by Mahika Garg i once thought the sun would look down at us at our ‘homes’ its powerful blaring rays of all consuming cacophony and cataclysmic core demeaning us in the sky above as we continue our lives like what happened is not as important as tomorrow today, as the sun’s rays bless us, with rays that rise above previous lingering sorrow, i no longer mind the blistering heat, for it is only a tell tale sign of tomorrow and so with my family, neighbours, friends, and fellow

by Arisha Siddiquee Something I find truly wonderful about birds is their ability to make any tree their home. They spend days working and building up their home in a nest, and if that home gets taken by a storm or any other disaster, they muster up the courage and strength to find and build a new place to call home. For birds, they are able to call any place their home, because they are able to make any place into their home. Somewhere they find comfort and peace; somewhere

by Raphael Josef De Leon The existence of olive trees is a significant aspect in Palestine’s economic, national, and cultural identity. These vegetative limbs of the land foster a profound sense of integrity and resilience. They declare the presence of a steadfast population, a population that longs for peace and stability amidst an environment decimated by strife. That is, to say, where there is a monolith, there is a destroyer; in place of harvest, there is, unfortunately,

by Chloe Boulliung Resilience is often described as "the capacity to withstand or to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness", as mentioned in the Oxford Dictionary. For most people, it is a quiet,internal process of enduring a difficult situation. We all experience moments where our life feels impossible, be it a failed exam, a lost job or a personal setback. However, for a refugee, resilience is far more demanding. It isn't just about recovering from a bad day, it is t

by Sabrina Tasawar The cold breeze that spring invites Might not be able to pass me by For it is meant to be peaceful and calm But for a world like mine, its alarm I wish to spend spring with compassion and laugh Where my loved ones could join me And share their thoughts But I believe, I hope I will meet that day When everyone gathers and celebrates that way When everyone is all laughter and love When world seems too big to live in and grow I believe that once that day arrive

by Zoe Akhtar Tears brim my Baba’s eyes, as we bid farewell to the place we once called home. Brick walls that held the laughter of generations, now burned to the ground, fire and smoke. Tears brim my Ammi’s eyes, waking up in a dingy tent at odd hours of twilight. The uncertain silence of the night, broken by triggered wails. The silent sorrow gnaws at her heart, for those who are now nothing but a memory. Tears brim my brother’s eyes, lumps disguised as food forced down his

by Nabeeha Jabir Syeda The sunshine laps on your face, that feeling that is oh so familiar. The first rays of warmth and rebirth of nature after a cold, harsh winter. Spring is an interval of renewal; new beginnings are walked into and seeds that were once planted now begin to grow. This season helps people grow and better themselves, even if the journey isn’t easy, it makes sure that they come out a stronger individual. The sunshine that kisses your face seems so familiar. B

by Elaine Morel “You can take a deep breath and absorb the beautiful view, that amazing sight of the natural beauty of the world. ” One thing that I've always remembered about my country is nature, the green that you see everywhere. The trees, the bushes, the butterflies. How everything looks so natural and real. I don't live there anymore, I live in the United states now. I've had many homes throughout my life, I've lived in at least six, one house and five apartments. Movin

by Minh Anh Dang A mad, mad man, who was once just a kid crying in his mother’s arms Who was once trapped inside the system of a rigged government Who was once dreaming of seeing how big the world is Who was once admiring the strong soldiers fighting for their country Who was once scared to enter the battlefield Who was once just an innocent boy. We can’t deny the harm he imposed on the people around him, Yet, no one seems to care about what shaped this man’s madness His desi

by Mahika Garg it was spring when we fled the draconian death wish of a country leaves glowed greener under rejuvenating sunlight air flooded with sighs of relief and the thrill of escaping supposed suffering it was summer when i saw the peculiar camps, that i had to stay in and live in and i was ecstatic practically jumping out of my ragged shoes my throat cried of joy and people sang songs of surreal happiness, pure and then it was winter when my eyes rained tears of exhaus

