by Zonas

by wakofoed

by JP Davies

by angelyna elysse

i have so much love in me, it spills
like milk left too long in the sun—
sweet, then sour, then spoiled
by hands that never learned how to hold it.

i pour it anyway.
into cracked cups,
into mouths that spit it back.
into cold palms that only know how to take.

my father loved with silence and slammed doors.
affection was a myth i found in fairytales—
and in the way my mother folded my laundry
without asking.

by Chukwuemeka starlin

by JP Davies

From the stump left open-wounded
like a woodcutter’s axe-place,
the tree is grown back.

We are hiding in high branches,
resting in the crook of an arm,
climbing to the oak’s last outreach.

Stanley-knifed remnant of rope
eats into the crossbar bough
bearing carved initials of first love.

Flinching at each hack,
the entire street gathered to watch,
tight-mouthed as if a hearse passed.

Cradling the lopped tree,
we laid it down to grass
whitening beneath its weight.

by sarfrazlodhi

There’s a house in my dreams
with no corners—only soft bends
where silence pools
and time forgets itself.

The walls are seafoam,
as if someone bottled waves
and painted memories
onto plaster that still breathes.

In the kitchen,
a kettle sings
but never boils.
It’s always almost
morning.

In the garden,
the sun blooms too—
bright and warm
and just a little
sad.
Even the roses seem to remember
who they were before
the frost.

by Madhumathi

All of a sudden, it’s mid of July,
The ceiling fan spins, the days drift by.
Once I woke to purpose, dreams held wide
Now I wake to silence I cannot hide.

There was a time not long ago,
When success lit every path I’d go.
Smiles surrounded, hands reached out,
My name was spoken with pride, not doubt.

Parents beamed with tearful grace,
Every win lit up their face.
“Look at our child,” they used to say,
The world felt soft in its own way.

by Chukwuemeka starlin

by Anoosha khuram

Souls are delicate, like threads of mist,
They bend with sorrow, they break with a twist.
Words strike like stones, careless and cold,
Cracking the quiet where secrets unfold.

A whisper can wound, a silence can burn,
Once spoken, the harsh ones never return.
They echo inside like a haunted refrain,
Leaving behind invisible pain.