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Haoajan Webzine

Haoajan, a multilingual online magazine, serves as a global platform for literature, art, cinema, music, and related cultural activities worldwide. The Bengali word ‘Haoajan’ translates to ‘airborne’ in English, symbolizing the power and potential of words. Like airborne particles, words possess the ability to take flight, to sink profoundly into our minds, and ultimately, to craft something extraordinarily unique and beautiful.

While we are cognizant of the intricate jargons and terminologies of the literary world – such as postmodernism, intertextuality, and cross-cultural diversity – we choose to remain true to our conviction. Rather than getting entangled in this web of complex terms, we have outlined our vision and mission in two simple, yet compelling, mantras.

Imagination Unbound

Firstly, we encourage our readers to keep their imagination unbound. We believe that the power of imagination is limitless, and by exploring it without boundaries, we can unlock a world of uncharted creativity.

You Are Your Storyteller. Enchant Yourself.

Secondly, we desire for our readers to become their own storytellers, to weave their enchanting tales. We urge you to explore the depths of your imagination, to create narratives that echo your unique voice, and ultimately, to captivate yourself with your own stories.

In essence, Haoajan celebrates the power of words and the boundless human imagination. We strive to be more than just a magazine – we serve as a platform, a community, and a catalyst for cultural and artistic exploration across the globe.

HAOAJAN Team, 26th May, 2024.

Can You Lend Me an Attic?

Can you lend me an attic someone? And in that attic I will see that girl again. The one with the blue frilled cotton frock. The one with the acne marked red cheeks. Playing with imaginary rabbits. And immersed in her story books. Can you lend me an attic someone? I will go there and meet the little girl again …

Oriental Lilies

The fragrance, the colour and the perfection. The dazzle, the mystery, a wondrous collection. The stargazers looking up to absorb all. They among all other flowers stand tall. My mother was so much like Oriental lilies. The dazzle of her intellect and her sparkling words of ease. The mystery of her beautiful eyes and her affectionate gaze. Like a stargazer, …

The Three Sparrows and Me

I was walking on the soft green grass. The sunshine was glistening on the dewdrops. My feet was touching the earth. My heart was feeling the happiness. Three sparrows were there with me, Pecking away in the grass. They went on hopping from one place to another, Not scared when I went near them. I went on walking and they …

Weeding

Dandelions expire and their hoary seeds are gentle as they urge the Spirit into spheres of truisms and because they are so delicate and soft they do not inflict any pain at all except that I must pull them from the dirt of their mothering roots so that the garden might thrive, the blood and sacrifice of these wild weeds …

Bruises Do Not Hurt the Skin

Tonight, new moon rising like an absent ghost, I am the sentinel with her back poised upright against the wall, awaiting its drift of sleep, and as well the sleep of two children, their senses lost to world, and the world lost to their senses. I light a candle to find the light, and click off the lights so that …

Prayer for Bathing

The sunset resists itself and in its premature glow while I un-clock myself supine in the bathtub I converse with the trees that I can see through the half-lowered blinds on the window. And sometimes the trees are as ancient as a whisper of lives which exhale into other lives upon lives, and then sudden as a shift of wind, …

Breathing Memories

An hour that goes by forms memories, even when life is busy collecting tomorrow’s worms, splendidly popping up like bubbles in still water. Some are tall, illuminated buildings like a bonfire sticking out its golden tongue, lapping the dark firmament— shifting like the ebb and flow. Others are perilously impartial— like fireworks they sparkle and vanish …

Midday Door

The sand alley, a sign, entrance to the other time, inner courtyard, 1 person at the counter, the post office of Baghdad, almost a Far West or Ur Little Middle East, faded, left & lost, years ago the letter with postmarked stamps, on the way, still and just …

Now

Just one cigareta – and we‘ll think up blissfull moments beside the water, on shores that become embers: in words, on sores, sometimes a wave; another toke – cos we glow out & into the distance of the doubled seasons: what once – when once, we now never say not. After all the voice sounds on …

Browse our publications

Borders & Broken Hearts

In her new book, Borders and Broken Hearts / Kashish, Gayatri offers the gift of her poems, along with their Sindhi translations rendered both in the Perso-Arabic script proper to …

Collection Of Feelings

Every page turned reveals not just words but echoes of Sankha’s soul, resonating with the readers, inviting them to delve deeper into their own existence and find their own solace …

Crossing the Shoreline

Crossing the Shoreline, a fresh collection of poems by one of our finest contemporary poets Gopal Lahiri reads like embarking on a new voyage to an unknown landscape where the …