A selection of new texts for spring: a reflection on individuality, identity, love & rage, what belongs to us and what we must let go of — trying to welcome a season of renewal in the grip of the world’s uncertainties.

Thanks to the wonderful authors. All credit to them.

The calmer the water
The more hazardous it gets

by Gendys
@talesbygendys

On veut toujours qu’il nous arrive quelque chose
On veut toujours remplir nos journées, nos poches, notre frigo
On veut être productif, hyper-rentable, performant
On veut soigner notre ego
On cherche à acquérir, à dépenser, à faire, à combler
Le vide, les rides, les blancs
On a peur de l’ennui, du néant
On a peur de tout mais surtout de rien
Rien est effrayant
Rien n’est pas digne
Il est méchant
Et pourtant
Rien ne vaut un moment immobile à contempler
Le monde en mouvement
Les montagnes, les arbres, les chiens, les oiseaux, les passants
Les nuages blancs et pourquoi pas même ceux qui sont gris
Un moment immobile dans ce monde fou et infini
Qui nous rappelle qu’on a surtout peur de nous
Parce que nous ne sommes rien
Que de la poussière
Un point c’est tout.

by Marion Vitry
@poesie.sauvage

I have a life to garden.
A multiverse to wake from sleep.

by Nayyirah Waheed
@nayyirah_waheed

This is not a poem
I am writing to set myself on fire
You can see my fortune
In the ash
I am the luckiest girl in the world
I am writing to set myself on fire

by ZZ Jelenic
@zzjelenicpoetry

inside she’s a maze
one that mostly portrays
the countless, ever-growing, absurd number of ways
to trip, and I so often obey –
unlearn then relearn, what an exhausting game to play
longing in languish, but is it my choice to stay?
maybe yes, maybe no, still, I just hope to see the day
where the journey I’m on, doesn’t tolerate hearsay

by Leisly Ann
@_literaryhope

Terrible things are happening here
They entered, without rights,
Bodies and houses,

Things have been the same for a long time.

Under the water,
The gray sky stretches and distorts.

Everything is within reach,
All that can be destroyed
is here.

You hear his voice
For a brief moment
Are you tired?

Peace takes so much effort
And you’re tired.

by H. Oberlin (founder)
@h.oberlin

Once I was a hurricane that searched for validation
with every magnetic gust I let out in a room / in a
party / in a relationship.

Serenading people / myself / the world with
charisma because I searched for a landing in others.
I loved loudly to hear a louder « I love you » back,
whiplashing people into expectations of me that I
was truthfully too exhausted to meet. My whirls of
inconsistency leaving bruises along the way.

These days I desire to be a tucked away ravine.
Let’s find each other / bathe in depth / rest quietly
in knowing that there is relief in not having to
explain ourselves in a world that constantly
pressures us to do so.

by Kiyomi Kimura
@midnightdice

I’m sick of finding you in between the lines
of every poem I read or write.

by Luisa Kutscha
@lettersofpoetry

Persian translation here

Fly! O my cheerless soul!
Recount the sun, when you escaped into the sky,
Of the warm contagion of sunlight in the cell’s of life.
Recount the melting of tears of statues,
In the spirited breezes of spring.
And the diffusing of the aroma of a cherry blossom
And the burgeoning of a smile on the stony lips of the wall
Of the formation of a star in the midst of the sky of two black pupils
Of Orion¹’s racing, in search of the Pleiades²
And of a constellation, rising in the horizon of dust.

Recount the sea
Of the tumult of seagulls when dodging from the storm
Of caressing the cold body of waves with the rain’s scourge
Recount the thunderbolt,
When it rages on a fisherman’s fortitude.
Recount the flowers,
Of bud’s fever in the frostbite of the autumn
Of the death of irises, under the feet of the thunder of time
Of the frozen lilies,
And the wilting of swallows’ chant, in the dread of mountains.

Recount the crawling of poison,
In the ignorance of the vibrant veins of the faith.
And of the silent foray of despair,
Into the realm of conscious dreams.
Recount the throbbing of desire’s pulse,
The entombed desires, beneath the tumulus of ashes.
And recount the death,
Of the unfortunate chime of salvation
Of desiccating the blood into veins’ embrace
Of imprisoning the breath, in the dungeon of the lungs
And of humans,
Of this transient tragedy.

by the talented Haniyeh Mahmoudi
@haniehgram

¹ In mythology, Orion (Jabbar) was a powerful and giant hunter who chased the Seven Sisters (the Pleiades), and was finally killed by Artemis (goddess of the moon and the hunt). And he was placed in the sky as a constellation. It should be noted that the Orion constellation is always seen in the sky in pursuit of the Pleiades (Seven sisters). The Arabic name of this constellation is « Jabbar », which means « strong and giant »; and the name used in Persian in recent decades is Shekarchi. As in English, in addition to Orion, it is also called Hunter.

² According to Greek mythology, the Pleiades (or Seven sisters), were the daughters of Atlas, who were pursued by Orion (the mighty constellation or the hunter), and to save them, they were turned into seven doves.

They say home is a feeling.

A feeling found in places;
engraved in every corner
of every street.

A feeling found in people;
souls who love with
everything they have.

But what happens when
it’s taken away?

Where do we belong?
Where do we call home?

by Zahra Daripour
@zahrapoetry_

i think i’ll stay forever,
in the promises we failed to keep,
plans we failed to meet,
and words we failed to speak –
wandering every avenue,
hoping maybe one day i’ll see,
that you stayed here too.

by Olivia Ann Rose
@alltoowriting

Je n’ai pas la haine, j’ai la rage.
La haine, c’est pour les esprits vils, les lâches,
ceux qui n’ont pour seule armure que la médiocrité,
ceux qui se délectent cruellement du malheur des autres
dans l’espoir d’apaiser le leur. Non, moi,
je vis la rage au ventre, comme si je portais
une révolte infatigable dans mes entrailles.
Cette fureur noble m’aide à respirer, à lutter
contre mes peurs d’enfants, et surtout,
à lutter contre la haine des grands.

by La Plume Effrontée
@la_plume_effrontee