FROM THEASHES

Does Mother Earth bothered about the heat? when wildfire razed it's bossom black and barren, lush greenery stripped bare naked, scorching flame and black ash flew wicked, echoing cries in deep jungle wailing like siren, fleeting lives live in deciet.

Yet when all hope were lost, mother earth let bloom once more, seedlings that shall grow stronger, from the ashes of the old, celebrating life once more.

Zeidan Naqeeb, 19, is a young and aspiring writer from Malaysia who publishes his work in local magazines and wrote mostly on social media. He fell in love with the beauty of the English language since young and is currently pursuing diploma in mass communication in MARA Institute of Technology University. He find freedom of expression in poetry and most of his works can be found on Instagram under the username zhnaqeeb.

universe's daughter

her gaze pierced straight through to the other side of the moon; there by light of moon, she swam in a celestial lagoon. the stars they sparkled in dazzling light all around, in that time and place no one else was to be found; a moment carved in time far from life's chagrin, where there were no losses and no wins.

she spent the day wading in heavenly waters, reborn as the universe's daughter. with strength of cosmos and heavenly light, she returned home full with vigor and might. darkness no longer over her took hold, she now possessed light of sun and moon gods of old.

Writing has remained a constant in Amanda’s life since childhood. She went on to study English Literature and Law. As life and career continued, Amanda never lost her passion for writing. Her work explores dark and light shades of life, personal experiences as well as fantasy.

Anastasis

Springs temperate breath melts this icy veil

Ared plume brightens my eye

Soft white scuts prance in the thicket Flecked with green, yellow and pink

I rise between the Oak andAsh Limbs reaching ‘for the comfort of the sun

Aroused, from the long brumal gloom

John was born and raised in The Bronx and currently resides in Westchester County, New York. He was the corecipient of the inaugural Mark Plesent commission from Working Theater in N.Y.C. He is also the author of several short, one act plays that have been performed in N.Y.C. You can find John on Instagram @Jkay____

Death’s Dance

‘bout to take flight. Had to lose it. My heart buried comfortably under your watchful eye— that “other guy” and the scenarios add up: the circumstances still, buried up hill. We laughed and we’ll laugh still, but take me to the top. Find my purpose on the map. On the road. On the back. Of a path that’s marked by gravel and sentiment. Mom hands me spearmint

I chew and chew, spitting out the loaded bubble to find your shoe.

We be grounded right?

We be grounded all night. And it ain’t my fault the ground done slid, And it ain’t my fault we be grounded in the sky.

Try the scale.Test the slide

I can’t lose weight

I ain’t never gained

You can’t speak children

Or play the Red Rover game.

Levity you’ll scoff at the opposite of brevity. Water and truth sprung like Old Faithful

Did you see that eruption from the safety of your eyes?

We’d never felt more alive or more grounded. They shot you first and I was hung, Everybody done bite their tongues.

That was more than 100 years ago when we soared above chance— 100 years to know the earth outside of death

Kari Moss is a poet and writer that lives in South Carolina. She possesses a Master’s in Literature from Eastern New Mexico University, and a Bachelor’s in English from University California at Santa Cruz. After years in higher education, she is now immersed in her passion full time, arriving on the literary scene as an emerging writing. You can find Kari at her website www.loveshouldbe.com, on Instagram: kari_loveshouldbe, or Twitter: @_Loveshouldbe.

Rebirth (2022), Eva Marschan-Hayes

Mixed media. Oil pastel painting, digitally modified.

The Butterfly, shown in pastel, spring like colours, is meant as a metaphor for rebirth. Two figures on top of the butterfly, guiding a soul, from the earthly to the spiritual dimension. We can also view it as the other way round.

Eva Marschan-Hayes is a neurodivergent mixed media artist and poet, based in the south of England. She creates images to inspire the imagination, exploring, spirituality, memory emotions and fantasy. You can find her on Instagram and Facebook @evas.poetic.imagery

The death of colour

I died a different kind of death the day you died in me. The kind where colour was drained, even from simple everyday scenes.

Days where everything was as grey; Grey as the ultrasounds of your face, The only reminder I have that you and I, we once shared this space.

Days that were red, hot with anger. Red, like the way you bled, From meSome days are still tinted that cold grey blue. But there’s a palette of colour in your sister. Sent down I wonder, by you?

Colours to drown out the greys and the blues. The heartache and broken memories, all now muted hues.

Life's colour is returning brighter than ever; Truly a rainbow, baby.

Yellow in her laughter, Rose in her cheeks, Green in her eyes. She brings colour to my weeks.

Reborn with her, In me, what died with you.

Elizabeth Santaromita

Elizabeth Santaromita is a twenty-four-year-old published writer and Mum of one; studying English and Creative writing at Murdoch University in Western Australia. Elizabeth struggles with chronic illnesses such as endometriosis and adenomyosis and hopes to dismantle the stigma and silence surrounding them. Elizabeth also identifies as part of the LGBTQ+ community as a Bisexual.

Untitled

Can I reach you?

If I threw all my wishes, Into yesterday, Could you catch them?

Pull them together, tight as a safety rope, To find your way, And meet me here in the future? My soul, it strains, To grab you, breath life, into who you were. But who are you now?

I wonder if, you’ll even recognize me now. Those nights running beneath, The lights of the city, Are distant. I haven’t chased, The moon since.

But this desire, this desperation, Reminiscences of now impossibilities, Always bring me to the question; Is there any way I could hold you?

Keep you, safe, from the past, Reshape, recreate, you, Arebirth, fixed from, The mistakes, of what we shouldn’t have, Ignored.

Is this wishful thinking, Hoping for, intervention beyond, Human reality.

I know the answer, But I seek ways to defy it nonetheless. To find contradictions to reality. Is this the origin of creation? The reason why, we shaped God, In our image?

Regrets held, Of those, lost along the way, Elevated to a place, Where humanity’s ending, Isn’t the conclusion, but a paradise, Where we may see, Long desires once more.

I wonder if heaven, is just, Ahope that, there is another time, Where we could say hello, once more.

“

Our dances, with the reaper, The slow steps, almost maddening, The rhythm of this sway, towards the future, Its unpredictable, frustrating, Maybe I’m not the only one, Who’s struggled with these goodbyes, That litter the path ahead. An infatuation of times gone by; Afear of times to come.

I’m broken, Traumatized, coping, Finding whatever way to keep you alive! Living, existing, never forgotten. Over and over, in my stories you reanimate! In the laughs of a Saturday night, Where your madness still calls for a round, Acelebration to your existence!

Or in these solitary walks, alone, Where I keep you beside me, recalling, What you would have said, if you could have said, Anything at these moments. You come to life, in the moments, When I can’t understand, the consequences, Of the end.

In what sign of my imagined divinity, Will I find you next?

Arben Alovic

Haven’t figured out why I write, who I write for and who I hope to reach. Though if my words find their way to you, the reader, and you find something there, I’m happy. My memories, my thoughts, and my soul found in my poems are for you. Shape them, mold them, and breathe whatever life you’d like into them. I just supply the poems, but you give them meaning and understanding. Till next time, I hope you find what you’ve been looking for.”

Socials: Instagram, @December_Without_You

Based out of NYC.