Art

Abstraction - Cyrus Carlson

House of Vera - Vera Gailis

Writing

Fallen afar belong a star - Charlotte

Sea - Charlotte

Physical Therapy - Maeve O’Connor

Stolen Light - Aschalew Kebede Abebe

Nomadic - Jedaiah Mbwambu 

North Bay Beach Shot on 33mm Coloured Film - Hattie Anna Leetham

A Heart Built in a Hometown - Irintsoa Rakotomamonjy

Symphony of Home - Dr. Atefeh Elekaei

Bound by Love - Broken Montague

Day After Day - Ekam Bedi

When Words Become Friends - Ekam Bedi

Before the Earth Perishes - divaladiva

By Charlotte

The blue which could make you mesmerised.

The waves which roll far n wide ,

The salt water which is bitter yet somehow sweet ?  

the one place you fear you belong .

The seaweed brushing along ur feet giving you a sense of safety knowing ur longer in captivity. The animals making you feel loved .

The scent which makes you realise the wilderness around you .

The life you longed to feel the life without captivity ,the life of feeling free like wave rolling by within the sea,within that feeling you enjoy the fact you feel like you belong . Maybe that place is just by the sea? 

By Aschalew Kebede Abebe

Aschalew Kebede Abebe is originally from Ethiopia and now living in Canada, BC. He has been a writer for the past thirty years. He is an author of a fiction and nonfiction books. He also won the Dede Korkut International Short Story award from PEN Turkey in 2012. Until he became a writer in exile in Canada in 2015, he was a board member of PEN Ethiopia which was under the charter of PEN International. Another short story by him is available on this magazine Issue #9 June 2024. 

"Coming to the west and bridging your past with the present isn't an easy task. One needs to accept all the new terms and adjust. In the process some are becoming successful and others not. The team of this short story reflects the phycological development of an unfortunate circumstance."

Stolen Light

The Tim Hortons Cafe was busy as usual. It is a hub for many newcomers to Canada. Being located in uptown New Westminster it has the true color of multiculturalism. 

 East African, Asians and Eastern European peoples are its main customers. Among its regular customers is the white guy who always takes the high ground sitting on a bar chair with high tables. He always talks about economic conspiracy theories. He spends most of his time talking to newcomers; how the world is unfairly scrambled by the riche. There are also some retired people spend most of the day there. The people from different corners of the world spend considerable time there. The others come into the café, grab their coffee and leave.

The applied art of the scene is mesmerizing. The police regularly patrol the public space outside of the Tim Hortons, for there are people who hang out there and smoke marijuana. The Tim Hortons can accommodate more than forty people. Centering the English language the heavy Slavic accent, Arabic, Amharic, Tigrigna…sounds resonate in the air. Daniel calls this, “The perfect harmony.”

The Eritrean guy is waiting for Daniel to show up. He knows Daniel shows up if only the weather is cloudy. Daniel doesn’t like the sun and the moon. Nobody has seen him walking under the sun or moonlight. Whenever he comes to the cafe he drinks black coffee.

People speculate about him. There is a badge made of cloth and a medallion he always wears. The badge depicts a bearded man in an inverted triangle with the letters NVA.

People know little about Daniel. His light brown complexion with his good looking but miserable face can easily identify him as from East Africa.  He speaks more than five languages including German and Russian.

In those foggy days when he shows up, he is very friendly towards others. If he sees the Eritrean guy and if there is a free untaken chair next to him, he takes it. The Eritrean guy recently heard that Daniel lives on mental disability governmental support. The day before yesterday he met an old friend of Daniel who came all the way from England to see Daniel.

They met in the Tim Hortons. The first time he saw Daniel’s friend he came to know why Daniel is fond of him. His friend is bold like him and both have big eyes. He told Daniel's friend what people say about Daniel. Looking at the badge he always wears, some people say that he is anti-globalist. They even took the acronym on the badge, NVA, as a denunciation of the Latin version of the New World Order (NOVUS ORDO SECLORUM), NOS.

There is one guy from former Yugoslavia who says that Daniel was the best chemical weapon military personnel educated in the former USSR. And his disability came from being exposed to nuclear radiation. That is why he is avoiding the sunlight. Some East African say that he became like this because of his lost love.      

The Eritrean guy saw both Daniel and his friend crossing the road coming to the Tim Hortons. He never expected Daniel to come out on such a sunny day. The day before yesterday Daniel’s friend told him that they were soldiers from Ethiopia and Daniel was educated in the former East Germany, Fredric Engle Military Academy.

