“Never trust a man, Hina. They’re all scum.” I was nine years old when my mother first said this to me. She had failed yet again to secure a divorce from my father in Pakistan—her second attempt at doing so. The first time she tried, I was five and remember the day we came back
Alone I stand in a dark graveyard Bodies lay still but there are no souls I walk alone without my heart Can’t fill these empty wormholes How can anyone say she didn’t matter She was everything to me Selling their soul is what they’d rather Married into a portal to hell on earth I’m born
shorts and sandals on a hot October day 30.1 degrees Celsius this is a riff on changing times on changing ways on changing days salmon are jumping and people are oohing the weir too high, they spawn and die the water runs swift like the beat of a riff cormorants soar while cascades roar susurrant,
In Memory of My Memory Okay, so this happened on Tuesday. Or Wednesday. Wait… Was it Monday? What day is it? It was Sunday. Yes, it was Sunday because Sunday means I get to drive up north and say hi to the maple trees. I like trees. They are nice neighbours. They are always standing
Dear Friends, What to be made of situations like these, With precedence most refused to see? When righteous anger now takes place. Where were you when wolves (viewed as sheep) were crying for wolves? Why is it we get acknowledgement now – when their bodies are no longer even cold? How to reconcile from this
Atmospheric Pressure Let forgiveness come in like breath I did not mean to draw. Let it flow, propelled by the pressure of the entire atmosphere being greater than that of my own lungs. Let forgiveness draw into me by force, thrust and crammed in like a deep, satisfying breath like a yawn mid-sentence that you
https://youtu.be/DAP59RPZoMg *Shorter version: https://youtu.be/iZ1Q9J4EBIw *Written in honour of the many children who never returned home from residential schools in Canada. “it was the land” by pj johnson Poet Laureate of the Yukon. it was the land no one knew the evil men could do behind closed doors no one spoke of it no one said
Tears of abandonment in the eyes of a faithful companion my past has been part of someone else’s future; Ripening into a sailing stone inscribing long tracks without any physical intervention giving birth to geological phenomenonal types of rocks; Being the kind of man that is never poor, aiming for the shade and prescribed hugging!
Getting Fresh Air By: Diya Duggal I would rather be somewhere else, Then sitting here by myself, Outside looks like a blast, I hope Covid won’t last, I can’t wait to see my family, They are nice, amazing and lovely We will go on a beautiful trip Probably using the Disney ship We’d love to
the monkeys in the wallpaper are oddly silent slipping among shadows of jungle palms in the night as we sleep unaware under our canopied beds and bed becomes forest floor under leaf canopy and the forest softly creeps into the dusky space as we sleep unaware under our canopied beds dream of dawn and a