438 Literary Magazine is a collection of poetry, prose, and visual art by students and alumni of Columbia College on the unceded territories of the xwməθkwəyəm (Musqueam), səlilwətaɁɬ (TsleilWaututh), and Skwxwú7mesh (Squamish) nations, colonially known as Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada.
Bishal Karki, Christopher Kurniadi Widjaja, Daljinder Singh Malhi, Divanshu Arora, Gurmehakmann Singh, Gurpreet Kaur, Gurwinder Singh, Henry Nguyen, Jasmeet Kaur Sidhu, Jessenia Valentina Pandjang, Jewel Paing, Kanwaljit Singh, Klaudia Jania, Lakshya Sethi, Manwinder Kaur, Navraj Singh Sidhu, Muzammil Sanwal, Premjot Singh, Priya, Queen, Rad Karim, Swan Yee Htet (Eddy), Tina Ghofrani, Victor Muhima, Vikas Kumar, Uriel Tio S., Usaid Syed, Yogita, as well as the Fall 2025 classes of ENGL110: 20th Century Poetry and Fiction (taught by Weldon Hunter) and ENGL215: Directed Studies (taught by Camila Mello)
35 DhakatoKushtiaonRails
Rad Karim
36 FromtheGreenLand
Premjot Singh
37 FOMO
Rad Karim
38 Let’sgo! Kanwaljit Singh
39 Haiku ENGL110-16 Students
43 Heartfelt Kanwaljit Singh
44 JustThoughts Kanwaljit Singh
45 LifeataCrossroads
Muzammil Sanwal
46 THELOSTLETTER
Victor Muhima
47 MyWife,theKleptomaniac
Swan Yee Htet (Eddy)
48 HowLoveLooksLike Yogita
49 UnfinishedThings Gurpreet Kaur
50 FallingApart
Gurmehakmann Singh
51 Lion’sPrey
Jessenia Valentina Pandjang
52 WhenIDie Yogita
53 TheConsciousCelebration: HonoringLife,NotYears Tina Ghofrani
54 Nightlight Rad Karim
55 ThePhotographSpeaks Gurpreet Kaur
56 TheCamera’sEye Gurpreet Kaur
57 FairladyZ
Uriel Tio S
58 BeautyinLife Priya
59 BackRowAttacks Kanwaljit Singh
61 TheBig4 Divanshu Arora
62 BeautyinEveryShade
Christopher Kurniadi Widjaja
63 Colourful&Portrait Yogita
64 ChasingDreams
Christopher Kurniadi Widjaja
65 Contributor Bios
70 Notes from the Editors
Photography by Usaid Syed
Land Acknowledgement
Before the glass towers covered the sky, the mountains stayed, still standing high. Voices were silenced and land was taken, as forgein feet reached and souls were shaken.
The hearts that beat with the ocean flow, Carry the scars that will not let it go. We walk now on this stolen ground, Listening to the echos and bleeding wounds.
The pain is heavy, but the soil is alive, Holding the courage of those who survived. xʷməθkʷəyəm, Sḵwxwú7mesh and səlilwətaɬThier breath is the wind, thier pulse us a tide.
Gurpreet Kaur
TheLostParadise
Bishal Karki
Somewhere between mountains
Like a beautiful lost story, A mystical city closest to the heavens I was thinking,
Someday I will sink into the clouds so deep in search of dreams, Nothing matters at the end of the day
As every dream rests in sleep, I sleep tired but wake up in dream
As it was my time to say goodbye and leave My plane took off, but I couldn’t take my eyes off Between two parallels where I was lost, Long way to go...
Long chase and run, I said the move on These moments are now gone, Till the time when you will feel this wind, They promised me that they will wait till the end, Still,
I need some reason that will keep me alive, The moment they passed by me and became passer by… I don’t know where it will take me, but I know I should walk, I don’t know what could be the biggest fear, but I know it can’t be bigger than the fear of death, I don’t know what is the biggest loss, But I know no loss is bigger than losing yourself, I don’t know What’s the end or What could be the eternity, But I know nothing is more beautiful than life.
HenryNguyen
SunsetinPhuQuoc-VietNam
Priya TheParkNearMyHouse
The park near my place, Makes me right.
The pink sky at sunset and sunrise, Makes it light.
The peace of the pond there, Makes it shine.
The soothing sound of the birds there, Makes me rhyme.
The colourful comfort to the eyes there, Makes it a shrine.
Yogita ADayinMother’sAbsence
A day in mother’s absence starts with Waking up by the alarm ring, instead When my mother used to sing.
Feeling tired, ready for everyday’s fight, But no one asked, “Did you sleep at night?” Without any breakfast, ready for school, But no one shouted from the kitchen, “Eat it slow and let it cool.”
Locked the door, with a sound of hiss, Because no one gave and warm and sweet goodbye kiss.
After a long day, came back home, With a sudden cold wave, realized there’s no mom, Spent the whole day, without her voice Which I used to call an angry noise.
Going to be, with hands being cold, The ones that my mother used to hold.
Fall asleep, with her warm memory, “I miss you mother,” my forever treasure.
Author’s Note:
As an international student, living away from my beloved mother made me realize how special and precious a mother is. I love you, my mom. I hope in next life I don’t have to leave you for myfuture.
