Poetry Corner

The Notes of Your Voice
Jada D’Sa

Hit my skin as you speak to me 
With the youth in your timbre
The days of sixteen are fleeting 

And the leaves from October 
Sit neglected on the grass
Piled into mounds
And beginning to rot

I hate November until it passes 
And then I miss it again 
I am never content in its presence 
As much as I intend to be 

I live just to remember
Next year I’ll yearn for seventeen 
January I’ll beg for December

laundry day
Madison Ireland

a small white tissue accidentally made it
through the washer and dryer tucked in the corner 
of the basement. out of sight, out of mind. 
until i searched through my laundry
basket in my attempt to sort through the
madness of colours and patterns, now tainted
by a few scraggly bits of tissue clinging desperately
to soft pillowy cottons and intricately beautiful lace.
as i stubbornly pluck at the dozens of remnants
the regret of my own foolishness torments me,
my fingertips now sore and my floor saturated
with a billion tiny scraps of a single pathetic tissue
which i failed to notice just two hours ago. what
i would give to neatly stack my shirts and pants, and
sort each pair of socks back into their drawers,
shutting the closet doors. out of sight, out of mind.

But trust me, my beloved, I am colorless
Maryam Uddin

Vibrant and vivid colors seep from my pores, 
Until I am hollow, weightless from my skin to my core, 
I am now black and white like the rest lot of you, 
Perhaps it’s beneficial for it makes me easier to adore,

Beloved, if me loving you, in a fervent manner, is a sinning, 
I will abstain, like a morning bird choking on its singing, 
I will not say a thing nor make a sound if you don’t wish me to, 
I have spent a whole eternity, after all, restricting and refraining 

My identity is like walking on a tightrope above an ocean, 
And since I cannot swim, I can’t afford to trip and sin, 
I adore you achingly from a distance, with a foolish grin, 
What can I say? I can’t do much about it since I’m colorless 

I am in a dilemma like an outsider, neglected like a mistress, 
Only because society deems that I can only be colorless, 
But my brain at night bleeds various hues and bright shades, 
Turning my dreams into a canvas splattered with colorful paint


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