Daniel studied Military Analysis to be a military scientist and graduated with honor. In 1989 when the Berlin wall was demolished and Germany was united again, both of them decided to flee their communist country. And they got a chance to go to England.

Later Daniel moved to Canada. Coming to the west, he was very happy and optimistic. As time passed by expectation and actual practice turned out to be oceans apart.

He had to start all over again from scratch. He was once a military personnel who managed to get the military academy badge and medallion with honor. The acronym on the badge NAV stands for National People’s Army (Nationale Volk Armeen).

Though he was feeling that he wasn’t moving up the ladder, he wanted to take that as a way to rebound back, but it didn’t get better. Although he is multi-lingual his progress in the English language was slow. The pace he wanted to change his life never meshed with time. He couldn’t accept and adjust. Gradually he lost hope and eventually got depressed. Finally, he left his janitor job and stayed at home.

Slowly he began to experience things in gray. The bright light he had foreseen across the Atlantic dimmed to twilight. And he started to develop a hatred for brightness and the two luminous celestial bodies; the sun and the moon.

Daniel and his friend got into the Tim Hortons, grabbed their coffee and joined the Eritrean guy. As the winter sun became more and more intense, its ray that passed through the glass wall came and rested on the ground pointing towards Daniel. The three of them looked at it. Daniel turned his face to them and said, “Stolen Light.” 

By Hattie Anna Leetham

Hattie is a poet from York, currently based in Lancaster, where they are finishing their undergrad. Their writing centres around people and places and how they all come together to make someone who they are, dissected and examined in their current anthology. Their pieces talk of their home village, their local coast, and the people that raised them now it has been some years since they moved away.

"North Bay Beach is an ekphrastic poem inspired by some film I got developed, capturing my final summer at home with people who felt like home before we all grew up."

North Bay Beach Shot on 33 mm Coloured Film 

Two years from now and this won’t be our coast,

and though we knew that then, we never said

it to each other - only to the sea -

and even that would be gone by half nine. 

At least you weren’t as hasty, waited til

the sun had melted mauve into the tide

before you left with no regrets, so tell

me: What was I and us and ink on film

that filters midday light through long thick curls

and reflects the high tide in honey eyes?

In frame, the ocean never encroaches

on our names in love hearts etched in the sand,

our cheeks still warm and flush, yours dusted with

an adolescent fluff and sun-tinged pink.

In frame, the sand beneath bare toes and in

the crevices of clothes is all our own - 

grains of a still forever home I keep

alone. You have not been here in two years. 

By Dr. Atefeh Elekaei

Atefeh Elekaei holds a Ph.D. and an M.A. in English Language Teaching, as well as a B.A. in English Language and Literature. Her research has been published in numerous peer-reviewed journals, and she has presented her findings at both national and international conferences.

Poetry captivates her as a profound and beautiful form of expression. It encapsulates emotions, paints vivid imagery, and facilitates deep exploration of thoughts and feelings through a few carefully chosen words. Writing poetry serves as a means for her to connect with herself and others, sharing experiences and perspectives, and evoking resonant emotions. Each poetic form—whether the rhythmic structure of a sonnet, the fluidity of free verse, or the succinct elegance of haiku—offers her a distinct avenue for conveying meaning and beauty.

Her mother, a Persian literature instructor, ignited her lifelong passion for poetry and literature. She began her literary journey at the age of 12, writing and reading poetry regularly. At just 13, she was honored to win first place in a screenplay writing competition in Mazandaran Province, Iran. During her B.A. studies, she embarked on exploring the art of writing poetry in English, further enriching her creative expression.

Her father, an advocate for the arts, played an equally significant role in shaping her literary pursuits. His unwavering support and encouragement instilled in her the confidence to explore her creativity freely. He often shared stories from his own life, highlighting the profound impact that language and storytelling can have on understanding the human experience. This nurturing environment, fostered by both parents, laid the foundation for Atefeh's deep love for poetry and her commitment to using her voice to inspire and connect with others.

Amidst this rich tapestry of influence and encouragement, Atefeh shares a unique bond with her younger sister, Faezeh. Their relationship is steeped in mutual admiration and support. Faezeh, with her own vibrant spirit and passion for the arts, embodies a sense of curiosity that complements Atefeh's depth. The two sisters frequently exchange verses, fostering a creative dialogue that not only strengthens their bond but also enriches their respective artistic journeys. Their unique love is a testament to the power of family, creativity, and the shared joys of poetic exploration, reminding Atefeh that inspiration often flows not only from the external world but also from the profound connections we nurture with those we hold dear.