ThePassageofVision
Gurwinder Singh
Sometimes when I am thinkingabout my move
Every-time when I do, it just pops into my sight
It’s a source that makes me carve my way
To the light, jump the hurdles, and force to face a fight.
It’s a gift which I got as flight
To make it through the world, flying, ripping through the skies
It’s a gift by the girl who Sowed this little seed, fed the food, and brought it to life.
Gratitude to the power I possess, inherited
To see the truth, cause it ever lies
Thank you, Mama, for the vision and Best of all, precision with the dreams that you gave me through my eyes.
MyPhone’sLockScreen
Jasmeet Kaur Sidhu
Every time I look at the moon, I hope to meet you soon. First and the last thought of the day, My grandmother who is miles away. Unlucky I am, to not be able to meet you, Lucky enough to look just like you.
Your photos talk to me and I listen, Like I listen to my favourite music. I cook the dishes you taught my mom, Those dishes make me feel at home. I miss you every day and night, I wish I could hug you tight.
Every single thing I do, I make sure you would approve. You are the one I love the most, Like water years for the coast. Never seen, never talked yet, How can I cry for someone I never met?
Babcia
Klaudia Jania
My home, my teacher, my summer, my family
My strength, my weakness, my prayer, my cries
My laughters, my hero, my angel, my comfort
My beauty, my intelligence, my knowledge, my womenhood
My Christmas, my traditions, my vacations, my memories
My openness, my religion, my understanding, my helpfulness
My determination, my hardships, my motivation
Especially my childhood.
It all started with you,
The strongest woman I have ever got to meet.
I promise, I will live my life the way that celebrates yours. Na zawsze. Nasza Babcia (Forever. Our Grandma)
MySideoftheStory
Manwinder Kaur
Panjab said, I don’t ask t
My soil still waits, but yo
One step away from wh
Alone you stand, just lis
I wish I could tell how I m
The fields, my brother, t
Close my eyes, I see that The golden crops, the m
But if I tell, my parents w And their hearts will ach
I left my Dadi, her gentle Her stories still live in m
I pray when she’s health
My heart’s still there, I lo
They say, your future’s
But if they care, why mu
If farmers fade, their ho What kind of future gro
PhotographybyGurpreet Kaur
Sometimes I lie, I’ve eaten roti, Just so my father sleeps in peace slowly, His mind still walks the fields with me, Half a world away, yet he can’t see.
Wasn’t I born from that sacred land? Why did I leave my motherland? Even among my people here, Their eyes look back, their hearts unclear.
Back home the soil still bleeds, While some of the farmers learn newcreeds. The land still waits, on old, tired face For footsteps gone without a trace. She doesn’t know, the air here’s cold, ‘Smells of metal,’ not fields of “Goldd” No scent of mitti, no touch of rain, Just citysmoke, and silent pain. Myquestion to all Is it fate, or planned for me?
TheFieldsWereLikeSons
Daljinder Singh Malhi
The fields were like sons to them, Now chained to endless strain. Once wheat was praised by sunshine, Now bound to cold, boundless nights.
When they asked for their right, but law replied Three lines of ink where truth had died. Those three lines of law cut the throats Of millions who could thrive.
Those promises were wrapped in gold, But the hunger knew what they had sold. Modified tractors roll on Delhi’s road, The sound of engines sang rebellion’s ode.
Through COVID and winter’s chilling nights, The officials just said, “Let me die.” They sowed the seeds of grain and pride, Despite the cost that none could hide.
No law stands where hunger stays The land belongs to those it sways.
Victor Muhima CORONAVIRUS
You came as curse
We thought you were a myth
You came to unite death with lives
Now Mankind kiss tears
Bombs and Guns you carried
Caused us to have a new life chapter of pain, like Jesus on the cross of calvary
This battle embraced every race
Peace you turned it into a beast
Our hearts pump fear rather than blood
Now we all abide in your orders themed
Two meter, then love dies of cancer
Churches and schools you closed
Yet you punished us to stay in houses like poultry chickens, after killing millions of our loved ones as if you don't have a sister
You forced us not to shake hands
Then brought our cultures to an end
Masks we fit in cause we tend to be ninjas
Just a gasp we beg, for your confinement
We tipsy for your actually identify
Some say you're politics, scientific test
But for me you're a killer and not a healer
Creator of very incredible deaths of 19 (COVID-19)
By Victor.M
TheGreatSeparation
Navraj Singh Sidhu
The following story describes the events me and myboys used to do before “The Great Separation”.
“The Great Separation” is the common event in which me & myboys currentlyare, it is an era of great distance, struggle, side-quests and separation among us.
I introduce you to
“THEBOYS!”
Meet “N”, “A”, “D” & “P”. These four people are the founding fathers of ‘the boys’ and more & more people join along the way.
Me & my boys on a daily basis doing side quests ranging from near death situations on a daily basis to trying the craziest street foods ever.
An era filled with laughter, freedom, and pure joy. The air filled with love, laughter & memories.
Me and the boys everyevening calling each other – to do practicallynothing and just getting together to discover newareas of our cityand humiliate each other and laugh it off and to do it again the next day.
And one day, the daywhich changed everything. The dayof reckoning finallycame over us and there was just silence filled with pain. The great separation, a canon event in which all of the boys pack their bags and go their separate ways. Two of us flewabroad, fewstayed home & fewmoved to other places.
