If I Could Bottle the Stars

If I Could Bottle the Stars by Paul Idiaghe

If I Could Bottle the Stars by Paul Idiaghe

If I could bottle the stars and talk with them,

we would talk about how it feels to be forgotten
until bright skies darken,

we would laugh about how it feels to be enormous
but small in the eyes of staring creatures,

we would cry about how it feels to dwell in the skies
without partners to stare into our eyes,

and we would sing about shining
even though we belong to the dark and the evening.

<strong>Paul Idiaghe</strong>
Paul Idiaghe

I am Paul Idiaghe, an 18-year-old from Nigeria. I’m currently in the United States, pursuing an undergraduate degree. 

I always knew writing was something I loved doing, but it was only until recently that I started writing poetry very consistently. My experience with poetry so far has been overwhelming. It has been a medicine in low times, a gateway to release the parts of me that nobody (including myself) gets to see, and a medium for me to explore my creativity. I love poetry more and more each time I write or get stimulated by works of other poets. I expect it to be something I would continue. Who knows, I may also become a published poet, or I may fall in love with other forms of writing and release some novels too. 

Apart from writing, you can also find me singing, reading a book, solving the Rubik’s Cube, ice-skating, e.t.c. Check out my poetry page on Instagram @glimpses_of_my_mind to view more of my work. 

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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Finally Free

Finally Free by Carmello Fabri

Finally Free by Carmello Fabri

Her feelings were enveloped
Her thoughts were imprisoned
Her mouth was knitted
But she managed…
To throw her emotions
On paper
With a pencil, with a paintbrush
Her anger echoed on the paper
Her thoughts are unleashed
She was abominated by her surrounding neighbours
Yet cared less
She was imprisoned by society
In a bird cage for centuries
The cage broke open
She is finally out
She is finally free
A bird with wings is ready to fly
Her strength so bold as the trunk of a tree

Carmello Fabri

I am a 24 years old Lebanese holder of a Bachelors degree in psychology from Haigazian University,  Beirut, Lebanon, where I am currently finishing another Bachelors in social work, after taking a year for internship with institutions that cater for kids with special needs. My future plan upon graduation is to pursue a Master’s degree in Theology in Canada. 

Painting and poetry have been my passion and hobby since childhood, and have played an important role in my life. Both have been a medium for expressing my feelings and thoughts. In poetry, the sent message is substantiated with imagery and the use of rhyme. Using imagery to express a specific concern makes the poetry piece more like a painting with words.

I found that writing allows my voice to be heard much more than painting did. Although one of my poems was featured in the school’s newsletter when I was ten years old, it wasn’t until later in my university years that I began focusing on poetry. Early in 2018, I decided to create a poetry account on Instagram, where I have been featured on several accounts. My poems deal with various topics.  Publishing my first poetry book is one of my future aspirations.

My painting journey started at the age of nine when I  won the first prize in the Fabriano school contest in 2005. Since then, I began taking lessons at three art studios in Lebanon, as well as attending crash courses in drawing and painting at Hampstead School of Arts in London during the summer of 2009, and at St. Martin’s School of Art in London during the summer of 2011.

Besides learning the various techniques, this learning experience have been of great value in helping me discover my personal style. This was further supported through visiting major museums, art galleries, and churches in London, Paris, Rome, Madrid, and San Diego. In  June 2011,  I was the only young artist (15 years) exhibiting his drawings at Daraj El Fann in Ashrafiyeh alongside major Lebanese artists. 

Besides poetry and painting, I have developed a passion for Latin and ballroom dancing, and I am currently enrolled at Arthur Murray dance studio-Lebanon. 
If you wish to follow me, my Instagram account: @fabrispoems 

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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Morning Dew

Morning Dew by Aafiya Siddiqui

Morning Dew by Aafiya Siddiqui

As night became day,
the dainty dew drops sparkle
with resplendent sunrays
Samaritans of freezing nights
start to melt away
I stand there awestruck by the view
as the tiny droplets bids warm adieu
sometimes, the emotions are so overwhelming
Even the pen of a bard has nothing to say

Aafiya Siddiqui

Aafiya is a girl from India. She had worked as a researcher and lecturer in the field of Applied Sciences. She enjoys penning down her thoughts in her leisure time and endeavours to paint the canvas of life through its shades of black and white with her poetic expressions.

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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Ambivalent Desires

Ambivalent Desires by Sailee Tiwari

There were roses that bloomed and faded away,
The fragrance was left lingering in the breeze,
The humans remembered its essence and touch,
The tenderness and the beauty just like cherishing the present moment,
And how it pricked them oh so stealthily,

Was it about the pain it made them feel or the elation?
Which one would they remember first?

The dew drops formed early in the morning,
Gave in to the paradise of dwelling onto the dark colours,
The colours gave a way to feel an unforgettable short slumber,
They felt no thorns and hatred as they never went deeper,
But decided to dry away and give up their lives,

But Is life all about the good feeling and not living the bad?
Or is it about knowing what gives happiness also gives agony?

