Writing:

Metamorphosis - Khadeeja 

the coffee gets cold - Chainka 

Hero, Town Crier, Writer - Kaitlin Swift

The Fairy Wedding - Madeleine Schuyler

Robin, Fly, Fly, Fly! - Saqib Iqbal

Price of the Eyes; Shards - MG

Good Enough - Karishma Aniket

dedicated to: older siblings - Amelie Baskova 

Human Hypocrisy - Sarah Pangan

When Love Paints the Sky - Nadya Arellano

City of Dreams: Discovering Myself in New York - Urmi Hossain

The Elements of Comfort - Ekam Bedi

Albatross in the Sky - Ekam Bedi

An Ode to Spring - Ekam Bedi

What is it called? - Florina Konwar

Mom, I'm Sorry - Audrey Lee

Who is She in the Midst of Darkness? - Zanib Safdar

I Saw Myself in Him - Iqra Khan Turk

By Khadeeja 

She is a sophomore at Aligarh Muslim University majoring in English literature. She can either be found flipping the pages of a novel or running straight to participate in competitions. Her area of interest lies in writing, poetry, elocution, journalism, public speaking etc.

"This poetry is very close to my heart. It takes you to an overwhelming journey of ageing. Morever, as a hosteller living away from home, it deeply resonate with me."

The door ajar, a warm smile welcomed

Her affection, a familiar space

Teary eyed, comfy hug embrace 

Holding drops of emotions 

With the essence of motherhood's devotion 

Behind that smiling veil of a mother 

A gracious face shrunken with wrinkles

Dark bronze locks slowly turned frosty silver

The same mundane cycle of life

From dawn till the silence of night

The aroma of her special cuisine

Bring back memories of days so serene

When her meek laughter echoed through cottage

Now, constant ache keep her to a chair

Evening tea on the rooftop freezes

The girl lost in the shadows of inevitable aging, 

She felt her mother’s light diminishing.

Suppressing emotions, she chose to defy,

For she's young and energetic, ready to fly.

The metamorphosis unravels

Days went by, seasons changed

Winter waves, cold breezes envelop her

A blanket of dilemma engulf her soul

Were these countless sacrifices worth the toll?

Leaving home, living alone

Moments lost, saying no to mom

Did they enlighten her soul?

Stuck in reverie, she stood still

Clouds of confusion, Moon begins to spill

Twinkling stars, a delicate downpour of shower 

She yearns for destiny, The metamorphosis. The infinity!

By Kaitlin Swift

My name is Kaitlin Swift, and I am a Journalism and Digital Media major in the Honors Program at Montclair State University. I am a journalist, novelist, creative writer, poet, and playwright. My stories span a wide range of genres, including features, creative, entertainment, news, and opinion. My goal is to become a journalist, tv reporter, and jack of all trades in the field. My favorite stories to cover are human interest: talking about the good things still happening in the world that make life worth living!

The hero fights with optimism and courage,

People call her naive,

Caring for others, despite their cruelty,

Laughing so loud the whole world can hear,

Opening her heart to the world,

Wounded, but still beating on,

Through words that have the power to get through

Even the harshest of storms.

The king may be a fool.

He may cut down the trees, 

Harm the soil,

Make the conditions so insurmountable, it seems none can persevere.

Be the blossom that blooms despite the odds.

Silence isn’t always silence.

Words on a page can speak volumes.

Even if the ink spills, if the quill splits,

Never let them end your story.

An object in motion will stay in motion,

Keep on going.

No matter how large or small the steps,

They all count.

Keep moving forward.

Hold tightly onto your dreams.

Don’t lose hope.

They may call you a fool, but it will fall upon deaf ears.

Your voice will be louder.

It deserves to be heard.

Be equal parts hero, town crier, and writer.

Fight for what you believe in.

Be kind.

Don’t let them make you the villain.

By Saqib Iqbal

Saqib is a poet and performer born and bred in Birmingham, England, but whose roots are from Kashmir and the Punjab. Inspired by everything from folklore to Sufism to the vivid dreams he has every night, he crafts poetry laden with metaphor, nostalgia and introspection to make sense of the complexities of life's (e)motions. 