Me on Wednesdaymorning at work regretting my decisions on a dailybasis.
At present all we do is remember the memories we made with each other and think one daywe might get to reunite and cherish each other like before.
THE END THE END
Divanshu Arora BucketofHappiness
I get sad, sad, and even more sad
Drowning deep into the dark, cold and suffocating woe of mine.
I try, tried, and tried even more to transcend Being in search of another home of mine.
I chased, chased, and chased even faster
Concealing the deep depression of mine.
I fell, fell, and fell even deeper Into the bottomless “what ifs” of mine.
I strived, strived, and strived harder
Exhausting the feeble consciousness of mine.
I thought, thought, and kept on thinking How to intertwine your soul with mine.
I sought, sought, and kept on seeking Ways to unveil the solicitous nature of mine.
I kept giving, giving, and giving again Now nothing remains in this atrocious heart of mine.
Divanshu Arora BloodyRose
Divanshu Arora Love+Game=Lame
What's a “game,” they all say Is it meant for joy, fun, excitement, or addiction? They all said that love was affiliated with it,the thing they all meant as a “game,”
Though for me, both were never the same. They treated fondness as a “game.”
Am I a fool who takes it as a Haim?
If it’s a “game,” then maybe I am trying too hard at it to gain the fame Every time I tried to push through this game, Trying to show everyone is not the same But maybe that’s the trick; for them, it was never their aim But now the board has changed its name, No longer do I play for their acclaim, I’ll finish now, this tired game, as of now, I found my truest “aim.”
Vikas Kumar RomeoandJuliet
“Being unloved isn’t a curse,” said Romeo.
Boy, oh boy... you don’t know what kind of people would give up their whole tomorrow just to feel love for a single heartbeat, even if it doomed them to an eternity in sorrow. They’d still take it because to be broken by love is a kinder wound than never knowing its touch at all.
“Then would you call love a blessing, Romeo?” said Juliet.
To me, it feels more like a rose with hidden thorns. Beautiful, yes but every touch leaves a wound that never fully heals and you say YOU talk about hearts willing to trade eternity for a single heartbeat of love but what of the hearts left bleeding when that love is gone?
How foolishly you said, “To be broken by love is a kindness!!” Perhaps, then tell me is it love or is it kindness, when the very thing that drags you to your ruin? To me, love is not a curse nor gift it is a storm of blades. And once you have walked through it, you are never the same again. Oh boy, love is cruel!!!!!
Gurwinder Singh SeatoSky
From down as the trench to peak of the heights From deep as the seas to repping the skies
My words are for MY stories; they feel it like it’s ours I thank to who gave me life and blessed me with this power.
The power to be real And learn the person from his eyes Cause it’s the eyes that really are real, realize What’s all real and lies.
It’s not about how they shot the words And stabs of what they say Karma takes the notes to settle What loans they got to pay.
There was a point of time in my life When they tricked me that they are really mine Not knowing I spent bright days in dark So for me, it’s all gonna be fine.
I’ve been through all the nice and means I’ve been through many ups and downs They did what they could to bring me to the floor But still couldn’t take me away from the crown.
Beloved
You are Vishnu’s Dhanteras, I’m an old torn note love, You are the courtyard of Holy Basil, I’m a lost tradition in dust. You are the fragrance of that rose, I’m its tiny thorn’s love, You are love-filled like Radha-Krishna, I’m Meera’s rhythm love. You are like the verses of the Gita, I’m a seeker’s meditation love, You are the devotion of the temple, I’m the life of the lamp’s pure love. You are as pure as the moon, bright, I’m just like your moonlight, You be the Ganga’s holy water of mercy, I’ll be your pilgrimage here.
Translated from Hindi to English by Gurpreet Kaur
OneDayIAmGonnaGrowWings
Jewel Paing
The smart, gifted child
Always the first to cross the finishing line
Winning awards, making parents smile in pride
I was once that child
Good at tasks of every kind
Never had a doubt of falling behind
But now, I can’t seem to escape the mediocrity
My best effort is someone’s least
Struggling with the simplest tasks
Always stressed and lacking happiness
What happened to me?
I wonder for days
I wonder at nights
When did things change?
When did I lose my steady flame?
Maybe it’s what they call “being a grown
I am not a kid anymore
No longer under the shields of my paren
I now stand before the world
Filled with twists and restlessness
I feel like an imposter
Trying to fit in with the others
Everyone seems to understand adultho
They move with confidence, and I am lo
I am stuck; each step feels heavier
The more steps I take, the more it is lead
Should I stop trying and call it a day?
Should I let my potential go to waste?
Art byJewel Paing
No, I am not a quitter. I am losing battles now But I am not a quitter I need to win the war ahead This is not what mymother would want This is not what 16-year-old me had wanted
So, I will pick myself up, piece bypiece I will walk the path, step bystep It will take time, Days and months But, eventually, one day Definitelyone day I am gonna growwings And I’ll flyhigher than anyone else
Author’s Note: Mypoem and the art pieces are inspired bythe song "Let Down" byRadiohead.