And that what might be colourful also fades away,
Well, it might be about the moment of faith and then the surrender,
To what feels right and what feels amazing,
Live it all, the day today and after,
You can be a human or a dew drop that awaits no disaster.

<strong>Sailee Tiwari</strong>
Sailee Tiwari

Sailee is a software test lead with more than 8 years of experience in the IT industry. She likes to express herself openly and with elegance in the form of writing. She is a keen writer who loves to write quotes, poems and fictional stories.

Her writing journey started way back when she was a teenager when she also was an avid reader. She gives writing an utmost importance as it’s her passion.

Sailee is active on various writing applications and working with few other anthologies as well. She has contributed in one of the other published anthology book called‘Pinwheel‘. She is also working on her own solo book based on a contemporary fictional theme.

Her writing style is versatile and can make a reader traverse through various emotions in a short interval. Besides writing, she adores art like jewelry making and handicrafts. She loves to travel, scribble her travel experiences in online platforms and holds interest in nature and bird photography.

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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Soft Exterior

soft exterior

Soft Exterior by Polly Abbots

hands meander, invisible trails of
electric skin left in their wake,
flesh bending, compressing at touch,
till hands lift and the connection breaks.
imaginary hands, the grip of words,
grab organs, blood oozing as your lungs are squeezed.
soft exterior, soft interior,
relief flooding as pain is eased.
hands resurface, coated with the remains of entrails,
empty inside and outside; pulped.
my soft clay exterior, soft clay interior,
warmed and ready for you to sculpt.

Polly Abbots

I’m Polly, a student from the UK that writes for fun alongside studying English. I find poetry a calming way to keep me creative, whilst also processing emotions through writing. In the future, I would love to write a poetry anthology, but in the meantime am writing individual poems, with no plans for a book as of yet.

You can find me on Instagram @polly.mer for a variety of poetry on different topics, from politics to heartbreak.

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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Cafe Amore

Cafe Amore by Genna Edwards

Cafe Amore
Gratuity included in price
Aperitif

u up? (7)
A classic opener, devoid of taste. Lasts a minute or so. Purple socks.

Taking it slow, just got out of a long-term (9)
He’ll call you Amy when he cums and you won’t hear from him again.

Plates

Glee (22)
How I love an adolescent romcom, my Justin Bieber haircut, drunk hikers catching us shirtless in the crusty backseat of your mom’s minivan. I, a manic dream. Sweet nineteen. You kiss me like old movies, you don’t ask permission, I am a cutout. Marilyn Monroe. Burritos over the years, how you slowly stop paying.

Maybe. Maybe (17.5)
Every fall, let’s go to our booth in the Chinese restaurant and pull our guts out through our mouths. I’ll trade you mine for yours and a bottle of Coke. I’ll trade you mine for nothing, actually, what am I saying. Take it, please. I have no use for this organ anymore, no use for soft tissue associated with courage and autonomy, Jesus- I look like the kinda kid who knows what autonomy is? I have my therapist look over my weekly grocery list. Am I eating enough protein, you think, or- yeah, I’ll scrap all the Ben and Jerry’s, good call. Getting a lil pudgy. You think I’ll be thin enough if I take all these innards out? I’ll trade you. Think I need more heart. Mine’s deficient. You got one you ain’t using?

First love (25)
No screaming allowed in this Footloose town. A ghost you are, a ghost in two small meals a day. We are not permitted more. Your parents, my parents- I’m sorry I never forgave you to your face. I’ve harbored all this hatred. It’s been four years. You were protecting me.

Coworker (19)
I want to take your belt off. Not for anything after- I like your belt. Represents a life I could have. Why’d you spend your whole paycheck on this? Why do you like Mark Twain? I think he’s insufferable.

Digestif

Coincidence (8)
No one is ever ready for me. A time zone difference.

Pineapple rum (6)
My roommates aren’t home, we could- no, I get it. Yeah. See you.

Work tomorrow (5)
I have to go I have to, shit ain’t personal. We live in a capitalist hellhole, baby.

*** Gluten free options available upon request.

<strong>Genna Edwards</strong>
Genna Edwards

Genna Edwards is an undergraduate student studying Fiction Writing and Film at the University of Pittsburgh.

She is currently writing a YA novel and has plans to work in the media and publishing industries in the future. You can find her on Instagram @mumblecorpse. 

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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Not Quite Post-Apocalypse

Not Quite Post-Apocalypse

Not Quite Post-Apocalypse by Lynn Hawley

As the world feels more empty,
Remember to step outside and breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Sometimes it is easier to think
The sun does not shine for you,
The grass is not green for you,
The cold does not thaw for you,
And goodness is not depending on you.

The world will remember how to save itself,
And you will remember how to breathe.
You will remember that the city tastes like sweat in summer,
You will remember that a crowded room can smell like things
Other than paranoia.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

The history lessons are beginning to feel like
They will never return,
But they are beginning to feel useful.

After each war,
Each outbreak,
Each attack,
The world carried on.

We will still breathe,
The grass will grow green,
The sun will still shine,
The cold will still thaw,
And goodness will continue,
With or without us.

