Author: Flora Ashe
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Overhill Moon By Rahul Kakkar
Born in a family of defence personnel, Rahul Kakkar enjoys the idea of travelling around, which in turn fuels his passion for photography and filmmaking. Currently working as a freelance digital marketer, he can be found watching House and loving pups in his free time. Links: Instagram: @rahul.kakkar_ Twitter: @rahulkakkardoc
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From the Bay of Monterey By Margaret Marcum
White scalloped sandsdrape my land of familiarity.Fishermen cast their lonely hooks,under bird’s vigilance. Waves beg to be set free whiletumult prevails throughout currents—Skies reflect solitude’s melancholy gray. A single indigo flower bloomson the dunes where countless danced before.Passion bleeds from fragmented driftwood,encompassing each story unique, old and manyuntold. Margaret Marcum is…
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Quarantine by Morgan Bazilian
Dog The dogwalks herself,essentially. She sniffs aroundin some kind ofshock. It all soundsso silent, soempty. She stares downa lone bunnyin a huge field. That field opensto the whole world,a universe. Expanding,and almost entirelywithout matter. Couch The children call it a couch.It is blueand fulland comfyand they fight mildlyfor the blue…
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My name is Sami By Daniela Lucato
Length: 3 minutes 45 secondsHD Color Director, Writer, Performer: Daniela LucatoCinematography: Jacopo Pantaleoni Statement “This video was made during lockdown and finished on 25th April 2020. It is a reflection about domestic violence, human rights and woman condition in all countries. I was inspired by a personal involvement, an old…
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Chrysalis By Matt Maraynes
Caterpillar sleeps,wakes up a butterfly. New look, new senses, new reality, no less true. Everything remains, andeverything is changed. Perhaps the butterfly wonders, too, what it feels like each dayto sit up and yawn,and wake up as you. Matt is a writer and filmmaker from New York. His favorite plants are African Violets, his favorite shark…
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My Father’s Jamun Tree By Sufia Khatoon
My gardener exerts that I uprootmy father’s jamun* tree.It has failed to yield fruits this year—It has failed to conform. My father finds it hardto feel anything at all. I should part with it—without the promise ofjamuni* flowers.Without a purposeit is futile to love it. In the heated afternoonI hold…