Art byJewel Paing
TheParadoxofFaith
Klaudia Jania
Born, baptized, belittled
A girl, brown eyes , thick brown hair, expectations
A cross traced on her forehead every night, a prayer whispered
Sunday morning, on her knees, folded hands
Blindly believing, following the man in the white gown at the altar
Grows older, doubts, questions, and fears
A cross traced on her forehead every night, a prayer whispered
Sunday morning on her knees, folded hands
Sceptical, disturbed by the man in the white gown at the altar
More time passes, independence, rage, rebellion
Denied the cross to be traced on her forehead, no prayer whispered
Sunday morning, at the kitchen table, mother is disappointed
Breaking away, resenting the man in the white gown at the altar
Ten years later, lost, confused, sad
Missing the touch of her grandmother tracing a cross on her forehead, tries to remember the prayer.
Sunday morning, dropping down to her knees, folding her hands
Tears, no man in the white gown at the altar
Only Silence, Hope, and the Paradox of Faith
MadeofLight
Tina Ghofrani
I feel the air! Can you feel it? I feel every single cell in my body not only the cells, but the electricity, the strength, the creation, the One that is inside me. Can you feel it? When I talk about it, I get one step closer to defining what is truly inside me. Wait is it only inside me? Then how can it create the life outside me? What is that “it”? Is it me? Is it someone greater than me? Are we the same? Am I the child of that strength?
I am filled with these questions, and yet I believe there are so many more of them. But the strange thing is that I know the answers to all of them I just need to wake those parts of my DNA up to see the truth. We need to wake up life is so much more than this! It’s strange that we so easily accept someone greater than us who can create anything and everything yet most of the time, we separate ourselves from this strength and try to create and build with material things, not with that electricity!
IAmFrom...
a selection of poems written by the English 215 class of Fall 2025 based on characters from “The Jade Peony”
Hello, this is English 215 making an appearance in the Fall 2025 edition of the Writing Club’s literarymagazine. We are students Eddy, Simran, Jzade and Rad, and instructor Mila, and we present to you four “I am from” poems – with the twist that we added a “NowI am at” ending. Our poems are based on four different characters of Wayson Choy’s novel The Jade Peony, which is set in Vancouver’s Chinatown in the 1930’s and 40’s. We hope you enjoythe poems and get curious about the novel, which we highlyrecommend. Thank you to the Creative Writing Club for letting us be part of this edition.
MissDoyle'sGuidetoWritingPoetry
Swan Yee Htet (Eddy)
I am from a culture that once ruled over the world. With an iron fist, I too ruled, they called me Miss Doyle. From the Italians to the Chinese, the Europeans and the Japanese, A second home on Vancouver soil.
I am from a land once bombed day and night. The sacrifices of the brave, my brother, among many. Undeterred though I was, it fills me with pity. The children listen on with renewed interest and fright.
Now I am retired, a life well lived. My husband has passed, and my children look after me. I often wonder where my younger children are, Perhaps some have passed on too. And in that heavenly abode, little ones, we shall meet again.
Simran
I am from a dead womb raised in emptiness instead of arms
To whose owner Iwas a bitch-girl and pushed away into a stranger home
I am from Chinatown's narrow streets where community is important than dreams where everyone abides culture And Everyone Liked Meiying
But I am also from the war times
Where somethings were unspoken crimes
In my fate it was first true love
Out of so many, a Jap-boy was mine
Belonged is what i felt with him Although it couldn't last too long
Now I live with cupid's stars
Watching my lover from where it finally feels free Maybe he still holds my scarf near Hoping to find my ghost in its warmth if it still resides beneath it.
Jook-Liang,IamFrom
Jzade Timbol
I am from the narrow rooms over at Pender, with steam on the kitchen windows and coal dust on the stairwell, from Tiger Balm rubbed in tight circles, and ration stamps neatly clipped next to Father's ledger.
I am from glimmering second-hand tap shoes, from Shirley Temple ringlets curled by Mama's curling iron and an RCA gramophone humming through the walls.
I am from Wong Suk's gnarled, warm hands, his Monkey King stories swinging from laundry lines, from an afternoon spent at the Lux or Odeon movie house; he is my Robin Hood and I his bandit princess.
I am from the magnolia that leans over our alley, from paper flowers Poh-Poh twists while the kettle rattles, her petals that reminisce on another coast across the world.
I am from these stubborn small things tap shoes, paper petals, Tiger Balms, ration stamps the clatter and hushes that teach a girl with a big voice and endless dreams how to be seen in a city that keeps looking past.
TheMindofJung-Sum…
Rad Karim
I am from the stages of grief, Of losing the one closest to me
Distant voices and fading faces, Memories that catch in my throat,
Choking and making it hard to breathe
I am from chaos and confusion, Endless questions clouding my mind
Intrusive thoughts haunt
My every breath, every pause
Sweaty sleepless nights
Still I am from rebirth
Like a phoenix rising from ashes, born anew
A whole new identity, a new me, The second son of my new family
But then I am from the spare parts
Guilty whispers behind ajar doors, A replacement for one who never was
A son who never could become
I am from the dissonance
Who I am against who I should be
The ideal of a man– strong, dependable, unmoving Yet still the soft feelings that fester underneath
Now I lay in conflicting reason
My heart and head in disagreement
The sun I should be, yet the moon I am
Perhaps a disappointment of a young man
I wish to be the one to rely on
Not one who falters for shameful emotions
My strength I shall use to rise above And perhaps I then can realise where I am truly from
-The Story of Billy, Will Pan
Rad Karim myhomethatIhaveneverseen
the barking PTU lulled me to sleep the aircraft unusually empty
in the city lights glittering as we soar higher and higher
the life I had known thus far becoming a distant memory slowly... surely...
drifting afar.....
a quick pause and another dream a few good meals and the daylight seeps––through the cracks in the window shades suddenly surrounded by mountains and lakes
but the surprise of a life anew never came for I felt right at home as soon as I stepped out of the gate
Rad Karim
DhakatoKushtiaonRails
FromtheGreenLand
Premjot Singh
I am from the Green Land that grows with day, I am from, where shaping Earth is a way. I am from the gardens that are neat and clean, I am from the beauty that is evergreen.
