A poem “Re-bound” by Hokis


This birthed body
Put upon the library self.
Fiction or non-
The perpetual, rhetorical question.

They selected me
From the self-help section.
Checked me out –
the librarian peering over the rim of rosary-red glasses.

The first few chapters read.
A closer study needed, so rules were broken by
Highlighter pens and
Scribbled margins.

Later, all together lost under
Piles of papers to grade and
Petitions to sign.

Birthday cake smudges.

Menstrual blood and tears.

Empty spaces erased the final chapters.

Decades later,
Self is found in the transformation to Body;
Loose binding
Wrinkled pages
Round belly
Achy hips
Hair loss

         loss I can manage 
         because I already have.

For more on Hokis: read this book review below

Books to Read in 2021: On Becoming(Aesthetic Evolution of the Rising Ancestor) by Hokis


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: Anisha Kaul

A Fevers of the Mind Quick-9 Interview with Anisha Kaul

Bio: 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.

Wonderful Artwork from Avalanches in Poetry Writings & Art Inspired by Leonard Cohen by artist/writer Geoffrey Wren

Geoffrey Wren

For more of Geoffrey’s amazing work with not only Leonard Cohen art, but other great art, check out his fb page https://www.facebook.com/GeoffreyWren/media_set?set=a.10214733692329782&type=3

New Poems by Briony Collins : “A Fig in Winter” & “Holocene”

a fig in winter

a fig in winter

the night after you shatter me
you send me videos about stoicism

like that means a goddamn thing
but you want to help

i’m afraid to move
if i get up i might disturb the memories

might shake up the dust and find it settles
into shapes i no longer recognise

might dislodge the texture of the walls
where you pressed me, where i died

might lose the temperature from the pillows
the sweat of the duvet twisted into knots

by your hand, i am freezing
and you send me the words of dead men

fuck you

they tell me to thaw and surrender
but i am your winter



all his exes are crazy
not him

upon waking i stretch
crack the base of my spine
my fluids run thin, deplete
their vitality between bones

he sleeps with his nose
squashed into a pillow
what an ugly thing, i think
to be so sure of sanity

the sun doesn’t visit us here
in this flat, gone noon
the austere, saxe filter
of the day already dying

we are a moment
a lungful of our lives

upon waking i stretch
my mind over the length
of my limits, i’m an ugly thing
for losing myself in another

arise, mad sisters
we are the last

photo by Haojie Xu

Bio: ‘Briony Collins is a poet, novelist, and playwright. She won the 2016 Exeter Novel Prize and has several prominent publications. Her debut poetry pamphlet, Blame It On Me, is forthcoming with Broken Sleep Books in August 2021. She is co-founding editor of Cape Magazine.’