Ode to Showers By: Sami Muller the regal sun’s hours bake a certain hardness upon the sole, upon the soul like a babe in formal wear: beneath the water wash anew lather and scrub claw and scrape controlled storm peaceful wake The One True Queen: A Story of Lucifer and Lilith By: Holly Rodriguez It took Lilith time to realize Lucifer was not false art. It took her time to learn to trust and love his true form— to be the beauty of his beast. To be the resilient and irrepressible woman she was written into existence to be. Lilith learned long ago that she was more than fertility— more than a submissive wife to cradle and flaunt. A night demon she may be. The original succubus, wild with rebellion, and now, alas, Queen of Hell, she is. In a pool of fire she formed, through quiet embers she spoke. The two were twin flames with a forbidden destiny and their own rulebook. The throne room began to close on her, and the floor swayed beneath her feet. Her crown was in his hands— ornamental and ablaze with a fiery web of light shooting up from its base. Pulses of orange light bulbed the top of its web, illuminating every intricate feature. It was the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen, and she was once an Earthling in Eden. Every hellbound soul stood waiting, aching, anticipating. With that, he began his monologue to soothe her: “We exist to bleed. We exist to burn. I love you, my Lily, and I will paint everyone who does not accept you red. You are more than the crown. You are more than a Queen. In my eyes, you are a goddess that divined paper cannot handle. I will rewrite my quiddity; you will be here for as long as you have me. I never wish to be parted from you.” Hell would never freeze over now with their regard for each other so aflame. They would bleed into biblical existence. Their names would be blackened, but their souls would never part. They’d traverse infinite Earths, terrorize lands as is their nature, and only separate touches when their flesh burned from their fervor. But mostly, he would love and honor her until they’d perish. Lastly, he would thank his wretched father for casting them both out of Heaven’s purity, even if it was not his planned fate. She had stood up to Adam, demanding better as all women should, and for that, she was condemned to Hell, too. And for that, she had a revelation that in this corrupt fabric of divinity, the devil had a heart, and he could be redeemed if ever taught to love. Phoenix By: Anonymous Still golden hour Before serene phoenix shines Enjoying the life Navigating The Tide That Is We By: Holly Rodriguez I think this has always been the problem; See, even when we date other people, And we fall in love with their souls, And we think of futures near and far with them, If the world ever caved in, And the earth burned down to the ground, We would seek each other. As much as there are other people We love with our entire hearts, It is us who we hold— It is us we welcome death to— It is us we would know each other in— It is us. When the world caves And the screams are raw-blood, It is us who will put on our finest suits, And we will go out like stars. Beacons of light, Reminders of humankind’s insignificance. It is us who will char until we are Ash and the color of slate and our bones Snap like ocean waves against rock. Our atoms will be repurposed and Although we do not decide where our spirits go, It is us who will find each other first. And that has always been a problem Because as we fade and crumble into the abyss, We would never say it aloud. Words will never be formed, Vocal cords will never be strummed. Nothing will be spoken. We will hold the other, And that is all that will ever be said. -Navigating The Tide That Is We The Circle By:Hannah Treanor It's a caterpillar Moving along the fallen pavement Slowly, Created for only this change To become something better something more And, Yet It’s a bird Wings against the clouded rays Hungry, In a story that was never theirs To become the reaper, the unknowing villain Searching, It will strike It doesn’t care Before the story is finished After the story is long gone Three Wise Monkeys By: Hannah Treanor I see the way the lies were spelled out oozing from a tongue of silver I see the way it was spoken with thin thread to weave riddles of indifference I see the way you shriveled when I became your way of life I hear those screams of yours resounding through the entwined tunnels under the earth I hear the venom you spit dispel, submerged by a realization I hear the imposed silence of a king who no longer bears the weight of a crown I speak, lifting the weight of my mouth, rising to take upon the iron of words I speak the truth, undeniable, encompassing, liberating I speak through the clear light wrapping upon my skin, embracing the one who is reborn I see nothing. I hear nothing. I speak nothing. Through me, only then are you born again Snowdrop By: Tansen Patel-Bose What loveliness! those half uncurled petals; buds silvered in the frost I have no use for summer’s full-bosomed blooms; Heavy and insolent, forgetting the secret pink of their first solitary smiles All the World’s a Bunch of Pots By: Adrianna Rivera All the world’s a bunch of pots Every individual begins as a slab of clay Fresh out of it’s translucent packaging Untouched Unsculpted Unscathed We are slip Doused in water Baptized by our creator Truly beginning our life Easily moldable soaking in the water we are provided taking the form that feels as though it is fitting We are scoured Sliced on the surface just enough to watch us bleed Never deep enough to see ours scars Though experiences bring us pain they bring us life Showing us what it is to truly feel every humane desire We are leather hard Crafting our shape rounding our rim Fingerprints of familiar faces stuck to our skin like a birthmark They add onto our beauty allow us to lean for support but never cave into ourselves Hands calloused from holding us up right when we lost our strength We are fired carefully placed into the kiln The warmth seeping into every crevice Healing every wound and mending what was broken Testing our endurance from the years of hardships Relationships that we have built holding our hand through the heat We are glazed and reborn Refining our beauty from the inside A new glossy coat covering our being This is what it feels like to be born again To be alive To feel happiness Knowing that you are permanently Imperfectly yourself We are pots and vases Our hearts a hole in the center All the love that we lost finding its way back Through people, and places, and love in small spaces Every individual begins as a slab of clay And finishes as art ready to be put on display Another God By: Tansen Patel-Bose As Devaki writhed so too did the clouds Powerless to contain the urgency of your being– lust-driven, rain rushes to quench the earth’s embrace Oh Dark-skinned one from whose blue-black fingers the arrows speed Finding true their mark in luscious maiden-hearts thinly veiled– You emerged laughing Mocking the dungeon-gloom of your nativity Ripening to manhood you will know much of jewel-burdened men from whose pale fingers the arrows speed Lust-driven, in wanton directions Yet still– A god Striding the earth with brilliance muted Oh! That only you had remained a gopal to my gopika, A tumbling balgopal to my forsaken Yashoda. Remind me of your laughter–spontaneous and your passion– unfettered In the forest-womb of nature Grace me once with the innocence of your youth Knowing nothing and yet All knowing This poem speaks to the transformation of the Hindu deity Krishna from his pastoral village childhood to his urban kingship; from lover to husband; and from son to father. Initially brought from the palace as an infant to escape the clutches of his power-hungry uncle, the disguised prince grows up as a mischievous, butter-stealing cowherd (gopal) who teases the milkmaids (gopika). Krishna eventually leaves his adopted mother,Yashoda, to take his rightful place at court. As Krishna matures, his once free-flowing, accessible divinity is made to bloom between limiting lattices of worldly hierarchy. Cover Photo: "Unfrosting Spring" by Selina Zhang
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AuthorNorthern Lights is an art and literary magazine full of work from the students of North. Have something to add? Email a submission of writing, art, or photography at [email protected] ArchivesCategories |