‘The oppressed, instead of striving for liberation, tend themselves to become oppressors’ (Freire, 1968). This ideology proposed by philosopher Paulo Freire, draws the spitting image of Animal Farm under the rule of Napoleon. In revolting against Mr Jones, animals gained authority and power to rule their own lives, creating a lifestyle vastly different from before; except it wasn’t. Instead, the oppression evoked from Mr Jones was seen from their beloved comrade, Napoleon. He no longer was an animal, but a replica of a walking, talking and destructive human being, symbolizing the slyness and deceitful nature of those in power. This…

Photo by Enzo B on Unsplash

The door only opens at night. When the sky is darker than the shadows that lurk in and out of the winding corridors only broken by the ghostly gleam of the full moon, and the misty rain that pitters and patters against the windows. I hear its rusty lock click open, a soft creak that no one would have noticed if not for the echo that sounded to my ears. It is a wonder they manage to open the door, as I have searched and searched until the manor tipped up-side-down for a rattle of keys that may unlock that…

Photo by Nate Neelson on Unsplash



do I feel

so exhausted…

we were an embodiment of ecstatic euphoria

that rush of adrenaline as you take your first hit

that night blur of intoxication

we were something…

oh were we something…

there I am standing untouched

hands curled in my sleeves,

my jacket zipped all the way up, keeping in that blinding glow of pure innocence from within

and there you are,

a loud noise of youthful trouble, a life of challenges I could never begin to understand

as you scroll through your contacts of endless names of girls, girls, girls…

and that’s when I…

Photo by Johannes Plenio

During the silent hours of the night,

sleep steals me away,

from the steady rhythm of your heart,

from your chest rising and falling against my back,

But even then,

my dreams are of you and me

when once,

there was only me

I dream of the breeze that swirls the dried autumn leaves,

spiralling down in a trance,

until they finally meet

I dream of two vines on a red brick wall,

over the years inching closer



to become the tangled mess I see now

I dream of two rivers that flow side by side,

only to…

Photo by Scott Van Hoy

The story starts with a message in a bottle, an old-time convention when pirates ruled the sea. But now when bottles travel up from the waves, who is to say, what will emerge from underneath?

Trapped within borders, a girl sits and dreams; about the people and places, stuck in other isles across the sea. Since the day she was born, she knew she couldn’t leave, she had no idea how or the reason behind this decree. It was called New York, the world they knew, too large for their people and too grand for tomorrow. Through technology advancements and…

Photo by Stijn Swinnen

Explosions felt from miles away,

Our slow yet sudden march to death,

The skies above us coloured sickly pale,

Anticipating our very last breath,

The lines were drawn,

And the shots were fired,

My comrades turned stiff beside me,

Our wall of men growing tired,

Yet no one willing to flee,

They fell with dignity,

They fell with pride,

A hand to their heart,

Their last thought of their wives,


I was merely a boy off to join a man’s game,

They gave me a weapon and a position lower than a pawn,


But there was…

Photo by Chris Calviello

The night begins and ends beside the river Seine, illuminated by warm lights dancing atop its dark waters. A light breeze carries the soft hum of the joyous accordions and violins sounding down the cobblestone through the lively yet secret labyrinthine alleys of Paris. There, upon a stone ledge overlooking the water sits a woman. She is waiting for someone. Her lover, her friend or maybe her brother. We will soon find out the stories of those leading to her.

A group of friends stumble past a lonely woman sitting on the ledge looking into the distance. They stifle their…

Aashna Pant

a poet. a writer. or at least I like to call myself that.

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