It occurs to me that
I used to fear the dark
How odd to have known so much more of myself than of the world
What could be out there?
Lying in wait
All of the wildest threats of my imagination not yet disproved

Now the darkest corners of my mind lay unexplored
And I have grown worldly in my age
I am the monster now
And I am already in my bed

A row of tabs with titles in hiding,
Each one a witness to the weight of today
The clock ticks louder, each second sharp,
Echoing the resolve she’s forced to obey
When did life slip into this solemn tone?

Her hand hovers, drawn to a magazine,
Its cover untouched, still crisp and clean
She peels it open, and there it is—
The faint smell of paper, a balm for her soul.

Not pages of profit or the season’s couture,
But the world of Bobo, the blue rabbit and friends
Bright illustrations, laughter tucked in each corner,
A refuge from journals and theories that age her too soon.

Here, she remembers a simpler time,
A decade past, when her world felt lighter
This magazine, still standing, still waiting,
The same one that sparked her love for the written word.

She smiles,
Because even amidst the seriousness,
A pause is enough to bring her home.

A sea like no other sea.

Theater of the Odyssey,

and of Cleopatra and Anthony.

The sea  

of war and of peace.

Cradle of known civilizations,

and jealous keeper of secrets

of civilizations yet unknown.



To me, it is simply

the sea

where I took my first swim,

panicked and sunk like a stone,

pulled down by the wrath of Poseidon,  

that eternally angry god of the Greeks,

who, it was said, lived a thousand fathoms below.

But a strong hand quickly snatched me, lifted me up,

and at the surface I saw a reassuring face smiling at me.

My father was standing in chest deep water,  

and I heard him saying,

“son, you got to keep your legs and arms moving.”



To me, it is simply

the sea  

where I fell in love with the Mediterranean blue,

where I lingered long summer hours at the shore

lazily dreaming,

about people and lands  

beyond the faraway infinite line,

that elusive border  

separating two magical shades of the azure.

By Arcassin B

Childhood was complicated,
And the dirt was washed away and,
So many things made me frustrated,
Many things had me jaded,
shrouded in all this hatred,
Living here in the Matrix,
Not one decent person came into my life and made me sane,

There is no yoooooooouuu,
You just pretennnnnnnd,
Only got meeeeeeeee,
Your cycle ennnnnnnnds....