Creative Writing

  The Prodigy Hours of blood sweat and tears poured into it Words on the page of the magazine You made me famous All the lights in the city flashing like a camera taking my picture A collaboration of brown people’s work coming together It’s all written from the heart and soul It’s representing the voices of South Asians across the globe A real life prodigy walking down the red carpet of the graphic design world Talking about real life issues that we’re facing everyday The pages are filled with raw passion that lights a room up in flames So take a moment to pull out your phones and check out @juicedroplet  

                          “What does it mean to be Brown?” Nabilah Patel Skin colour doesn’t need to define me as a person, I am a person who needs some respect and some TLC now and then. People in the world will ‘Judge a book by a cover,’ They don’t take the time to get to know me as a person, They just take one look at your skin and wonder, ‘what’s she got going for her?’  There’s much more when you rip away the layers of pretence and apprehension that will get me out of my shell.  So, ladies and gents, what does it mean to be brown?  It means power, pride and beauty.  What makes us passionate about the things we value, Our thoughts and opinions. Our voices are so loud it’s like a lioness is roaring super loudly.  Sometimes people will want to shut this roar down to a little ‘meow,’ This cannot be tolerated. Brown people can feel that li...

  What My 14 year old Niece Taught Me. That no matter what body weight I am it doesn’t matter. That she loves me even though she’s moved halfway across the world to Malaysia. That we’ll always have each other. That through hard times we’ll always talk about the things that are bothering us. That the advice and banter she provides me with will always put a smile on my face. That she’s the one I can confide in all the time when I get in sticky situations with people. That the time difference keeps us apart. That we’ll always remember the good times we’ve shared when she was in the UK. That she’ll never ever get tired of me. That loud voice that cracks all the windows when she sings. That crazy hyperactive vibe that will always make me have fun. That theres always a shoulder to cry on. That there’s always an ear to listen to all my worries and complaints. That   the banter never dies even when she’s at war with my cousin. That the voicenotes that we’...

 THE PAIN IN THE BACKSIDE BUT YOU CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT THEM AT THE SAME TIME THESE PEOPLE ARE YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD SO YOU LEARN TO TOLERATE THEM EVEN WHEN THEY DECIDE TO TAKE BANTER TOO FAR. YOU LOVE THEM UNCONDITIONALLY NO MATTER WHAT UNTIL THEY GET YOU IN TROUBLE AND MAKE THE PARENTALS SNAP OR CLOSE TO SNAPPING. GUYS MY LITTLE BROTHER IS A TEENAGER NOW AND APPARENTLY HE'S GOING THROUGH WEIRD CHANGES AND ONE OF THEM IS HORMONAL SO HE GETS VEXED QUITE A LOT AND I'M THE ONE TO BLAME WHEN HE GETS HYPER AND STARTS A FIGHT FOR NO REASON. CHECK THIS OUT THE OTHER DAY WE HAD A FIGHT OVER A PHONE CUZ I WASN'T AND STILL NOT ALLOWED TO USE HIS TABLET. OK NOW ENOUGH OF THE STORY BUT I WOULD JUST LIKE TO SAY 'STEER CLEAR OF TENSION AND WHEN THE PERSON STARTS SOMETHING THEN FINISH IT WITHOUT ANYONE INTERRUPTING AND LECTURING YOU' OK THAT SOUNDED LIKE SOME MACHO MAN/WOMAN TYPE OF ENCOURAGEMENT TO FIGHT TO THE DEATH AGAINST YOUR BROTHER/SISTERS. THAT ADVICE THAT I JUST LAID DOW...

  Empty spaces filled with the booming sound of silence. Head stuck in a book, eyes glued to the pages The words are clinging to me like a second skin. The silence covers me like a blanket of warmth. So engrossed with the characters until I’m jumping into their world. Hours pass by like a bird spreading it’s wings and soaring over the rooftops until it’s out of sight. The tranquil rays of sunlight come across the pages like an intruder blocking my view of the words. I breathe in deeply catching the scent of yellowing pages filled with years of gathering dust.  

  Heart racing like a fast car burning its tyres. Until I’m gasping for breath as if my lungs are on fire. Each breath is heavier than the last. Heart racing like a fast car burning its tyres.   I’m running away from the past. All the memories are slipping away quite fast. Heart racing like a fast car burning its tyres. Until I’m gasping for breath as if my lungs are on fire.  

  The Funeral Stop all the clocks and cut off the telephone, Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum bring out coffin, let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead scribbling on the sky, the message ‘He is Dead’ Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves. Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East and West. My working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song. I thought that love would last forever. I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now, put out everyone. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun and pour away the ocean. And sweep up the wood or nothing now can ever come to any good.