3 Poems by Anisha Kaul : “At the Dead of Night” “Flight of Tragic Wings” “A Commotion of the Holy Ones”


She walks on the parapet, eyes shut 
Her floral robes light as the wind
Paces for what seems an eternity 
The empty bed and spouse miss her alike   
Half asleep, he murmurs her name
She pulls at the misty curtains of slumber 
The venture ceases at once, swiftly descending 

Passes me, a regular witness to her wanderings
At my concealed post, taps the floor mockingly
Beaming, then glides to her chamber 
Embraces the dreamer, caresses his nape 
Removes the covers and joins him to sleep

Under great threat, Daedalus, a craftsman father, 
Laboriously fashioned two pairs of mighty wings  
A word of caution for his son timely passes
“Neither close to the sun nor abreast the sea!”

Evading much harm, the duo mount the open sky 
Its infinite domain overwhelmed the unfortunate Icarus 
Soaring across readily, he imitates a fowl on the maiden voyage  

Against all attempts of recklessness, the seasoned voice sounds 
Sensing cold flutter passing his novel feathers, youth easily ignored
Both speech and sight, and darted towards the doomed proximity, the 
Rival sun- his tragic wings undone at once, by degrees drop into the sea     


Grecian creatures of faraway oceans 
Singing songs of collective shipwrecks 
Lyre laden charms; of them beware!

White creatures of nearby land 
Singing songs of collective mourning 
Laden with warning lights; of them beware!

Solitary creatures of sandy shores
Singing songs of collective caution 
Twilight laden walls; of them too, beware!  

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Anisha Kaul

Poem from Anisha Kaul : “Joyce Strolls Around the Labyrinth” from Fevers of the Mind Press Presents the Poets of 2020

Labyrinth, Freedom, Orientation

Joyce Strolls Around the Labyrinth

He holds the pages closer and looks through them
Nothing.  His words have turned their back on him
They seem to form a pattern, constantly pushing around
He tries to bring order and worse they grow
Anxious, leaves them to struggle and perish
His translations of William Oscar Yeats Wilde simply gap at him
If only someone would direct him a Grant or even a Pound!
He always senses an oddity with language
Letterx, wordx, phrasex, sentencex and paragraphs of utter nonsensex
At times, he escapes into the stream of his consciousness
Wherein cacophony he upholds and abhors chronology
Presently, recalling Odysseus his mind Blooms
To a similar journey he embarks, but only
Around the labyrinth of his mind

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Anisha Kaul

3 new poems by Anisha Kaul : “Passing Days Through Freudian Slips” “Rooting Our Displacement-a Memoir” & “The Night Will Shroud Us Away”


A seemingly nonsensical murmur 
Wrapped in warm casual utterances 
At times, a passing fore lone word
Or maybe an attended chain of phrases, 
Sneaking hurriedly from hidden corners  
Gliding towards the easy audience  
Seeking refuge, dripping until late 
Dusting the heavy sack of unconscious 
So with each slip, light it grows

At other times, 
Into a puddle of jumbled letters, I drop,
Bracing embarrassment of unforeseen 
As in a perfect waltz, my speech
“Peel the orange and then sleep”, 
Breaks all bounds of familiarity,
Spins around, spins fast and at 
“Peel the sleep and then orange”, 
It finally halts. 
Shyly, I stand corrected each time 
Cursing, dear Mr Freud in undertones
For he brought my lingual distortion to 
Center stage.  
Astonishing enough. 
It never fails to perform through me. 

Rising winds carried me to places unseen 
While none had refuge to spare or solace to shed 
As a dandelion in motion, an un-nested bird 
I kept roaming 

Reaching the landscape, which mother often talked about, 
(Now mastered in memory), winds of discomfort ease and
I descend into the whirlpool of memories 
Removing a lifetime of snow, fallen in the backyard  
Cold hands recover earth soft to touch, 
The warmth therein still feels home, crawling slowly, 
I Chinar – reclaim my Kashmir 
Nurture my wounded roots and all lost once to decay 
Tears of remote past will tend 

Likes of me uprooted from our terrains
Have wondered for ages, wandered too far
We the 
Are forces of nature, seeking to root our displacement


We cancelled all wild plans
For the final family dinner
Before our town in Alaska
Hosts its annual polar night

Dining decked with delicacies
Enticed children to whiff until supper
Hot Spaghetti served with meat sauce
Potted shrimp followed by chocolate tarts

Eager clock ticked away, scented candles relaxed
The guest arrived accompanied by a Shepherd’s pie
Together we marked the hue as the sun went down
Our distant laugh rang through the unadorned hallway

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Anisha Kaul

Wolfpack Contributor Bio: Anisha Kaul

This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is anisha-contributor-pic.jpg

Anisha Kaul (she/ her) is a poet with a Master’s in English Literature, presently living in New Delhi, India. As of now 40 of her poems have been accepted or are housed in various national and international print and online anthologies. She served in the capacity of the editor for DRC, College Magazine Pramila, University of Delhi, 2016-17 issue. Anisha has also qualified the National Eligibility Test (NET) for Assistant Professorship conducted in India. She loves to write about herself in the third person. Find her on twitter: @anishakaul9.