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Writer Noa Cobo Ribas creates a poem from magazine cut-outs.

Photo from Creative Commons In this day and age, poetry is like marmite. You either love it or you hate it. Until last year, I used to...

I wrote in my diary in April 2024: I like spring the most because the sunlight takes you by surprise.

Last summer, I realised I was trans. When I go back to the sea I love and the neighbourhood I don’t, it’ll be a bit harder to breathe but it’s only for a little longer. I have learned to be comfortable in my changing and the time it will take.

Grief plagues everyone differently; the forlorn objects left behind are both a comfort and a cruel reminder of a marked absence. 

A poem that deliberates on trauma, pain, and stagnation: ‘to dust returne’ is a desolate epitaph for the voiceless.