Dear Daddy, It is strange to see sugar canes in New York. I remember how
Content warning: this piece contains language/themes that may be triggering to some people The lonely
Blessed to be a sweet globe of purple Another brushstroke to the world’s canvas –
I’ve decided you’ll go missing In the morning You’ll wear my skin in the
I built this ship, to take me far, Away from home, closer to hope I
Rooh Afza Refresher of the Soul Boil 4 cups of water, 1kg of
Press is a free-verse poem – its form is almost in the shape of a point of a hand being gently pressed down onto, contrasting the fragmented emotions and pain the speaker feels when the specific pressure point in their hand is pressed by their trusted counter-part. The speaker does not pull away but instead lets the counter-part ‘trace’ their ‘finger’ softly over their hand portraying a somewhat unhealthy closeness the speaker feels to their loved one, regardless of any pain inflicted on them.
Decay consists of a personification of beauty and how it does not last, utilising muted colours and natural imagery whilst also personifying flesh and time. Time overpowers the beauty in the end. This the kind of poem I used to read by White or Caucasian poets growing up, but now I want to try my own take on the idea. This poem explores the fleeting nature of beauty as a person of colour.
This poem explores the concept of the awe-inspiring black hole through abstract language and imagery. It conveys the expansive nature of the universe through ‘a vantage point’ as we lookout for a ‘glimpse of the unknown’.