April Featured Pieces
Ghost Restaurant by Noor Usmani
Sometimes, when people die, their ghosts fly, Fly far away to new and unknown destinations Through the crisp, cold air, Along the horizon of the sky and past the clouds Feeling the buzz of the life around and throughout the Earth. Sometimes, when people die, their ghosts just sit and deny, They deny truth of their new reality, and cling desperately to the small slivers from their past life, Floating around their house and sitting in the armchairs by the hearth. In the night, they confess their regrets that fuse with the wails of the wind, The whispers of their cries echoing through the pipes. Sometimes, when people die, their ghosts haunt the ones who wronged them, Deep-pitted resentment in their ghostly hearts. But over time, they all forget the who’s and the what’s, and live their days as the unalive. Watching life grow as small green buds bloom into leaves, then turn into hues of bronze and red and flutter to the ground. And like the leaves, they waited for that feeling to be reborn again by going to Ghost Restaurant. Ghost Restaurant stood on the corner of a particular street, A place where the spirits of old couples sat side by side, generations of families broke bread together, and the lonely found company. From dawn to dusk, the lights of Ghost Restaurant were always lit And inside, it was filled the spirited cacophony of clinking silverware against porcelain, Bustling waiters as they passed through velvet table-clothed tables, Plumes of smoke in rainbow shades escaping through the chimney, Floating candles and glass chandeliers, Smooth classical music notes filling the air Intermingling with the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen doors. Where only one dish was ever prepared, and one dish only ever ordered. It was called “Something Alive” First ordered many years ago by a spirit, not of a deceased soul, but of one alive. It belonged to a real estate agent, one of the most popular in the area. His days were filled with numbers and mechanical voices, And not even the green, gleaming cash deposited and tucked away in the safe, Could soothe his soul, who wandered around to different places each day, To escape the whispers and hundreds of thoughts, the demands, the expectations pounding in his head. The spirit roamed over the grass fields and through the lone streets, trying to find some purpose, sSome calm. And one day, when he finally stepped into Ghost restaurant, the waiter asked his what he wanted to order, and the spirit, with empty sorrow in his eyes, simply replied, “Something Alive”. It was a peculiar order, one that puzzled the chefs. For it was easy to live, but hard to be alive. But an order was an order, and what more could make a ghost feel more alive than emotions? The euphoria and the thrill And tThe heartache and the pain The love and the joy The checks of reality that made humans alive and want to live. The kitchen porters were in charge of gathering the ingredients. First was some fresh serotonin. The chef heard lustrous notes coming from the open window, and found a man, playing his violin in the park, a symphony of shrill, sweet notes And saw the fuchsia pink waves emanating from the crowdn of children and adults around him, Brought out a jar, and collected the ribbons of pink. Second, just a pinch of anxiety. That had to be handled the most carefully. Just a small dip of the jar from an open window into the high school classroom, murky gray particles filling the jar. Adrenaline, a teal-colored gas leaving a trail behind the roller-coaster cart. Anger, heartbreak and sadness all collected in trace amounts from a mother’s tears, which fell behind her child’s locked door. Emotions which the saucier mixed with a puree, Adding pinches of spices and some thickening And when it started to bubble slightly over the hot stove, He incorporated the adrenaline, pouring slowly while the other chef whisking rapidly The Sous chef demanded to taste the sauce, while. The Entremetier’s steel blade sliced the carrots, julienned the serotonin into paper thin slices, chopped the peppers into cubes, onions into dices. Finally, the Rotisseur worked on the steak Unwrapped it from the parchment it was steaming in with a mixture of herbs And marinated it with spices. He placed it in a sizzling iron-cast pan Added a chunk of butter, a solidified piece of love and basted each side of the steak, skin glistening brown. Presented on a simple white plate, Salad on the side, sauce poured over glistening meat The waiter took out the order and gave it to the soul. With each bite, the flavor grew and the ghost got déjà vu of the rainy afternoons spent in front of his piano, fingers lightly skipping over the ivory keys of the laughter of his wifde during dinner time, family time of the yapping of his Pekinese, and the rush of excitement as he rode his bike down the hill he remembered these emotions, cooked so carefully in the food, with each bite and finally felt alive. As the real estate agent learned to live, Step by step, savoring his passions More hungry souls craved a taste, And the more this dish was made, Emotions collected every day And glided out the kitchen doors on platters of gold To make the souls of the dead feel something alive The most popular dish of Ghost restaurant, the story now told. |
"Sins", Eden Liu
A Year of Rainy Days by Archana Nair
It’s been a rainy day today The sky, a stormy gray A slight chill in the air The warmth of your stare Two cups of tea One for you and one for me Your laughter brings me peace The burdens that I bear decrease When I’m with you, I don’t feel blue I like rainy days and how they remind me of you It’s been a week of rainy days The gray sky, obscured by haze The air seems colder Your head rests on my shoulder Our hands intertwined Our feelings, newly defined Two cups of lukewarm tea For two days, you didn’t speak to me I don’t really care if we fight Because come what may, we’ll be alright It’s been a month of rainy days I can feel the sky’s stare, it’s darkened gaze The air now has a biting chill I think I might be falling ill One cold cup of tea It’s been weeks since you’ve spoken with me The stinging cold seeps into my skin The mere thought of you makes my head spin It’s been a year of rainy days A year without the sun’s rays I’ve grown numb to the frigid air The way you left was just unfair It’s been months since I’ve seen your face Felt the warmth of your embrace It’s been a while since I’ve had tea It keeps reminding me of how we used to be I hate rainy days, I really do I hate that I love them like I still love you Untitled, Hannah Gupta
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