I am from the plants which I water once a week, I am from the green grasses under my feet. I am from the soil where small plants grow, I am from the hands that help them to show.
I am from working hard under the sun, I am from where shaping nature is fun. I am a man that helps things to grow, I am a landscape worker, proud to show.
Rad Karim FOMO
Kanwaljit Singh
Hey! Let’s go for a coffee
Tomorrow or over-morrow maybe
This is misbehaving
Let’s go for a coffee
Sorry! Not today
Tomorrow or over-morrow maybe
Let’s go for walk
Just you and me
And call it a nature’s call
Sorry! Not today
I can’t answer nature’s call
I’m busy
So, tomorrow or over-morrow maybe
Hey! Don’t say no
Let’s go for a movie
Romance, comedy fun or heroic maybe
Sorry! Not today
My prescription describes Avoid screen as much as it can be
So next week maybe
Hey! Let’s have a night out
Let’s go crazy
Chill, thrill and pillow fight
Sorry! Not today
I’m not that hazy
My friends are waiting, It’s girls' night out maybe
So tomorrow or over-morrow maybe
a selection of poems written by the English 110-16 class of Fall 2025
Prettyred dahlia
Admiring them in myhand –
Theymatch mynails - Pavneet Kaur
“One Night”
The wind whispering down
On the edge of the moonlight
With the stars beneath - Jennifer Snower
Sunlight on cool shades, Citynoise, I stand in peace –Summer breathes myname - Harpreet Kaur
Dark or light, dayor night, Do you think eyes can talk?
Yes, I see it is beautiful outside - Bishal Karki
A dark lonelynight And a lonelytraveller Who lost his keys
- Ankit Jain
“She Rose”
Dark skin like chocolate on a spoon –missing her shadow presence
- Victor Muhima
Heavens reflect land
Wheels shriek on red light’s command –Late summer showers
- Shriya Hebbar
“Evening Picture”
Posing for a snap intact drawing close at the fire –are the boys cold or posing?
- Joel Victor Ssemambo
The kids in the hallway drained from the long lectures –sipping their coffees to another - Devanandha Geeta Krishnan
Beautiful people
Bloom in a beautiful garden
Bybeautiful flowers - Navreet Kaur
Soft light fades
A silent storysoftlytold Now, night awaits - Jivan Jyot Kaur
“Standing motionless The sun rises from the mountains visible from rocks - Mehakpreet Kaur
“Snowfall”
A winter night, snowcovers the path in white –much harder to walk!
- Premjot Singh
Soft lights on the street Night whispers under the trees –You glowquietly - Jasnoor Kaur
“Strange World”
The world is strange, strange things make people stranger –we keep living strangelyon - Harshmeet Kaur
Kanwaljit Singh Heartfelt
Hmm, it's nice to write
Write about you, my love
Write about sensation
And cravings for hugs
Hmm, it's nice to write
Hmm, it's nice to be lost
In your sharp eyes, like a fox I’m such a traditional person
You make me unorthodox
Hmm, it's nice to be lost
Hmm, it's nice to miss
The soft touch of your lips
The unbearable desire to kis
When the wait would be over With the end of hiccups
Hmm, it's nice to miss
Hmm, it's nice to smile
Your memories are fragile I want them to be forever aliv
They are priceless
Will end with my life
Hmm, it's nice to smile
Hmm, it's nice to hide
The Pain of separation
There’s scent of yours to guide
Through delight memories of you
You are my pride
Hmm, it's nice to hide
JustThoughts
Kanwaljit Singh
Sun-kissed made my day
Rain comes take my day away
Pain go through my veins
Success is at the farthest bay
Ocean shines like my eyes
Yet it hides deep secrets and lies
Even with abundance of life
Afraid people, don’t explore it right
You were carrying mountain’s ego
Yet got eroded only by time
You were high and mighty
Now only talk of past and futile prime
You were roaming skies like butterflies
Beautiful! But deceived by your own eyesight
Got caught in spider-web
Becoming the food of evil’s night
Aren’t you, kind like an elephant?
Killed for your creativeness
Hunted by whom you helped
They sold your happiness
Weren’t your ancestors brave?
You want to be part of their greatness?
Still got tangled in social media and trends And started walking the path of goofiness
Didn’t you want to be vast like space?
Why have you been lost in the dark abyss?
Why did you lose control over your rhymes?
Just by seeing what you don’t have!
Muzammil Sanwal LifeataCrossroads
Desires and needs live in different rooms, caged far from each other they should never be overlapped. Losing either makes living harder. I thought of you while looking out the window: sunshine a moment ago, and it’s cold now. What has happened to me on the day of separation, I just hope my tears don’t go to waste, may they at least bring you a little happiness. If you will ever return, We will sit somewhere quiet. I will tell you what life has been without you.
