New Axis

Poetry by | October 8, 2017


You don’t even have to force
Your mouth to open
And talk to me
Your throat might look like
A narrow street now
With so many words
Like crazy drivers in the city
Who won’t give way for little cars—
Racing, bumping into each other
Scars against scars
On numb walls
That will never show their pain,
They all want to come out
And escape the bumpy tunnel you built
Inside you

“Please take care of yourself”
“I’m leaving” I say in disgrace


She had erased her fingerprints
On the world your hands have molded together
But left her breaths with yours
In the roots so you could live
With enough air to breathe
When you miss her
When you look for her face
Behind the shadow of your bedside lampshade at midnight
When you want to kiss,
When you feel alone,
When you want to be loved, again
By the love (you thought) only she can give you


Years after,
The woman you have loved
Who has waved you good bye
Has come back
She has a face of Regret,
And you’re frozen
With mouth closed
And eyes locked
Your throat might still look like
A narrow street now
With so many words (That you wish you could tell her)
Like crazy drivers in the city
Who won’t give way for little cars—
But you reminded your gates
Never to open for strangers
So you didn’t say any word
You didn’t speak

Your eyes could not almost recognize her
The sparklers in her eyes are gone
The color of cherry on her cheeks have faded
And you can even see
The alcohol running through the veins of her
Calm hands
She has become a stranger
But your heart,
It never forgets her
She was supposed to ask you
If you could let her burry
Her fingertips once more
On the word she left

But she knew
That yesterday has died
And the air you breathe isn’t anymore
Her breaths
And the world you built together
Is now revolving
Around another axis

Ellah is a fourth year BSE major in English student at Capitol University, Cagayan de Oro City. She loves the taste of cold coffee in Sunday mornings and enjoys the smell of old books.


Poetry by | October 1, 2017


I write your name
On a piece of paper—
I fold the sheet into halves
and then into another halves,
I pull some edges,
Clip some portions between portions
And there, on my palm lays a paper ship.

Under my blank-heavy blanket,
On the surface of my bed
Still, I carefully place it
Thinking that if I wouldn’t be careful
I might tear or crumple fragments of it.
And still, I wouldn’t like that to happen.
I let out my blues,
Let the torments pull it away—
I blink,
It sails.

I just stare at the paper ship
Until it’s away—
Gone from my sight.
I inhale,
Close my eyes and listen
To the sound of raindrops
Heftily falling,
Then I hear little cracks,
Little sound of breakings—

That is how I let go.

Ellah Ejem is a fourth year Bachelor of Secondary Education major in English student at Capitol University.