Edition XXXX

August 2019

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Gaps - by Maher Gidwani (Photo by Carlos de Toro).jpgPhoto credit: Carlos de Toro


By Maher Gidwani

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

البيزكاتو - by Laith Bilal (Photo by Hakim El Haj).jpgالفنان 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

Train Ride - by Paula Bianca (Photo by Alfonso Scarpa).jpgPhoto credit: Alfonso Scarpa

Train Ride

By Paula Bianca Fernandez

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.
again. Or
if it would mean I am still living.
or should I take the longest path?
or should I start riding the train?

الحلم كبير - by Jamil Adas (Photo by Hakim El Haj).jpgالفنان حكيم الحج

الحلم كبير

بقلم جميل عدس

الحزن الأبدي هو أنُّ
ما تصدق حلمك

حلمك بيكبر
من كل عرق بينزف من جبينك

الأمل بيمطر فوق راسك
و الحلم بيكبر

الحلم بيكبر
لمّا تقابلها

حلمك كبير
بيوسع الدنيا و كل ما فيها

انجز، بتفلح.. صدقني
الحلم على طرف أصبيعك

The Metropolitans - by Noren (Photo by Gabriel E.).jpgPhoto credit: Gabriel E.

The Metropolitans

By Noren

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.

Hush - by Nabila Zaidi (Photo by Chris Yang).jpgPhoto 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
And hush!

Shhh… hush!
Shhh… push!
Shhh… hush!

No! Push!

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
But with,
A slut, a witch, a bitch, will you become.

Indifference - by Anupras Mohapatra (Photo by Reham).jpgPhoto credit: Reham Yeshar


By Anupras Mohapatra

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.

Check out our previous editions from 2019:

Edition XXXVII
Edition XXXIX

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