Salve and Balm
  Walid Boureghda

The heart is bleeding words that I find it hard to unveil. Thoughts are squeezing up my mind; they have left a myriad of scars in every corner of both my heart and soul. You are the only one in this life, dear, who can cleanse my wounds and be such a balsam salving my sighs. So please, darling, come to me; my yearning for our romantic tryst is killing me softly – Only you can bring me back from the edge of death.

Walid Boureghda is a 39 year-old Algerian poet, working as an Administrative Executive at Sonatrach-Agip Group. He holds a B.A degree in the English Language and Literature from the University of BATNA in Algeria. He draws inspiration for his poetry from his unceasing love of his beloved wife. He also writes about spreading peace over the world and dispelling hatred and bigotry. 


Ian Fletcher

I am a cybernaut existing in virtual reality; a netizen, not a citizen. Social media my ersatz society connected in permanent disconnection. The me yet not me; a digital spirit soulless every moment recorded, photographed, posted, projected, commented on abstracting at the very point of potential experience a double take. All events non-events reproduced in public narcissism. Self-reflecting simulacrums of consciousness traces remaining buried in vast databases hosting. Infinite seas of information that when I disintegrate and die who never really lived will preserve electronic fragments of a pseudo being that never attained identity.

Born and raised in Cardiff, Wales, Ian has an MA in English from Oxford University. He lives in Taiwan with his wife, two daughters and cat. He teaches English in a high school. He has had poems and short stories published in Duane’s PoeTree, Tuck Magazine, Best Poetry, The Ekphrastic Review, 1947 A Literary Journal, Spillwords Press, Dead Snakes, Your One Phone Call, Schlock! Webzine, Short-story.me, Literary Yard, Indian Periodical, Anotherealm, Under the Bed, A Story In 100 Words, Poems and Poetry, Friday Flash Fiction, The Drabble, and in various anthologies.



Yes, nature is beautiful but you are more beautiful than nature. Yes, the city is spectacular but you are more magnificent than the city. When you break my loneliness with your crazy clamor, life has another taste. When you sink my body with your dewy fields and wet grapes then the moments becomes more magical. You do not know how beautiful the evening is with you, you do not know how desolate nature is without your sweet voice and you do not know how cold the city is without your lovely  warmness. I love nature and I know that there is magic, but these winter streets and these low lights, make your face more bright, And these high-rise glass buildings and the bridge over which we sang, I imagine if there was no bridge here, how would we recite our poems? Look at the big hours, the  big squares and  the big markets, they are charming but they are without you becoming dim. Luxury restaurants, luxury hotels and luxury jets leave unforgettable memories. Do you remember that? All of this makes life a different magic and a different taste, and you are, in the midst of all this, more beautiful than nature and the city.

Anwer Ghani is an award winner poet from Iraq. He was born in 1973 in Babylon. His name has appeared in more than fifty literary magazines and twenty anthologies in USA, UK and Asia and he has won many prizes; one of them is the "World Laureate-Best Poet in 2017 from WNWU". In 2018 he was nominated to Adelaide Award for poetry and in 2019 he is the winner of Rock Pebbles Literary Award and the award of  United Spirit of Writers Academy for Poetry. Anwer is a religious scholar and consultant nephrologist and the author of more than eighty books; thirteenth of them are in English like; “Narratolyric writing”; (2016),“Antipoetic Poems”;( 2017) and "Mosaicked Poems"; (2018),  and “The Styles of Poetry”; 2019.


Linda Crate

I like being in the creekfeeling the cool water wash away painful memories and paint me in the same hues as the beautiful creek gems; everything is green and blue and every shade of gold that isn't arrogant—in that momentI am told who I truly am; daughter of the wood, Valkyrie of love and light, queen of dreams, divine entity of magic—And now that I know who I truly am. I will not let them take me my voice or power. I am divine and I am sacred and I am powerful; they will not erase who I am from my knowledge or my history— I will shine on wearing the immortal wings of the phoenix, fashioning myself from chaos from the ashes; I will never know their ruin.

