Pandora's Ink Digital Magazine

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 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 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