Literature | The Daily Star
  • The Hridaya Sutra
    The Hridaya Sutra

    A Quest (You can) Take a break on the way to Kailash,

  • Freedom
    Freedom

    On our way to Dhahran from Austin, we plan to stop at Pennsylvania,...

  • The Deer
    The Deer

    We lived in Pirojpur then. Barisal is the land of rivers and...

  • When She Misses Him (2009)

    A sudden stillness!

  • Two Poems

    I was led to delusion,

  • Dsc Prize for South Asian Literature, 2019

    Instituted by Surina and Manhad Narula in 2010, the US $25,000 DSC Prize for South Asian Literature is one of the most prestigious international literary awards specifically focused on South Asian writing. It is a unique and coveted prize and is open to authors of any

  • Ghoulish Sentiments

    Slumped with our luggage we got off the train looking apprehensively at the quaint sight before us. Saplings and balding grasslands carpeted serenely with occasional trees of variety here and there. The scenery struck me with great unfamiliarity in contrast to the city

  • Why Is Writing So Difficult to Accomplish?

    Writing is a struggle for everyone. If it seems easy, a writer is not doing it right. Because writing is mired in myths and misunderstanding, most writers – aspiring writers, in particular – consider the essential difficulty in writing as a pathology. They feel

  • The Fifteenth of August

    The crimson hue is still in the morning sky.

  • The Beggar

    Though I called out to the shopkeeper a couple of times, he didn’t heed me. He was too busy rearranging the products on the rack. As I was waiting for him to respond, a middle-aged beggar woman turned up on my left and begged for money from me. At first, I

  • Tagore Poems

    Krishnakali I call her Krishnokoli, my dark blossom,

  • Tagore Poems

    Krishnakali I call her Krishnokoli, my dark blossom,

  • Of Itching and Scratching

    I, an itching palm? —William Shakespeare

  • Of Itching and Scratching

    I, an itching palm? —William Shakespeare

  • Life Theft Auto: Vice City

    “CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER”—the instruction pops up on the brand new 32-inch curved monitor’s screen. “Hmm… Which one? Which one should I select?” Genghis Khan murmurs.

  • Tagore Poems

    Krishnakali I call her Krishnokoli, my dark blossom,

  • Of Itching and Scratching

    I, an itching palm? —William Shakespeare

  • Life Theft Auto: Vice City

    “CHOOSE YOUR CHARACTER”—the instruction pops up on the brand new 32-inch curved monitor’s screen. “Hmm… Which one? Which one should I select?” Genghis Khan murmurs.

  • Memoir of a Serpent Woman

    I am Ranire, the serpent woman who lives in the rubbles of Al-Hammar Palace. Yes, you heard right—the accursed and legendary half woman and half snake that wanders in the desert land of Ukh-Tarar.

  • Daughters of the sun

    Rehana takes hesitant steps towards her house. Her Niqab renders the landscape a transparent shade of black smoke.

  • Fragrance

    Just as Azhar Kha was about to leave the room putting his shirt on, Lily made an entrance, “Baba, you promised!”

  • Poems of Jibanananda Das

    Had I but an eternal life (“Ananta Jibon Jodi Pai Ami”)

  • The Tree

    There the tree tom-tomed its existential glory on the bank of the small river at a distance from the village.

  • The Story of the 21st

    We could have never imagined that we would get Topu back. And yet he has returned and is amidst us. It is mind-boggling – the person whom we had seen for the last time at the High Court intersection,

  • The Song of the Mountains

    It’s late June and it’s hot. It’s nine in the morning and it’s hot. It’s so hot in Dhaka that after a while feelings turn somewhat numbed, vision blurred. And taking advantage of the overcrowded vehicle, when a guy pinches Shila Chakma’s buttock after a futile attempt to grope her breast, she wants to scream: Stop it, you pervert.

  • Two poems of Federico García Lorca

    If I die, leave the balcony open.

  • Life’s Invisible Battles

    This is a story without a beginning or an end. The story does not even relate to events that one can see. And yet, in some sense, there is a beginning and there is an end.

  • A Serenade of Love

    In a soggy London street he stood, shaking his dreadlocks like wind-struck branches of a willow and moving his weathered bow on the shiny strings of his broken violin.

  • NAH!

    I am sure it was sometime in 1965 that a classmate at St. Gregory’s, Muhammad Ali Rumee, piqued my curiosity by describing a new movement in letters launched by some friends of his elder brother.

  • Table of Contents

    Table of Contents

  • Street Music

    Saturday morning: on the brick plaza at the corner of Fourth and Catheri

  • Editor’s Note

    It’s that time of the year again, when we offer an array of literary items -- short fiction, non-fiction and poetry.

  • The Story of Kusum’s Family

    When the twelve-year old Kusum was returning home, she stole a glance at the setting sun for one last time. It was dipping over the heads of tallest coconut trees lined along the furthest edge of horizon. She let out a sigh — for some indefinable reason she wanted to

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