Pandora's Ink Digital Magazine

Written by Angela Su from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA We speak of unity, but our streets surge with scattered screams and footsteps that rattle office tower glass. Clammy hands clutch paper signs– creased, weathered, sweat-damp. Cracked lips form words lost somewhere in the noise. Steady feet pound, in unison, against earth’s tired bones. The air, aroma thick with cardboard, tear gas, and smoke– but does anyone call this division? We speak of justice, but the scales tilt slow

Written by Angela Su from New Orleans, Louisiana, USA I am always circling back to things I meant to leave behind my mother’s keys hitting the glass bowl by the door, the smell of my grandpa’s closet, the way the shadows look through tent fabric at noon. I am always folding the map wrong, creasing the edges until the town names disappear. Shortcut, foolproof, auto-corrected– everything is optimized these days. Letting a road surprise you is now a memory drifting like faded in

Written by Violent Yan from Virginia, USA Such a fond lollipop-memory Childhood's beginnings all gummy drops  Life sweet in its sugar packet  A fairytale of possibility, of endless time Childhood's beginnings all gummy drops Before years march on to adolescence So that we wish for a return to a Life sweet in its sugar packet Before years march on to adolescence Barefoot dancing on shag carpet So that we wish for a return to Stress not enshrouding our shoulders  Barefoot danci

Written by Amy Hou from Massachusetts, USA Weaving—a torturous tribute to her intellect, each strand rough against her fingertips, a reminder of the emotional wounds she carries.   The loom creaks under her constant attempts, the rhythmic sound that mirrors her longing.   As she carefully intertwines the rough strands, the fabric transforms into a painting of her grief, each knot a depiction of her heart's agony.   The muted and dismal hues of her tapestry reflect the shadows

Written by Vincent Lin from China They often say,  no rainbow without rain.  Well, the water’s poured all monsoon season —  unending, interminable, rainbowless.  Water curtains flood,  dappled with my despair,  friendships too broken to repair,  my life tangled like hair. “Sissy!” calls my “friend”,  and no one lends a helping hand.  Under dazzling neon lights,  they’re all fake as my feigned delight. Oh please...  tell me what I’ve done wrong,  for being born this way — born

Written by Anabia Imran from Australia, Pakistan and Saudi Arabia The [shams] sun rises into the inky black [sama] sky ;  its light colors the black [qumash] canvas , spreading through the [dunya] world turning cities on; the air buzzing with [taqa] energy . When the big, bright ball reaches the top, it shines down, its diamond refractions the kind that hurts your eyes, makes you see shapes that aren’t real, but doesn’t let you look away. The sun lowers, shifting the above,  

Written by Christine Wang from California, USA I want to go back to the bathtub  from when I was seven and honest,  when the water was always too hot  and I said so, loudly,  before I learned that discomfort  could be swallowed like bitter medicine. Back then my skin was rough  as sandpaper from summer sun  and scraped knees, and I wore  that texture like a badge— proof that I had touched the world  and let it poke me back. The bathtub held my small body  like a porcelain con

Written by Coco Song from Maryland, USA Twenty-second videos you watch for ten,  ten-page stories you swipe at five.  Nibble-size content you chew up and spit out; the left-over sugar corrodes your teeth, leaving worms to squirm in the roots.  With rotten teeth you feast on  war, the one social media feeds you.  “Oh, but don’t you worry,  it has been twice processed and thrice filtered. You’ll taste what we want you to taste.”  Teeth eater and brain rotter, a parasite  in a p

Written by Vanessa Cheung from Hong Kong, China Dipped in honey, sweet, warm gold Tell me, tell me, why that’s so                        And if I move away, let my gaze turn cold,   Extinguishing our radiant light of old. Starlit lustre, tarnished time, Waxed poetic by the gods Reflects refulgent light–silvern swansdown shine– To shed my sins upon your altar stone. When your fingers brush over mine, Live electric light does arise; From lidded eyes, bereaved, comes a hymn of c

Written by Coco Song from Maryland, USA It’s the fins on my naked body while I writhe.  It’s the air in my lungs and the sky in my eyes. It’s the sero-mela-tonin in my brain,  and in my heart, the eternal infestation.  Words pump against the flesh that binds me, so I bleed  into the grey ocean that consumes me,  into plastic-litter sand, and wrinkling reefs.  In these waters of hazy grayness,  nothing remains for long – carry on, carry on – only the abysmal depths that haunt

Written by Cindy Miao from Maryland, USA you’re wearing the yellow jacket your daughter lent you  despite her protests, you say, it’s my...

Written by Kay Budka-Fox from London, UK hey kid, I'm sorry you're confused  I'm sorry your heart was torn up and it was used  I really never meant for us to be abused  or stuck in a game where we had no choice but to lose I'm sorry your skies could never stay blue,  and that your eyes were exposed too early to the truth, but kid, what I know now is that it's possible to get through, the pain never goes away but what grows around it is up to you, so now I'll nurture better th

Written by Yusra Ali from London, United Kingdom   Life. Death.   The smallest space and the largest expanse of sand. Impermeable rubble- its shattered edges in my hand. Leaking and flowing   the smallest space to do nothing. Loneliness, Selfishness, in the pursuit of longevity. Last Tuesday’s orange with a mix of green   American Chai- the tea of soulless glass on the other side of the phone, screaming alone, alone alone.   A bright orange dot meandering with nowhere to go.

Written by Yusra Ali from London, United Kingdom The Birth of Athena Daughter. Wisdom. War itself was once a child sprung from the misery of man with sagacity forged into her vambraces, enlightenment malleable in her hand. Daughter. Wisdom. War itself knows she is the sunken eye of Tiresias. Her footsteps, a form of divination thundering into the  rockland of Zeus’ mind, his headache shifted as ire to the world Daughter. Wisdom. War itself watches

Written by Hannah Xu from Massachusetts, USA Time has no spine here. It slumps, exhausted, spilling itself across bone and branch, its...

Written by Charlie Li It is sunset, and shadows stretch through the windows left ajar, approaching my back as softly as time slips through my hands.   Like fog, he quietly slithers under shut doors, without me noticing until he is everywhere. It is useless trying to impede his approach. He walks secretly behind me, pale illuminating his last sight of loneliness on every pedestrian's face, begging anyone for their acquaintance. His ghostly face, almost swallowed by night, gaze