Robin with Your 

deep black 

cowlicked 

eyebrows! 

Robin, with Your 

plumed puffed-up

           pumping 

           breast!

Robin i hope You can hear me through the foggy gale gone on 

for two whole years now i’d bellow like 

thunder if i could but my throat is 

          still hoarse from illness so i

           hope my words suffice

Robin i hope Your heart’s hero’s cape 

    still has Your initial emblazoned i hope

                     it still glistens sparkling as Your smile 

 still billowing under the thameside breeze 

                  for the whole world to see

Robin i commend Your endeavour to conquer 

the triathlete feats i know the comic strip will 

                                                                         break 

out of its ink-boxed bounds as You 

put pedal to the metal and soar past lines and tides and platoons of competitors man

i’m sure You could pull off a whole decathlon too! 

You’d best believe Your best men will be stood 

   beaming through the finish-line throng and

                               the very best of guys will flock to Your victory song

                                                so don’t let even the smallest raindrop tarnish

Your budding legacy

Robin remember

You’ve never been just the sidekick 

  or the sidecar 

   or the side thing

You’re the Hero 

Rocketing Motorcycle

Jewel in the pupil of Your loved one’s eyes

Resplendent Robin You’ll ace this life-marathon

although i’m separated from You by motorways and waterways

i promise to keep holding Your mighty flag aloft it’s got a perfectly round sweet orange stuck to it like the sun but i don’t know whether it’s rising again or setting for the last time

the wind absolutely batters it and the flag vacillates as does my endurance it’s never left the pole though

if Your feet once again perch on my path

We’ll lower the flag then filch the orange peel the rind together and split it 

in half wendy cope style: 

i’m glad You exist

i hope to hear from Your bill 

      all about how You traded oil-reeking polos

             for evening tuxedos how You bought a house with Your

latino belt husband-to-be (yes, even in this dire market 

You’ll get on the ladder) and how when you two held 

haldi-glowing hands and walked around the fire  

your parents proud gleamed 

                                                                     watching their son hover at

the zenith of Being

i miss You.

tonight i’ll bring some twigs and leaves to patch

Your vacant nest in my Arcadian garden

so if You, dear One, choose to fly my way

there’s somewhere cosy-clean for you to stay.

By Karishma Aniket

Karishma is a young 15 year-old who aspires to be the best version of herself and to make this world a better place by the power of writing. She finds solace in writing poetries and reading novels. 

"This poetry is about the challenges and struggles faced by each and every individual who aspires to be the ideal version of themselves. This poem acknowledges the emotions of not feeling good enough and insecure. One of the main reasons why I chose to write on this particular topic is because, I think this is an emotion with which we all struggle till date because as human beings, I think it is our tendency of never feeling "good enough" but I really hope that one day we will evolve ourselves from this tendency and learn to accept ourselves. I really hope that this poem makes all of the readers aware that they are not alone in this and there is always going to be someone who will be with you no matter what, and that person is you only." 

The dream of being "Good Enough" 

The longing to be "good enough" 

But how do I know if I am good enough? 

The world spinning around me and admist the rubble of my hopes and dreams, the world changes so dynamically.

That obstinate foolish heart assuring me "you will make it" but will I? 

Only if I was good enough.

Only if I could clear that doubt in my mind and the disappointment in their eyes. 

Only if I could be perfect and prove my obstinate heart right. 

Only if I was good enough.

Only if perfection was a drug, I'd swallow it wholly, as I take this diffident path solely. 

Only if I could see myself through the lens of perfection, I'd know I am "good enough". 

The dreams I had to fulfill, the expectations I couldn't kill now creep up to me each night and say- "You are good enough" 

Only if it is true, that I am "good enough".

By Sarah Pangan

Sarah Pangan is an aspiring writer with a soft spot for all that is poetry. She is currently an undergraduate majoring in both Psychology and Philosophy while minoring in Law and Ethnic Studies. She's been writing since she was in middle school and hasn't stopped since.