by Durvaa Tiwari It’s 4a.m. A time you expect most 12-year-old children to be asleep. But Sharifa was awake. She was getting ready to go to work. It's 9a.m. now. A time most children were heading to school. But Sharifa was still at work. It’s 2p.m. now. A time most children return home after school. But Sharifa was only just returning from work. Sharifa is 12. She is a refugee. And Sharifa had learned that childhood is a luxury she couldn’t afford. This is Sharifa’s world. Bo

by Tarini Sehgal A Woman who shines brighter than the Sun I was always under the belief that the brightest thing in the world was the Sun. But really, I have learned 2 lessons since then. 1. The brightest thing in the world is not a singular object 2. The brightest things in the world exist within my Mother No matter the ground I’ve walked upon, the Sun has been a constant force in my life. Whether it was the concrete steps of my first home as a child in Delhi, the granite fl

by Emma Cevallos As an eight-year-old girl, I loved playing Minecraft. It was a wonderful, limitless world where I could build whatever I wanted. I did not care about school or anything really. The only thing I wanted was to play Minecraft. I sat in my bed with the satisfying, rhythmic sound of blocks being placed, stacking into something I could fully control. There was an occasional accident where a golem would kill one of my dogs, and I would grieve. But it was fine—I coul

by Sahiba Walia Every afternoon, I saw the same girl sitting near the back of the bus. She always wore headphones, stared out the window, and held onto her backpack like she was scared of losing it. Nobody really talked to her except for one or two people, and honestly, I never thought much about it. One day the bus was crowded, so I ended up sitting next to her. Her phone background caught my attention because it was a picture of a city at night with lights reflecting on wat

by Sahiba Walia Every Sunday morning, before the sun was fully up, Amara and her father loaded baskets of vegetables into the back of their van. The ride to the farmers market was always quiet at first, the roads still empty except for a few early morning cars and the sound of old music playing softly through the speakers. Amara used to hate going with him when she was younger. While other kids spent weekends sleeping in or hanging out with friends, she spent hours helping ar

by Sahiba Walia The first thing I noticed when I walked into Lina’s house was the smell of cardamom tea drifting from the kitchen. Her mom stood near the stove humming softly to music I didn’t recognize, while her younger brother rushed past us laughing in a language that sounded unfamiliar but comforting at the same time. Everything inside the apartment felt warm and alive, completely different from the quiet hallway outside their door. At school, Lina barely spoke about her

by Keila I've dreamt of flying to different places, Flapping my wings, Letting me get carried to anywhere, Letting myself be immersed in the wind unaware of my surroundings. I've dreamed of landing to different places, Letting my wings rest as I adore the scenery, Despite being swirled in the sea of doves. I've dreamed of flocking my wings, Then we'll flap our wings harmoniously, Yet I never dreamed of doing this with doves, I've only dreamed of flying to different places. I

by Nargiz Mehdisoy The same planet, but a different world I walk its forests unknown to me. Though I try to fit in with its other inhabitants Of this screaming difference, I’ll never be free. I receive stares for my clothes and my skin For my looks, which my Nana calls pretty. It’s normal for it all to seem new, I know I wonder if it will ever get old in this city?

by Elenice Zambotto Pupo When you are born A branch grows On a majestic tree With hundreds of thousands of rings on its trunk It’s roots dig deep into the Earth Strong and supportive Taking in traditions and stories From the nutritious soil around it Raising up the words Until they reach you But one day When your tree is thriving People come to chop it down This one must go They cry It doesn’t look like the others It doesn’t act like the others It does not belong here They ye

by Athena Marie D. Nasiloan In a field of dandelions, she was a rose. The bell sounded. Anna stands in front of the classroom, hands fidgeting. “Hi, my name is Anna Bernardo! I'm a transferee from the Philippines!” And with a smile she ended her introduction. “You may sit at the back, Anna. Welcome to our great country.” Her teacher warmly said. And with another ringgggg!! Anna's hands trembled once again when the rambunctious cafeteria stood silent once she scanned the room