horo porcelain by Hammad Jibrin

colorful eyes; seeing where you are in the reflection of their gloss. a shine that glistens like the sandy shores, a secret buried under the beach. a voice whose echoes slowly burn space to sprout above ground, the vibrations making each particle dance and waltz together. an invitation for newer borns that emerge from the mossy boulders beside.

all crawling under auratic moonlight. grasping with hands and feet mysterious objects voided from sight. dolphins around the tides to the swing of swaying echoes. what else will happen after one opens up to fill the seas. pulled by the sound of soft palms and rough heels. too dull. too faint. too far away to feel heat and warm the chest. but enough to keep swimming to find it.

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“My name is Hammad and I am 17 years old. My writing is often influenced by the music and art I consume, as well as by my most contemplative days and when I'm at my lowest. The solace I gain during these exercises is one I hope translates into work that is meaningful.”