Image credit: Evie.S/unsplash Your aura teaches a boy how to blossom into a flower, how to wear a new form—one as soft as the body of water. This boy, once solid, has become a tender delicacy, yearning for your taste. Once fierce, now still. Once astray, now on track. Say, I detach myself from this lion’s fur to become a dove, to lay in the cradle arms of love, and call you … Continue reading The Aura Of You
Deadline: September 1, 2025Submit to: submissions@artisansquill.comEnquiries: info@artisansquill.com ⸻ “Before the printed word, there was the performed one.” Praise songs. Proverbs. Dirges. Incantations. Lullabies. Folktales. These are the breaths of our ancestors—oral forms passed from tongue to tongue, across generations. But what happens when these ancient vessels meet contemporary voices, truths, and tensions? For this special issue of Artisans Quill, we invite writers, poets, performers, and … Continue reading SUBMISSIONS: OLD FORMS, NEW WORDS
It’s a bright Saturday morning at the bus park, and passengers are trooping in. There’s an old Sharan minivan, trunk wide open, and a driver marshaling passengers towards it. It is not yuletide season, but boy, do these passengers pack heavy. There’s a woman with a huge mattress, hard to say if it’s King or Queens size but no royal would complain on it. Another … Continue reading The Spaceshifters of the Bus Park
-Tukur Ridwan Our bodies are scales on which the weight of our skulls finds balance. As the sun penetrates my follicles, my head crystals the reflection Of invisible entities. Each head is overflown with the weight Of burdens camouflaged in thoughts, and in musings. You do not need to break open this cranium To know how water seeps into the coconut. This mystery makes the head the giver and taker of all. Bearing joy and gloom, I’m OlĂłdĂąmarè’s mystery tarot Whose silence grows— you could … Continue reading OrĂ’s Appraisal
in that year, we spread our dreams where hopeful glances eased our noisome youth. fleeting emotions crumpled our facade in seconds. we stared down on death as it howled from the ground. death pulled, yet I held on. death tried, yet I pressed on. heavy silent whispers— you have to let him go. the show stealer with a coy smile was crafting. the show must go on, I insisted. dim lights and despair, long before the blinding … Continue reading in that year
ArtisansQuill| Celebrating Wordcraft 