THE PINEAPPLE EXPRESS A Quarterly E-Journal from India’s North-East
ISSN: XXXX-XXXX, Vol. 1, No. 1 | May 2026

I know not from what distant time
thou art ever coming nearer to meet me.
Thy sun and stars can never keep thee hidden from me for aye.

In many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard
and thy messenger has come within my heart and called me in secret.

I know not only why today my life is all astir,
and a feeling of tremulous joy is passing through my heart.

It is as if the time were come to wind up my work,
and I feel in the air a faint smell of thy sweet presence.

-Rabindranath Tagore

A softly lit vintage notebook open to a page filled with handwritten poems, resting on a textured wooden table.
A softly lit vintage notebook open to a page filled with handwritten poems, resting on a textured wooden table.

Verse

Whispers of words caught between ink and soul

A close-up of a fountain pen poised above a cream-colored page, ready to capture a fleeting thought.
A close-up of a fountain pen poised above a cream-colored page, ready to capture a fleeting thought.
A quiet corner by a rain-speckled window with a steaming cup of tea and scattered poetry drafts.
A quiet corner by a rain-speckled window with a steaming cup of tea and scattered poetry drafts.
Layers of translucent paper with typed and handwritten verses overlapping, evoking the texture of memory.
Layers of translucent paper with typed and handwritten verses overlapping, evoking the texture of memory.