Creative Writing

Who am I?

By Kush Lad, United Kingdom

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Naive monkey

By Ioana Sdraila, Romania

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Late Summer of Adolescence

By Manuela Vitelaru, Romania

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The Murderer

By Almas Bismi, India

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Vesmir

By Tania Godeanu, Romania

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Oppugno

By Ioana Ceh, Romania

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The Catch

By Tania Godeanu, Romania

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Discussion

By Francesca Ferdes, Romania

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The Mayor of Townsville

By Manuela Vitelaru, Romania

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Randomville

By Mihai Sorea, Romania

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Who am I?

By Kush Lad, United Kingdom

That first step off the plane, that new city, new air, new people and new language.

Nobody knows you, but they see you, they hear you and they want to know all about you.

You're no different from the person who is different. Tell your story, share and in exchange, listen.

Listen to their excitement, their pride, their heritage and their culture. 

Soak in that welcoming kindness, that acceptance to be you. 

Open pastel coloured skies, scenic views in which you find serendipity.

Rediscover you, the lost you, the growing you, the inquisitive and the curious. 

In these moments you aren’t lost anymore, you aren’t alone anymore, you are free, to the world, the wilderness, to the skies and - heck - to the universe. 

Feel the cities' new earth, the sounds of the busy streets or the mellow waves, where the earth has yet decided to end. 

For each will show you, guide you and teach you, about you.

 

A sense of belonging, internally; it’s what we yearn for, right? 

Part of our human programming. To address our self-conception and our self-perception into all these diverse cultural categories. 

Yet, why is it when we travel, when we enter a new cultural ambiance that it removes our own? 

We are overwhelmed by these exotic emotions of curiosity, fear, excitement and adventure. 

Why are we so open to be lost, to lose ourselves if we already belonged? 

Is it the adrenalin, the autonomous sympathetic human response that addicts us to these emotions? 

Or the need to break free in order to rebuild ourselves… 

 

I’ve discovered that travelling sets you free, although the more you travel, the longer you stay, you start to belong. 

To a place that had no impact on you, you start to settle, ease and immerse yourself to that way of life. 

It becomes a part of you, the early morning rises, the consistency of pictorial weather and the people. 

You’re not afraid to want to become a part of them, to belong with them.

Have you noticed when you’re out bound it’s a softer type of kindness, uncommon for those surrounded by the dull grey concrete? 

There the people that notice how bright the stars are, the smell of the lowering humified air with added sounds of mosquitos and 6 legged minibeasts that soar into invaded spaces.

 

There’s a significance of belonging to openness, a connection to the world, becoming a global citizen, adding your presence. 

Yet you’re here smiling, laughing, unconsciously changing. 

Though these only become visible on return.

You have changed your cultural customs, added to your own. 

Yet people are labelling you right this minute back at home: she’s brave, she’s strong, she’s living her dreams… 

Yet you have no dreams, solely living in the moment, no ties, no nothing... 

Yet you never think to wonder... Who am i?

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Naive monkey

By Ioana Sdraila, Romania

We forgot how to communicate,

We denied happiness,

We are now a mess,

With no chance to be rescued

From this imperfect circle

Murder

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Late Summer of Adolescence

By Manuela Vitelaru, Romania

The intense ordinariness disappears 

when there are

homemade gelato for acquaintances,

nothing to wear today but

some vintage clothes from grandma's attic

and a cat that spontaneously starts dancing 

in the sunrises that turned into melting gold.

Young woman's inner beauty

in her own fragrance

is spilled all over the floor

after her bottled heart just broke into pieces.

 

Chutzpah

Allure

A shade of matte red on her lips.

 

She's the happiest

when wandering

the London's rainy streets in

the summer days.

No pressure, no stress..

But any gelato left?

 

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The Murderer

By Almas Bismi, India

I detest them deeply to the depths of my heart
maybe you do
the demons within you and me
I recreate myself in front of that mirror
to look flawless for the flawed minds of my generation

And so I brush my hair to perfection
put on that lipstick deep red
exhibiting only a fraction of my uniqueness
to look invincible
for the dim-wit eyes of my generation

To ruin me willfully or
to kill the demons residing within
To mute or to raise my voiceless words
to find me or to lose me
To hide me or to expose

Worn out of my fakeness
before my pulse grows
Take me to the greens of my heart
the city is dull and grey
let me be a murderer once
Quick! Quick!

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Vesmir

By Tania Godeanu, Romania

My creative soul,

you dashed through the year,

didn't skip a moment

not even a beat.

The muse of the universe,

with your meteoric will,

gave shape in silence,

to the aspiring icons. 

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Oppugno

By Ioana Ceh, Romania

Cute, fluffy, crazy dog

Diana needs adventure.

Funny are the Irish rainbows

 

Random blank

 

Colors fight!

Fearful boots walk on streets

Nirvana sounds lovely, powerful, different.

All blonde queens.

She is then in pain.

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The Catch

By Tania Godeanu, Romania

Comparing first war,

the architecture, the script,

latter never claimed evidence.

The worst of the nation, fellow

famous, just an average habit,

illegal tribes were designed,

to know, to register the pedant. 

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Discussion

By Francesca Ferdes, Romania

Infographic ubicuous globe,

That evokes an unalienable anarchy

Analize discussions,

Impracticable frequency that values the pitfalls.

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The Mayor of Townsville

By Manuela Vitelaru, Romania

That old man might plod continuously.

The pickles will perfectly fit

on the uncommom table that was initially unimaginable.

Then the music box and the piano grin.

Interesting voices!

 

He ceases.

 

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Randomville

By Mihai Sorea, Romania

Kinky Scottish Frodo at funeral
Thrashy raggaedon was fooling the afro-americans
Gashpar has cancer and a pillow anarchy
The gargoyle bull has cheease with the Fuhrer

 

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