To love, you must be foolish; to love without being vulnerable is a trade war that only the bully wins. There is so much to say, yet nothing left to say to you.
Life and even water felt tasteless for a while not because of you, but because it was only delicious with love. Now I fear life itself, the part I must live without you. I didn’t know I was blind until I ran into a wall. And Saskatchewan’s winter doesn’t scare me anymore, I have met people colder than that. Even if I see her again someday, she won’t be alone, so she will stop. She told me to keep writing poems, but I can’t.
Other things occupy me now, and none of these verses are for her.
THELOSTLETTER
Victor
Muhima
I dedicated it to you Angel But fell in hands of earth I wanted to call you amor and remind you , you're the reason for my existence cancer of missing you Pains deep in my thoughts Wish you would glance how am Vanishing like a melting ice With an hopeless soul
I remember our colourful talk When distance to us didn't matter our favorite pronouns were YOU and I you could pick up my sleepy sorrow to a place called joy found inside Your smile , please i want you back You gave me a titlle of love ,honey I called you life, cause to me you meant a lot than oxygen inhaling you i was back to my sense
I memorize your beauty so I feel am bind to your paradize i wanted to tell you sorry dear My cheecks are slim cause Laughing is a stranger to me This journey of my soul destination to meet your shadow Vida para mim ,perdao Angel Dear earth it never too late take this letter to her, tell her am sorry
By Victor.M
MyWife,theKleptomaniac
Swan Yee Htet (Eddy)
My wife liked to steal things. She stole a great deal of things from everyone she came across. I remember one time when she stole a large hen from a farm down in Saskatoon when we travelled there for the summer. I had no idea why she did it, and her vague explanation left me even more puzzled. I think she was a kleptomaniac. Anytime I found something that didn’t belong to us and confronted her, she would give me the same reply, “I just can’t help it.” I couldn’t stop her; I was timid and was terrified of her.
Around late October last year, I noticed her condition get worse. She started being bolder, and her items of choice became more expensive. I found a large silver Tissot watch in the cabinet drawer in the washroom. Soon after, I found a great pile of hardcover books bound with leather in the attic while I was fetching some household appliance. I daren’t approach her with a confrontation, so I went to the only one I could confide in our dog, Finn.
Around two weeks went by; I started talking to Finn more than I usually do during this time of great fear. She must have overheard us as I noticed a change in her behaviour. She felt colder and more distant than she already was, and she started distancing herself from people altogether. She even stopped going to work, and I received a very distressing call from her mother asking if everything was fine, since my wife had cut contact with her, too. We were eating our usual quiet dinner one evening, and I managed to bring up her mother’s concerns. She took it much better than I had expected and we went to sleep that night in a deep embrace.
I woke up the next morning and felt a strange pain in my lower back. I turned over and found a gaping hole the size of a large fist. My wife had stolen my kidney.
HowLoveLooksLike Yogita
UnfinishedThings
Gurpreet Kaur
In the first week of October, the trees started shedding off before anyone noticed.
Amber slowly started playing low guitar notes watching maple in the yard leaving one color at a time. The leaves didn't rushed. They felt, stopped and then released- each one making the sound when it met the ground, like a rain drops falling on the lonely desert.
The house behind her still smelled the colors of summer: sunset giving golden look from the window and paintings left to dry up. But outside, the air had changed. It had weight now. It asks you to stay.
Amber didn't planned to be here this fall. She had imagined bigger cities, unfamiliar people. But the plans, like leaves, only hold on as long as they can. She stepped outside barefoot. She looked earth was accepting what the trees no longer needed. Amber picked the leaves like the older letters. These were proofs that all the endings have structure.
She thought of the things she'd let go without ceremony- a version of herself that always knewwhere she was going.
The wind moved through the branches. Amber placed the leaf back on the ground and listened. The sound it made wasn't sad. It was final, Yes - but honest. Inside, her coffee cooled. Outside, the season continued its job. Fall, after all, never keeps what it teaches.
Gurmehakmann Singh FallingApart
Another summer is gone
I think I’d won
Who cares and who knows In all these hollow masses I still get along.
Autumn is here, it’s time
This is where I don’t shine Just leave it Mann, people are not Mine. I think I just made a Rhyme.
I see the sun at dawn It’s fall, it’s been shown. NO, I can’t move on, can’t be gone It’s the time again, I’m alone I haven’t touched the wheel I feel like a pawn.
Is there anyone there
No there’s no one there it’s cold
They are gone
All at the end I forgot it’s winter I’m alone
Thy shall wait, this shall too pass Spring is just a matter of shrimp and prawn. Still remember the kid who used to watch a sheep named Shawn and a farmer named John, I shall wait this will be gone.
Jessenia Valentina Pandjang Lion’sPrey
It lurks, It preys, It eyes from afar.
One to mind, But not a mind to One.
As I rest my bones, It traces along, It follows me in, It swallows me whole.
“I’ve grown past it,” lie through my teeth The bitter taste of silver never seems to retreat.
Yogita WhenIDie
When I die, look up high; I’ll be there in the sky.
When I die, please don’t chase All the way back to those days.
When I die, maybe in another life, You and I will be fine.
When I die, please just smile. I will watch you from heaven’s aisle.
When I die, please don’t cry Because at the end, this life is just a “LIE.”
