His Image & Memoir
BY ILINCA PANDELEA
His Image
The soul is like a pot of honey, eternal in sweet divinity,
As the sun is born with holy gifts, a house of fruits—of possibility,
His Image and likeness dripping like nectar on our tongues,
Yet how can humans commit evil with the very same lungs?
Memoir
Gold sand drapes my marble skin
Sugared rays illuminate the star
Where has this soft feeling been
In a generational memoir?
Forced stitching on their clothes
A symbol of power
I see inside broken souls
burned to ash towers—
Their voices tell me
Claim what’s ours!
Suggested Reading
Beseeching
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“Hatikvah”
BY ADIEL RAMIERZ Over the past year and a half, Jews across the diaspora have worked to combat the current rise of anti-Semitism and anti-Zionism. From the March for Israel…
The Dichotomy of Modern Culture: A Nietzschean Perspective on Aesthetic Oscillations
BY RACHAEL KOPYLOV Art permeates every aspect of our lives, from visual expression to music and fashion, it shapes and evolves alongside us as it reflects the human experience. The…