The waves will spill out against the sand
And you must remember that the waves, too,
Existed before us and will exist after us.
The tide has always been able to breathe,
And will not forget.

In.
Out.
In.
Out.

Lynn Hawley

I started writing as a creative outlet, but eventually created a poetry anthology, Writing My Obituary, that’s set to be published by Pure Print Publishing at a later date. My other hobbies include playing instruments, crocheting, art, and theatre.

In the future, I hope to make writing poetry and novels my career.

My Instagram is @lynn_iswriting

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here. 

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A Mindful Sunday

A Mindful Sunday by Arundhati Thaker

We have been slackers for most of our lives. Weekdays are sometimes incredibly hectic and blood-sucking awful and the Sundays go in vain. Waking up late is what Sundays are for, right? Skipping breakfast, not showering, binging Netflix, detoxing after Saturday shenanigans, putting away that book for another day. Its what keeps us going through rest of the weekdays – all this time to do nothing.

But next Sunday, I want to get up early. I want to scrub myself clean and light up some candles. I want to wear something that keeps me cool on the inside and warm and welcoming on the outside. I want to take a generous amount of time to water my plants and make myself a hot cup of tea – something that the morning hassle of weekdays doesn’t always allow. I want to surround myself with the people I love and go out but not for shopping this time. I want to do something different to make memories and fill my heart with love and warmth than filling my closet with fancy pumps and dresses. I want to forget all the worrying that comes with the work load and make it a Sunday to remember!

I want to walk and not sit on raging wheels this time. I want my body to sweat to cleanse itself of all the fatigue within me. I want to go places I’ve never been to. I don’t want city lights and bright sites, I want green turf beneath my feet and night skies. I want to be able to hear the squawks and coos than the vroom-vroom and clinks. I want to sit by a cascade and dip my feet in. I want the cold water to calm my mind and heal the gashes on my sole. I want to capture the panorama not just on my camera but in my psyche.

I want to dart through the long, soft blades of grass and smile at the sun as it lightens up my guise. I want to not care about all the eyes on me and dance my fears away. I want to explore what the lively town streets offer. I want to not care about how I look but feel content to at least be standing on my feet.

And at the end of the day, I want to make myself unbothered about everything that lowers my will. I want to sleep that Sunday night with no remorse and dismay but only hope and solace. I want to stay optimistic for the week ahead and vow to take care of myself one Sunday at a time.

<strong>Arundhati Thakur</strong>
Arundhati Thakur


Writing is something she has loved doing for years because of her love for Literature, Philosophy, Psychology and History. Having not taken it seriously earlier in life, she went ahead with Computer Engineering and landed a job south of the country, away from friends and family and totally burying the part of herself that loved writing.

And now, a year and half later, having quit her hectic job in the city, she’s aspiring to be a language teacher and an author someday! It was not until March 2020 that she started sharing her work on Instagram! You can check out more of her work on her page and support her if you enjoy it.

Instagram : @ofpoetryandpeople

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Bruised Memories

Bruised Memories by Katharine Dobbs

Bruises fade yet
the memory of the pain remains
Words wound yet
the sharp tongued cuts still bleed
Shadows lurk
in the dark recesses of my mind
Fear trespasses
anxiety eludes rectification
Trust wasted
lost and found undetected
Anger sent
but never received
Memories kept hidden
yet the future is unmarked
holding hope for those
that dare dream

<strong>Katharine Dobbs</strong>
Katharine Dobbs

Katharine was the student of the month in fourth grade:  she listed her favorite subject as “Spelling” and her something special as “I like to read.” Known by her friends as Katie, she resides in Oklahoma, where she is a boss lady in business by day and Mommy to a little boy by night.

She began to share her work on social media in November 2019 to push herself out of her introverted comfort zone. Her poetry is motivated by love, relationships, self-growth, ancestral trauma, the supernatural, hope, and the perseverance of those that face a resistant path on their self-journey to rise.

She continues to enjoy her fourth grade past times but also finds pleasure in writing, history, genealogy, collecting antique Wedgwood, laughing at Dad jokes, and daydreaming of life as a professional poet. Her passion for “Spelling” can be found on Instagram @theRootoftheRise

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Ghost Writer

Ghost Writer by Marlo Fairley

I opened my book to you
And with discerning eyes
You read between my lines –
Upward strokes and flourishes
Meant to hide my wildling Soul
No match for your perusal.
My secrets, you deciphered
Until with practiced hand,
You dipped your quill to ink
And deftly marked my pages –
Words of calligraphic beauty
And deepest resonance, transcribed.
I’d thought my book complete,
Before your narrative began –
My artful ghost-writer
Sharing the strangest of tales
And helping me write a new story.

<strong>Marlo Fairley</strong>
Marlo Fairley

Marlo is a writer and artist from Brisbane, Australia. She is a self-professed cat lady, pagan, queer introvert with a love of B-grade cinema, tattoos and kitsch decor.

Marlo writes from the heart, drawing from personal experience and a fantastical imagination. 

This site contains affiliate links to products. We may receive a commission for purchases made through these links. For more information, see my disclosures here.