A monster still remains a monster even when you love them, but what is it that makes one a monster? You bane me greatly for loving the man that has blood on his hands, when we all have dried red on our hands. Can you stand in the presence of God and tell him you have never sinned? He will know just as good as any regular soul that you are lying. 

You cannot stand in front of the populous crowd of individuals you have spoken to and tell them you have done them no wrong in your lifetime. A monster remains a monster when you refute the notion that they too have a beating heart and a breathing spirit. A monster remains a monster when you forget that they were once 4 years old and scared of the dark. A monster remains a monster when you fail to remember that they too have a favorite color and dreams. 

A monster remains a monster when you remember their sins more than your own. A monster remains a monster when the town rallies with pitchforks and the resentment for what is different. But, is the monster not the wielder of the pitchfork? Is the monster not the persecutor of those who have sinned when they are sinners themselves? Is the monster not the human who persecutes those for being human? A fool is still his mother’s child. A sinner is still God’s creation. 

By Urmi Hossain

Urmi Hossain is Bengali by blood and Italian by birth and currently lives in Canada where she works in the financial services industry

She is a self-published author, speaker, blogger, polyglot, and a female mentor. She is the holder of both the CFA and CAIA charter.

Her first book is: Discovering your identity, a rebirth from interracial struggle - where she talks about her childhood and teenagehood as a third culture kid. 

She is a huge advocate of women's empowerment and is very passionate about educating and mentoring other girls and women.

She is part of two organizations: Women In Leadership ( Victoria Chapter) as the Social Media Lead and Femme Influence as the Campaign Manager. 

She enjoys being a promoter of self-investing and personal development. Indeed, in her free time, she enjoys reading books and practicing Muay Thai. 

My biggest dream since I was a kid was to see the so-called BIG APPLE.

Growing up in Italy, we are used to watching New York everywhere on TV: yellow taxi cars, high skyscrapers, and chaotic streets of Manhattan. I saw New York for the first time back in 2014. Visiting it was exactly like in the movies -  you see the beautiful skyline of Manhattan, the lively and crowded Times Square, and the gigantic greenery area of Central Park.

Before going to New York, I used to hear many things about this city: New York is very expensive. New York is very crowded. New York is a city that never sleeps. Indeed, all the above are true.

My initial thought upon visiting New York was how lively and awake the city is. Regardless of the hour of the day, everything is open, and operating almost 24/7.

New York is very chaotic and unique;  every single area of the city has its charm. Let's look at Manthann. The TV show Gossip Girl does such a good job of portraying this vibrant area. What you see in the show such as Central Park, Easter, and Western Manthann is exactly like that in real life.

While I was visiting New York, I did the common touristy things such as visiting: Rockefeller Center, Central Park, Times Square, the Financial District, Little Italy, China Town, the World Trade Center, 5th Avenue, and more. What was my first impression after seeing all of it? You can always enjoy seeing this city. Every single day there is something to do and something to look forward to. There is so much life and so much energy anywhere in the street that it uplifts your mood. Every single street is filled with restaurants, bakeries, and cafes.

While I was in New York, my biggest fear was seeing rats on the streets. I heard some horror stories about rats and how gigantic they can be especially on the subway and luckily I didnt experience any of it myself. I guess because of the fear of rats, I didnt even take a subway. 

Besides the rats, there are two particular things I noticed in the streets of New York: 

A lot of restaurants' merchandise is taken down by the external staircases of New York which give you access to the basement level

A second element very peculiar to New York is seeing the steam coming out of the drain which highlights that there is an underground infrastructure in the city

The city of New York is also multicultural which is almost comparable to the Italian soup Minestrone. Indeed New York is a mix of different things, different colors, and different tastes. On the streets, you can see people from all over the world which is why it is a melting pot. The nicest memory I have of visiting New York was dining out in this authentic Afagni restaurant. The meat was halal, and very tender that it almost melted in your mouth. The setting inside was very Afghani with typical colorful artwork on the walls and lanterns that gave a very cozy and warm atmosphere.