"'Symphony of Home' explores the concept of home as a multifaceted emotional landscape rather than merely a physical structure. It paints a vivid picture of home as a symphony, rich with laughter, love, and cherished memories. The poet reflects on the warmth of familial bonds, highlighting specific moments shared with loved ones—such as the father's chuckle and the mother's whispers—creating a tapestry of experiences that define their sense of belonging. The imagery of the kitchen, with its blending spices, symbolizes the nurturing aspects of home, while the playful sounds of a younger sister's laughter evoke a sense of joy and carefree childhood. The poem also touches on the passage of time, illustrating how memories become intertwined with the very essence of home—each moment a thread in the fabric of life. The poem acknowledges the inevitable distance that life may impose, yet it emphasizes that true home resides within the heart, acting as a compass that guides the individual wherever they go. The closing lines reinforce the idea that home transcends walls and roofs; it is rooted in the stories, smiles, and love that endure over time."

Home is not just a place, but a symphony bright,  

An echo of laughter that dances in light.  

It lingers like melodies, sweet and profound,  

In the heart’s quiet corners, where memories abound.  

With my father’s warm chuckle, a beacon of cheer,  

And my mother’s soft whispers, forever I hear.  

In the kitchen, the spices of love gently blend,  

Each moment a treasure, each scent a warm friend.  

My younger sister’s giggles, like bells in the air,  

Bring life to the stillness, a joy we all share.  

Together we crafted our dreams in the sun,  

In the garden of youth, where our laughter would run.  

Home is the glimmer of sunlight at dawn,  

The shadows that dance as the day carries on.  

It’s the stories we spun, the adventures we found,  

Like scattered leaves swirling, they circle around.  

A tapestry woven with threads of our days,  

In the fabric of time, where our love gently plays.  

Every corner holds whispers of secrets we’ve kept,  

In the chambers of joy, where our hearts have leapt.  

Through the windows, the world may pull us apart,  

But home is a compass, it’s deep in the heart.  

With each step I take, no matter how far,  

I carry your laughter, my guiding North Star.  

For home is not just walls, nor the roof overhead,  

It’s the stories and smiles that linger instead.  

In the echoes of laughter, in the warmth of the song,  

Home is where I belong, where I’ve always been strong.  

Here’s to the memories, both brief and profound,

To the joy that we treasure, to the love that we've found.

In the core of our haven, I’ll always remain,

For it’s more than a house; it’s love that won’t wane.

By Ekam Bedi

Ekam Bedi is a teenage writer, poet and artist. She first got into poetry at age 10 by reading William Wordsworth and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, she now writes herself. Ekam is also a coffee and a public speaking enthusiast.

The cling and clang of pots and pans,

My cup of coffee on the kitchen table,

The almost-finished gingerbread chocolate bar, 

And the light of it all, Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar.

They all lie somewhere in my kitchen, 

Kept on the light green tiles,

Making me smile when I look at them, day after day, 

Yet this was all after a while.

Because before when I had looked, 

All I used to see was the mess that I'd made,

Feeling as if I had spilled some tea,

but then one day, it all changed,

And I looked at the kitchen table once more,

And not a mess there laid, 

But I saw a home that was good.

I saw the joy that my things brought me every day, so it was perhaps best that I left them on the kitchen table,

right where I could see them, day after day.

By RADEN AYU DIVALA DIVA AL MOHTAR

Divaladiva has loved literature since childhood, first crafting articles that earned recognition in high school competitions. Now publishing in local news and on Medium, they focus on real stories—whether through journalism or the quiet poetry of everyday life. Currently, they’re returning to verse, where memories and places blur into something raw but honest.

"This poem is a whisper to my childhood home—a bamboo house that still stands in my village, where time moves slower but poverty runs deep. The granny was real: my neighbor, her skin etched with hardship, her days measured in coins buried and wishes left ungrown. I don’t know if she’s still alive now, but writing this felt like digging up those pennies again, hoping, uselessly, for something to bloom."

a river running past a myriad

of abodes but the one woven of bamboo

rotten, fragile, crammed with dust and spiderweb

one that could easily devoured by fire

there stood someone's granny

her skin was pierced by wrinkles and misery

we used to bury pennies and cents

wishing they'd bloom so she'd be free

one day my mom said we'd go for a while

yet we never return

my house was flattened to the ground

the soil turned buff, dried out resembles a corpse

i was hoping to see that granny anew

the guise i once aware quietly stained

all i could catch was her scent

along with unfinished trance

unknown and forgotten