I.

Warm sun
lily seed
shiny trowel
fresh soil
painted earthen pot
new story beholds.
Storm under moon
unfurled petals on ground
rusty trowel
white warms
broken earthen pot
story reaches its end.
Ah how the soul wrenches
the soul wrenches
the soul wrenches
the soul wrenches.

by Raonak Binte Khalil Arpa

II.

The world spins relentlessly, the same as it did when you were here, M. Years haven't dulled the ache, a constant thrumming in the core of my soul. I drown myself in work, in hobbies, in the cacophony of life, but your absence remains a gaping hole. I clutch at impossible wishes, bargaining with a cruel fate that stole you away. But reason, a cold hand on my fevered brow, reminds me I'm no hero. The truth is a bitter pill--my soul, forever scarred, must somehow stitch itself back together, and find a way to spin with this indifferent world, carrying the weight of a love forever lost.

by Khan Sharab Anan Bapon

III.

I tossed and turned, the same restless thoughts keeping me awake. Another day spent drifting without direction left a giant hollow in my soul.
I sighed as morning dawned once more; weary eyes meeting the same four walls that felt suffocating. The same worries circled my mind- a job I hated, a one-sided relationship, and years slipping by in monotony. But within these walls too lay escape–into Netflix and caffeine intake.
"Is this all there is?"
Memories from youth surfaced when purpose felt intuitive before life weighed me down. I used to write poetry that flowed like tears and excelled in music and sports. Who was the person who lit up rooms with passion before responsibilities snuffed my flames?
While washing dishes, I noticed sunlight reflecting off ripples in the sink. I tilted my hands, focusing on the rhythm of water slipping over ceramic. My rapid thoughts slowed into the simple present.
That quiet space unhooked a thread of intuition–the fragrance of sewing cotton from my grandmother's studio. Steady needles piercing fabric echoed something steadying within me now.
Later that night, when crickets sang their drowsy lullabies outside , I felt a shift in the air, as if the universe whispered secrets only I could hear. With my palms resting gently over my ribcage, I felt the rhythm of my heartbeat syncing with the pulse of the cosmos. In that moment of profound connection, I realized the significance of being in the moment rather than dwelling on the "what-ifs".

by Nahid Hassan