Edition XXXV

November 2018


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Mud and Blood - by Namal Siddiqui and Agnes Tan (Photo by Valentin Salja)Photo credit: Valentin Salja

Mud and Blood

By Namal Siddiqui and Agnes Tan

We are born
We are born
    Of mud, and blood
    Of mud, and blood.
We must live
We must live
    Red, and tooth in claw
    Red, and tooth in claw.
We are gone
We are gone
    Like dust, and rust
    Like dust, and rust.


Photo credit: Kaya SS

Papercut

By Kaya SS

A thousand paper cuts

to hollow lungs- a void

mass loss of blood to blue

like blue crabs cricketing through

the red ocean


White Canvas - by Arantxa Carvalho (Photo by Fabrizio Conti)Photo credit: Fabrizio Conti

White Canvas

By Arantxa Carvalho

On this white canvas

I find my mind

weeping dreams and bloody thoughts

Everything that this world can’t fathom

living in an esoteric universe of its own

where there are days

that I’m out of my own league

flailing like a fish in the sea

out of its school

Do you find this drifter within you too?

or is this white canvas supposed to be my home alone?


Self-Doubt - by Sabila Siddiqui (Photo by Ioana Casapu)Photo credit: Ioana Casapu

Self-Doubt

By Sabila Siddiqui

Crippling self-doubt
plagues my existence.
Injecting itself into my blood stream;
immobilizing my muscles
numbing my tongue
and muting my voice box.

It quenches its thirst
by tearing my self-image
limb from limb and
ploughing my insides
till there is nothing left.

It either bombards like
gunfire inside my head
firing flaws into questions
or drain each cell’s confidence
leaving the muscles to shiver and shudder
and words hesitant to leave my tongue.

My flesh that houses doubt
is familiar with every capillary of my insecurity;
Whispering my shortcomings
and scrutinizing the details that make me, me.

It is a constant fight, invisible to the eyes.
Internal;
it’s all in my head.


Toxic Addictions - by Yaman Nimer (Photo by The Dark Sea Project)Photo credit: The Dark Sea Project

Toxic Addictions

By Yaman Nimer

Every now and then
you stop by,
you come in softly
like a gentle breeze
through the open crack of my
bedroom window.
And I never could deny
you from slipping in,
I never could
close that window.
I think, maybe this time
it’ll be different.
But you take up all the space
in my lungs,
leave me gasping,
used,
having to learn
how to
breathe again.


Enjoy more poems from our earlier editions in 2018:

Edition XXV
Edition XXVI
Edition XXVII
Edition XXVIII
Edition XXIX
Edition XXX
Edition XXXI
Edition XXXII
Edition XXXIII
Edition XXXIV