Linda M. Crate's works have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies both in print and online. She is the author of six published chapbooks the latest of which was titled More Than Bone Music (Clare Songbirds Publishing House, March 2019), a microchap, and the novel Phoenix Tears (Cyzkmate Books, June 2018).

LOST VALLEY by Jyotirmaya Thakur

 Jyotirmaya Thakur 

Listen to the song of the breeze in the silent night of remote past. The lamenting stream seeks the blue river lost in deep loneliness of the Amazon rain forest. The blind valley got lost waltzing one day with the wild flowers. The terracotta army walked in blindfolded with blood and trampled along the coast line vast. Array of thorny shrubs cut into halves still survived the agony pierced in their hearts. Drops of dews cried as the petals had no place to be buried in the graveyards of the sea. The barriers were broken of the tormented shores as the fury of the winds turned to enormous tears and thundered. The lightning took pity and burnt the valley of flowers to a barren desert. All habitation shrunk in a hole and disappeared in a cave which shut it's doors forever. In the cradle of solitude crystalline tears are embedded on the broken wings of the mighty mountain where valley sacrificed its existence for peace.

 Jyotirmaya Thakur 
Author of fourteen original Poetry books ,  World Poet Laureate ,Peace Icon and HPAW Ambassador of Humanity ,Jyotirmaya Thakur is the first Indian born poetess to be published by Real Vision Aspirant Writers Publication,UK. An award winning author and poet ,she has served as a Vice -Principal (retired ) of an International school in India, an editor, reviewer, researcher, columnist,public speaker, Reiki Master , Spiritual and Social activist. She is the President of Chamber of Poets and Vice President of the World Parliament of literature of World Union of Poets of Italy. National Director of Public Relations and Communications of Union Hispano Mundial de Escritores ,Peru,in India . Chief counsellor of Telangana Poetry forum and an executive member of the educational magazine LITERATI and a columnist. She is a member of Wolf International Poetry Exhibition group of UK, where her poems are exhibited in various art galleries, Literary clubs and  public places.

Call for submission

We are glad to announce our new season with our world of prose poetry. Four years of prose poetry on our Arcs magazine.   Just typical and highly selected prose poems.
Send two or three poems with short bio and a picture into our email:
There is the annual Arcs anthology of best prose poems  and the annual Arcs Prize for prose poetry.
We are waiting your poems.

Erythra Thalassa! by Joseph S. Spence, Sr

Erythra Thalassa! 
Joseph S. Spence, Sr
Your coral reefs relax minds many. I touched your stimulating surface at Sharm el Sheik. You looked so royally blue reflecting the moon at night, such a wonderful and calming view, a simmering—red sunset! You rocked I hummed. You were kind to Darius of Persia; helped Alexander the Great, and Augustus of Rome. Bonaparte wasn’t kind when he claimed to have captured you.
Sitting here running my inquisitive hands over your warm and soothingly splashy soft surface—stimulates. You are balmy and misty. My hands sink below your blue curvy and rolling waves, your response—a ripple!
Moses had a big splash when he liberated Israel from Egypt. You opened and helped him across your midst, such an Exodus. You saved a nation—Yam Suph!
I shall return to relax with you. Take a snorkeling dive below your splashing surface while smelling the spices of medieval times resting in the depth by your tectonic plates. With the red rising sun on the coast of Eilat, in a glass-bottom boat I will relax, while fishing on your calm blue and historical surface. 

Will your name ever change from red? 

Until I see you again: Moisture the touristic Gulf of Aqaba. Quench Sinai’s watery thirst, and flow well—Red Sea!

Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of seven poetry books, and invented the poetry form and style, “Epulaeryu Poetry.” He’s published nationally and internationally in many forums. He has taught at Bryant and Stratton University, and retired from the U.S. Army as an officer. He’s a Goodwill Ambassador, and has received many poetry awards from a variety of sources.