Back in my home country, in Italy, it is very common to have soccer fields and play soccer since young, whereas in New York one thing I noticed was basketball courts. While in Europe, and especially in Italy, the national identity is associated with soccer, in America, playing basketball highlights the urban culture of New York Streets.

Whenever I am traveling, besides seeing the touristic side of every city, I like to see the authentic and raw parts of what makes a place unique.  Indeed, I had a chance to see Harlem, the hub of African American culture. I was initially scared to step into this area because of its troubled reputation, but I must say it was the area that I liked seeing the most because of its authenticity and vibrancy.

Although New York has a strong economy, the level of poverty is pretty high.

The high cost of living and the income disparity contribute to the high poverty rate. Indeed, it is very common to see in many neighborhoods a lot of beggars on the streets asking for money and food.  Going to restaurants, getting a cup of coffee, and booking a hotel room for a night seemed very out of the ordinary. Indeed, based on some personal encounters, It felt like a lot of people have 2-3 jobs to make ends meet and it is no wonder that people seem very stressed about the life they are leading in New York.  Unfortunately, a lof the time, movies and TV shows fail to show the reality, but focus more on advertising the glamour and lavishness of the city.

Lastly, there are many things I have discovered about myself upon visiting New York. It made me realize that I like the chaos, the energy, and the nonstop movement around.  I learned that I am a city girl and my dynamic nature matches really well with how New York is. Indeed, New York is a city livable only if you like the city vibes. It is a city of endless opportunities, where dreams are fulfilled and passions are pursued.

It is the city of my dreams

By Ekam Bedi

Ekam is a teenage poet, a public speaking enthusiastic and artist. She first discovered the world of poetry by reading William Wordsworth and now writes poems herself. 

Everyone seems to be flying high,

up above in the cobalt sky,

as my nemeses circle up around me,

I sit down below, drowning in all my worries.

The albatross's they fly high,

high in the endless blue, the delightful sky

making me feel as if I might lose myself too,

so many problems arise,

Will I be able to fight, for what is right and true?

I sit on the tall dark grass,

thinking about all the rash and heartless things that they did, 

because in the end, everything had just faded.

The problems that seem to follow us everywhere,

through our darkest days and our brightest nights,

oh, I wish for it to be over,

Not a single albatross to be seen in sight. 

But they do, as they still circle over me,

My restless heart lies in pain, 

but there's still hope that this time, 

the seabirds won't have anything to gain.

By Florina Konwar

An undergraduate student trying to assemble life with the help of words.

"I just had a strong feeling of break it down into words today. Hope you like it. :)"

What is it called?

A torrent of emotions overpowered,

Yet tames the tide 

By an unseen force!

Is this what people calls

"emptiness"?

No sensation of pain, joy,

victory, sorrow or remorse!

Is this what people describes,

"Worn-out"?

Where you're just exhausted of 

Everything and everyone!

Is this what people calls

"Detachment"?

Where every connection fell distant

With no strength to endorse!

What is it called?

All emotions where go numb,

A hollow numbness with

Silence of indifference weighs.

By Zanib Safdar

Zainab Safdar is an emerging writer whose poetry captures deep emotions and introspective themes. While not yet widely recognized as a poetess, her work explores contrasts such as light and darkness, strength and solitude. Her writing is rich with vivid imagery and metaphor, reflecting the complexities of the human experience. Through her words, she invites readers to contemplate life's deeper meanings. As she continues to develop her craft, her poetry shows great potential for emotional depth and universal resonance.

Who is She in the midst of darkness ?

She is a nightingale full of life and melody.

She is a spark full of colors and meanings.

She is a desperate island having no bounds.

She is a lonely desert having no blooms.

She is a star that shines on lonesome nights

She is an ocean that covers rhythms of life.

She is a night that covers the evilness of day

She is a moon that gleam up deserted fellows

She is a pure soul that is far from materialism

She is a violin that plays with strings of woes.

She is a forest that has never ending turmoil

She is a burning candle that enliven up others.