TheConsciousCelebration: HonoringLife,NotYears
Tina Ghofrani
What if aging does not exist at all?
What if all that is, is a belief made for people? And every year we are strengthening this belief by celebrating our aging instead of celebrating our precious time to be alive to give thanks for this soul being able to coexist with the body, for the body and its consciousness in creating, healing, and attracting with the help of the soul?
It is not about aging; it is about how incredible it is to be alive to have had this chance to create, to feel love, and to experience its ability to bring life.
What if, by celebrating birthdays wrongly, we are creating a wrong belief for ourselves, by our own minds, without any other force?
Have you ever thought about it? What if time does not exist at all? What if we are in a simulation of time and space within a greater mind? Strange, I know but something to think about.
Rad Karim Nightlight
ThePhotographSpeaks
Gurpreet Kaur
I hang in frames of silvered air, A moment caught, forever there. The laughter melts, sunlight stays -
You gaze, and think the past stands, The charming smiles look and understands., But I remember, and I will
Each time you turn and look at me, I show what used to dare to be. Mywarmth survives where shadows play
TheCamera’sEye
Gurpreet Kaur
I've captured smiles, laughter, and tears, Saving memories for years and years. Each click rewinds what time betray-
thenmovedaway
Mysudden clicks, a moment's saved, A fragment of life, forever engraved. One behind me felt joy and thrill-
whatcan’tstaystill.
From citystreets to nature's scene, I've captured life's moments, wilder green, I've snapped the laughter, at the end of day.
memorycan'tsay
Layout made in collaboration with Professor Margaret Inman
Uriel Tio S. FairladyZ
BeautyinLife
Priya
Kanwaljit Singh BackRowAttacks
Back row attacks, I’m crazy still standing on the mat
Back row attacks, I’m in rage, toss me I’m gonna smash
Back row attacks, this game is fast
Enemies speed like flash Back row attacks, back row attacks
I’m tired, still running Need to be more cunning Enemies counter is back
Back row attacks, jump, fly stop that flash Back row attacks
Opponent strong, reading my game
There’s a counter, dump shot! Their mentality’s strong Here, floating serve
It’s hard to catch
My team still standing
I’m gonna toss the ball They’re gonna attack
It’s back row attacks, back row attacks
It’s hard to counter It’s time to attack, Use me as decoy Break their base With the power we have Back row attacks
All run leave game to the setter to make Back row attacks
Tension raising, chilled breathing
Trembling excitement, exhausted body
Creepy smile, want to fight
Till last ball fall, till last ball spike
Back row attacks, getting hyped
Sensation of losing, sensation of fight
Back row attacks
Who’s gonna win?
Who’s gonna strike?
Who’s gonna stop the ball?
Who is getting hype?
Last chance remains Here!
Back row attacks
Blockers jamming the way
But decoy make the way
Ball falls! Crowd goes silent
Victory dance
Back row attacks, back row attacks
Everyone worthy, all shots worthy
All blocks worthy, everybody worthy
Pain is worthy, handwork’s worthy
Win is worthy! Loss is worthy!
Sport is worthy, opponent is worthy
Back row attacks worthy!
Divanshu Arora
TheBig4
Christopher Kurniadi Widjaja
BeautyinEveryShade
Colourful&Portrait
Yogita
ChasingDreams
Christopher Kurniadi Widjaja
Contributor Bios
BishalKarki(he/him)
Bishal is from Nepal and is currently studying for an Associate of Arts (Psychology) at Columbia College. He loves reading books, writing, and travelling.
ChristopherKurniadiWidjaja(he/him)
Christopher is a UT student here at Columbia College. He grew up in Malang, Indonesia. One thing that most people are surprised about him is that he can speak six languages. While he’s not fluent in all of them, he can understand the languages prettywell.
DaljinderSinghMalhi(he/him)
Daljinder is writing a poem in English for the first time, so he asks readers not to judge him. He usually writes in his mother language, but rhyming in English is tough for him. This is his first attempt, and he’s curious to see howwell it will go.
DivanshuArora(he/him)
Divanshu believes it is okay to cry and to talk about things you don’t always need to be too strong. He lives by the saying, “Jack of all trades, master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one.”
GurpreetKaur(she/her)
The ache knows no cure I’ll tell mytale when ink endures. Currently, I'ma Do MyThiiing
GurwinderSingh(he/him)
Gurwinder is a student at Columbia College, Vancouver and a part-time prep cook. Apart from that, he is a soccer player with over 12 years of experience and a writer (lyricist) who loves to play with rhymes in different genres. His art helped him explore the world and himself from a different and better perspective that turned out to be a great teacher for him.
HenryNguyen(he/him)
Henry is a chill Viet guy who’s cramming every night for his computer engineering major. All his work will be the ladder for him to reach his ambition to buy supercars �� and have his own gaming house with friends ��. However, he just wants to enjoy his life as a normal person. He will just try his best and won't force himself for any good.
JasmeetKaurSidhu(she/her)
Jasmeet belongs to Panjab, India. She is a girl who came to Canada 2 years ago and is almost done with her studies. Throughout her journey, the only constant thing she has had is her passion for writing. I think it’s a great privilege to be able to feel something and put it into words.
JesseniaValentinaPandjang(she/her)
Jess is a first-year engineering student at Columbia College. She is in the UT program and hopes to transfer next fall. Her poem can be interpreted in various ways, but it was originally made to symbolize anxiety.
