By Maegan Tan
because his right hand unsteadily clutches the wheel
while the other is intertwined tenderly with grandmother’s
hands, these rusted rings embracing
then, and now
By Durva Gautam Kamdar
the next train to the ghost realm wouldn’t leave till the sun rose again, he realised. and he was hungry. so, so hungry.
By leandre huang
the rain is her liquid love, it slides
down her sides, it seeps into the crevices
of their listless hearts, it blankets her children
By Kimaya Bhuta
the little girl, she sang to the screaming sky, hardly through the rubble,
stars made of bombs, sparklers of salvo, her memory made of dreams.
By Cheryl Tan
Oh, Singapura. Singapore. Sin-ga-pore.
In the folds of Becca D'Bus’s costume there is an
Island sunny and free, set alone in the sea.