April Issue

Welcome to the April issue of The Wrong Review. This time we feature poetry by Imon Raza, Swarnadeep Banik, Pranam Abbi. They are three very different writers with unique styles. Hope you enjoy reading them.

Three Poems by Imon Raza


When will the sun rise again?
When will the stars sing again?

There is a moon nearby,
It is planning to leave tomorrow,

I think the Universe died last night.




I tied a string to the moon,
Carried it around like a balloon,

I thought you might follow it
And find me someday.


I rolled myself into a letter today,
Then sat inside that red box for days at end.
Counting relentlessly the ink marks over my body,
The nib cuts, the ink smudges.

I read the footnotes, the beginning,
Over and over again,
It was written to me,
A letter to a letter.

As I read on I could feel the sorrow and the agony of the writer,
It was about my behavior lately,
I read on, couldn’t get my paper heart off it.

But then, my own ink soaked me by the end,
Finally, there it was,
Just a lump of twisted words and ink lying naked,
Condemned to be a letter,
That never reached its address.


Imon Raza is an alumni of National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad originally from Assam. He is an artist/designer who thinks writing is an integral part of expression and hence life. He has been a assistant researcher at the Hochschule Luzern, Switzerland researching on Mathematics and Films. He has also taught at the Cotton State University, Assam as a visiting Faculty at the Dept. of Anthropology. He wants to explore the boundaries of poetry and art through his imagery in words.

Three Poems by Swarnadeep Banik

Godard’s Filmography

The winter comes, unprecedentedly,
I try to cope up with that…
The sunlight… it doesn’t give me
enough hopes.
Listen, last time I borrowed
something else, instead of anything else…
Le petit soldat… mon amour.
It doesn’t happen to be like this,
something funny…
Why do I close my eyes?
laisse moi…
It doesn’t give me enough dreams…


The names, uncommon, one after another,
stupidly taken, fixed
Cocooned under a reluctant self-defence,
I try to hide between names,
I want to take shelter in names,
only if I’m not dead…
This makes me shiver,
stupidly fixed, and taken!
The Late Night Show With Swarnadeep Banik

Specs off. Ordinariness in between…
Welcome back again. Thank you,
nice to meet you, too… crossed with fiery silences…
Tired microphones.
(U up? Okay, let’s talk)
How you’ll see this, it’s your
blah-blah perspective.
People cheer in cacophony,
I responsible… me irresponsible.
Specs off. Specs on.
(U up? Okay, lest talk)…

# – One Line Space

Swarnadeep Banik is studying English Literature in Presidency University.  He is interested in reading books, watching films and listening to music. He is a die-hard fan of James Joyce, Jean-luc Godard and oasis.

Three Poems by Pranam Abbi

Just a reflection, my child

There was a sigh before she took her last drag of her second cigarette
There was a moment of pause after her drag
And before she stubbed her cigarette

This sigh and pause, confused the writer

She does what he tells her, like a sage he preached
Even though he was nothing
But a brief elaboration of powerful wisdom

Like Plato’s king, he does nothing
Not even sleeps

She sometimes kisses these lips which speak words of wisdom now and then
He touches the breasts which hold the murmuring heart; he returns the kisses as if she was the one

Never mind
What’s right, what’s wrong?
You aren’t the judge
But a jury in front of a mirror with the silver lining

There is a play book he keeps, writing down all his tricks
He feeds his demons, like a host to a parasite

She just looks, tries to comprehend this enigmatic figure but fails each time he blinks

What is there in your mind, you cold heart she asks
Nothing child, just a few broken pieces of glass reflecting you

City girl on the beach

City girl on fire let me take you higher
Don’t extinguish it, with that boy from the uptown
Money, power and sex, is all what he sounds

City girl, grooving to the beat
Slow ride, with a nice boot
Swirling, looking at the sky
Open air dancing, with Nike air

Complexion resembling the sand, below our feet
This isn’t the place for luxury brands
This is the place for the spiritual kinds

Complexion resembling the sand, hair likes a flower
I aren’t a thug or a dealer
I did listen to hip-hop
But, trust me, city girl, that’s the past

Because I tried hating, but it never did me any good
Neither did the rap of the US of A
Neither did the trap of the city life

Because I tried hating, and I was on a trial for a few days
Never mind, but I came out a man
I never fought the urges, instead surrendered my will to not a man
To the universal energy of all spirits combined

City girl, that’s my life
I got two left feet, I got the rest of the body grooving to yours
I know, you want me
And, I want you to know, that I know.

Letter from hell

Horrors of my past, neglected lies
My destination, the unknown land
Beyond the shore of time, she stands with her hopes high
Underlying issues of my personality, makes her think twice
Of my presence near our child, my morning sunshine

I take a hit in the morning, shooting up my veins
I take another hit after breakfast, then another before lunch
I thought I wasn’t getting my fix, but didn’t realize this wasn’t the fix
Blood burst out my vein, like drops of rain; it fell on the wooden floor

Our child faced this trauma with her mother
While the father, I was singing a rap
In the booth, in the zone, spitting out words which didn’t make sense to either

I was so far away, yet so close
Emotional I wasn’t present, but, physically, I became a zombie to them
I didn’t feed on their misery and fear of having to find something else
Something much special to them, on the wooden floor

Their love was kind, till they saw the needle was fixed right
When the needle was all gone, they showed the tough love
I wished death, to see them become stronger with tears
There’s no drink or drug, I tried
That could replace their sight, beyond my comprehending skill
Was this empirical conclusion

Horrors of my past, my failed tries
Introducing her into my life, making her suffer with her child
What went in my mind, was just another fix all the time
The wife and the child, the broken family, living on crashing tides
Hold, I went to the safe, alright, took out the .380, shot my wife
Fixed my child, left him to die as I looked out the window
Thought I could fly, so, goodbye, I flew straight in to ground.


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