JewelPaing(she/her)
If you ever see a girl with red hair and grungy, emo-style makeup yep, that's Jewel! You'll probably see her at almost every campus event because she just loves volunteering and getting involved. She enjoys doing literally anything but coding, which is kind of ironic because she is a comp-sci major, and that is exactly what she should be doing. She may look a bit intimidating, but she promises she is one of the sweetest people you'll ever meet. So, don't be shy, just say hi to her.
KanwaljitSingh(he/him)
Kanwaljit is trying his best to write something good and something that is meaningful to him. He enjoys long walks, mountains, and music.
KlaudiaJania(she/her)
Klaudia was born in Poland, raised in Germany, and has now lived and worked in Canada for just over a year. She was raised very much polish, and it is a big part of who she is. She likes to include the culture and her childhood experiences in her work. She absolutely loves language, as she thinks the ways we can communicate and express ourselves is the most beautiful gift. She is a Psychology major with a big interest in Criminology, which also helps her work, analyze, and talk with peopl
LakshyaSethi(he/him)
Lakshya is from Punjab, India. His program is General Arts at Columbia College. He loves photography.
ManwinderKaur(she/her)
Manwinder is from India. She is enrolled in an Associate Degree. She feels lost here, except for the days she attends college. It could be fun for others, but for her, it is something she has to face each day tough and rough. She misses her father a lot; the way he used to care for her, she does not feel the same anywhere else. She feels confident and honest. Columbia College has always introduced new opportunities for students to make them creative and see their talent. Be calm and kind.
NavrajSinghSidhu(he/him)
Navraj is drawn to the theatre of power, the art of resistance, and the philosophy of what endures.
PremjotSingh(he/him)
Premjot is from Punjab, currently studying for an Associate Degree in General Arts at Columbia College. One fun fact about him is he likes to experiment with new recipes and explore Asian religions.
Priya(she/her)
Priya loves observing nature and capturing its beauty. She is from India, the wonderful country that let her know the importance of nature. Her perspective in life is to be happy in every situation, be kind just like nature, and achieve success in life by being perfect. Once she achieves perfection, success is mandatory to come.
Queen(she/her)
At 15 years old, Queen is interested in a lot of different things, but she has never really become perfect in any of them. Maybe it’s because she tries to do many things at the same time instead of fully focusing on just one. Poetry is one of those things. Honestly, she wasn’t very interested in poetry at first, because she had never really felt that deeply. But then she read her brother’s written work, and it inspired her. That’s when she also started writing. And once you start writing... there’s no going back.
RadKarim(they/them)
Rad was born in Uttara, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Certified chaos-gremlin. Will add copious amounts of hot sauce into everything. Fuelled by white peach redbull.
SwanYeeHtet(Eddy)(he/him)
Eddy was born in Yangon, Myanmar (he is tired of explaining where that is). He still enjoys reading a whole lot.
TinaGhofrani(she/her)
Tina is an Iranian girl from the generation of Rumi, who believes in the power of words and their ability to bring love into life.
UrielTioS.(he/him)
Uriel loves taking pictures of cars.
VictorMuhima(he/him)
Victor is an odd Christian poet who often do spoken words. He is known for his slam poetry. His work offers a unique exploration of loss, love, and societal injustice, and he is unafraid to tackle uncomfortable and unspoken truths, establishing him as a great pillar in the literary world.
Yogita(she/her)
Hi, My name is Yogita, I am a person who loves to do human, animal portraits, sketches and colorful paintings. I love to watch aircrafts and eat tasty food.
Words
Tim Yernar
Lettering
Violet Charlotta
Photo Ashley Nicole Gabriel
A few words from some of our editors:
“Writing means adding life to something once impossible; these combinations are what make writing beautiful. Editing this semester's college magazine was genuinely meaningful for our team, as we were able to read every piece firsthand and witness the creativity and effort students put into their work. Being part of shaping the final version and bringing these voices together into one complete piece was an experience we truly valued. Having the opportunity to read and edit meaningful written submissions made this experience even more magical.”
TinaGhofrani,CopyeditingTeam
‘’Each piece in the magazine is a story, an emotion that is captured through the art. Looking up at different writing styles adds to my experience and grow up more in my creative journey I've been making it a point to explore different writing styles. Looking at how others express themselves has changed how I see my own work. It's helped me grow in my own creative journey, and I wanted to share that feeling of discovery with you.’’
GurpreetKaur,DesignTeam
“As I journeyed through these pages, I found moments of happiness alongside silent strengths, and it was deeply moving to witness them together. Many times, I smiled, paused, or grew emotional while reading the drafts lost in the essence of each piece. Every artist begins with the same blank page, yet each one finishes with something entirely their own. Isn’t that truly beautiful? Thank you again for trusting us with your words and art.”
ShubnoorSingh,DesignTeam
“This issue has been arguably the most challenging issue to produce. I cannot thank my team enough for being so supportive and persistent throughout the process. Working on this issue really showed me the importance of having a good team, so I’m beyond grateful for each and every member of our editorial and design team Again, I’d like to thank you, the readers, for picking up the magazine and supporting this project! We couldn’t have kept this running without all your love. Thank you for reading the sixth issue of the 438 LiteraryMagazine.”
