Photo credit: Carlos de Toro
There are gaps in my knowledge, no doubt.
Like, why is it that weddings require doves?
Why do people prefer a savior who comes from above?
What is love?
Something driving philosophers and confused teenagers insane.
Although those two terms are almost synonymous,
For generations we have been filled with frustration
Driving the foundation to how “nations” were established
In the name of love? A love of their countries or families
Out of pain from one of life’s many tragedies
Having to ask loved one, why don’t you love me?
Still a tragedy. Why won’t you marry me?
We’re a one-word answer from it just being you and me.
We can be us, full of trust.
We won’t confuse love with lust, this will not be a bust.
This won’t all go to dust because we will never rust
Because tomorrows are bright, despite what will happen.
A loss of rights, fights over territory
Just to make insecure monsters feel better about themselves
Before that, let us gain a deeper understanding of each other
Why is it that we do the things that we do?
How do we justify what we do?
Where are you?
Who are you?
What are you?
Why are you?
Do I care for you?
Is it possible for me to even care about people that aren’t me?
Does asking that make me conceited or greedy?
Am I me or who I want to be?
Am I simply the person that you would think that I would think I would want to be?
Do I care for the poor or the hungry?
Are they too far away for me to even notice a lack of bliss?
If I’m the first of you all to leave will I get a chance to reminisce?
Is it wrong that the things I say are for attention?
There are parts of me that are damaged like I am nemo and my emotions are a fin
The things I do aren’t for me, but for you to like me
because approval is how I know I am worth the things that I have
Approval is how I know I’m worth it.
I am not
الفنان حكيم الحج
بقلم ليث بلال
.هو أسلوب عزفٍ على الآلات الوترية، يُداعبُ بِهِ العازف الأوتار بأناملِهِ المتقرحة
،هي كُل رسالةٍ وكل فكرة
،كُلُ لحظةٍ و ذكرى
كُل حلمٍ نحملهُ على ارواحنا العارية
،فوق وتر الغد الجارح
هو كُلُ وعدٍ نقطعهُ
ليُقطعَنا هو بدوره، رويداً رويداً، حتى نَمَلَ العزف
.و يعتادنا أنين الأنغام
Photo credit: Alfonso Scarpa
I hate commuting
that’s why I live near my workplace
where I can just walk by the lake
or sometimes in the basement
where cars are parked –
the shortest path.
but when I do,
it takes me back
to the night I met you.
the night, I remember,
I just wanted to drink wine
so I passed by the familiar bar
in the basement.
I sat at one corner of the bar-
the bartender facing me
a stranger behind me
no one in my left side
and there you are in my right-
you’re murmuring something to me
while I was deep in my thoughts
I told you I was writing a poem about dying
but I doubt that you heard it
because you kept talking to me
and never stopped staring at me
until you asked me if I want
to go upstairs
I remember your blue eyes
begging me or have I mistaken
begging for seducing?
I did not answer.
but I found my dress on the floor
of an unfamiliar bedroom instead.
I forgot if it’s the red one, the orange one
or my favorite one.
I can’t keep track of which dress I wore
on those countless sleepless nights,
or did I even wear any?
because I can feel the white duvet
on my bare skin while thinking about
my unfinished poem
or did I in fact finish it?
if not, I want to write a poem about dying.
if it would mean I am still living.
or should I take the longest path?
or should I start riding the train?
الفنان حكيم الحج
بقلم جميل عدس
الحزن الأبدي هو أنُّ
ما تصدق حلمك
من كل عرق بينزف من جبينك
الأمل بيمطر فوق راسك
و الحلم بيكبر
بيوسع الدنيا و كل ما فيها
انجز، بتفلح.. صدقني
الحلم على طرف أصبيعك
Photo credit: Gabriel E.
Foreheads with lines of anxiety shining
Feet lost in search of a path unknown
Faces that bear a familiar strange look
Bodies bustling in a crowd of chaos
Hearts strangled by the noose of stress.
They stand in a queue
which follows rules of the daily grind.
They board a train
which has no steam left for fresh journeys
as the wheels run on tracks
that are too smooth to feel the weariness.
Photo credit: Chris Yang
By Nabila Zaidi
Hush, my baby girl!
Silence is your beauty
Rage, your fury, scary
Dare you utter a word
Sit back under a rock, before you slip like a storm
Behave like a lady
Push your words back in, baby girl
A slut, a witch, a bitch, lest you become
A little too much
A little too less will you become
So hush, my baby girl
Be the one without words
You’ll be nothing without your words
A slut, a witch, a bitch, will you become.
Photo credit: Reham Yeshar
For centuries it’s been remarked
That silence leaves the most telling of marks
But as the times change and people adapt
a new weapon seems to have come around
It is just painful to feel silence where there once used to be sweet song
But it is deathly, to feel indifference where there was love and clear skies
The allure of a warming heart, the charm of quirk, a work of art
Could drive thy heart into delirium
But as songs go, nothing breaks like a heart
The sunshine gives way to rain, the skies turn jet black
Darkness chokes every living cell and the sledgehammer strikes the blow
Thy heart has cracked into a million little pieces
As the same starry eyes no longer seem to shine
As indifference has turned thy love into its shrine.
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