Young voices 2007

TORONTO PUBLIC LIBRARY Sneabra Y u k u n S noweria Zhang, age 16

Welcome to Young Voices 2007

This year is the beginning of something new and exciting for Young Voices: the stories and artwork in this edition of Toronto Public Library’s magazine for teen writing and art were selected by editorial teams consisting of teens working with Toronto writers Hadley Dyer, Emily Pohl-Weary, Karen Krossing, Dwayne Morgan, Jay MillAr and Angela Rawlings and Toronto artist Michael Brown. Thanks to members of the Editorial Youth Advisory Group who selected the works you are about to enjoy:

Jinesh Bhatt Mandy Che Otiena Ellwand Guia Gali Patricia Gali Patrycja Khucznik Anna Li Justin Moga Jessica Paczuski Kirsten Parucha Aruna Raghuraman sula Sidnell-Greene Simli Srivastava Deanne Vincent Jenney Wang Shawna Wang Stephanie Zhou

Our biggest thanks, however, goes to everyone who submitted to Young Voices this year. Just the fact that you put yourself out there is a good thing. If you didn’t get published, don’t give up – try again this year. There’s an entry form at the back of the magazine.

Congratulations to all those whose work is contained in these pages. You are all talented, creative individuals enriching the cultural landscape of Toronto. Keep creating!

 Young Voices 2007 Contents

a r T w o r k P r o s e I Wish Arriane Lo cover The Sun Rises in the West Yukun Snoweria Zhang 5 Sneabra Yukun Snoweria Zhang 2 Complexity of Dating Andrew Antinicci 7 Camouflaged Dragons max Mak 4 The Fundamentals of Eyeliner and Burns Gothica Sandy Escobar 6 Jennifer Lamb 9 Living in Harmony Philip Mak 7 A Day in the Life Augustin Petre 11 The Mask We Hide Under sai Paranjape 10 Surrender Ksenia Stassiouk 13 Frost Kimia Moozeh 12 A Contribution Althea Gorospe 13 The Nightingale and the Rose Performance of a Lifetime lynn Tay 14 Da Eun Kim 15 A Soul Set Free Sara Vladusic 17 Protection Elena Wu 16 The Magician’s Apprentice tiffany Chan 17 Bottom of Death Valley salome Siktanc 19 Behind the Curtain Prerana Das 18 Leosaurus Ka Wai Leung 21 Long Time Coming tina Long 18 Behind Those Hazel Eyes shamera Sathiaruban 22 Midnight Memories michelle Huang 20 Coast Watchers Hongjin Yan 25 Just Another Story About a Teen with a Depressing If This is What We Look Like on the Outside take on the World nihaal Silk 23 T tina Saul-Nurse 26 Happiness Stephanie Yip 23 Angel of Darkness Robin Skinner 29 The Ericsson Dinah McKay 24 Sleeping Angel Jonoel Macaraeg Alegria 30 ‘Round We Sit Shelly Luu 31 Success Muzhda Hakime 33 Confessions of the Modest gina Nigro 32 The Pencil Did It Grace Liang 35 Rats Jack Feng 34 The Easy Part of Life Danyang (Sunny) Lin 39 My Little Hearts Tina Hang 36 Mahatma Ghandi Ramya Rajagopal back cover

P o e T R Y Sunrise Sabrina Scott 5 The Stupidest Animals Justine Shackleton 6 The Ballad of an Outlaw tamara Thompson 8 Karamchand Aneesha Chopra 9 I N nuwan Tilakaratna 10 Silence of the Abyss minnie Kong 11 Winter Madeleine Cummings 12 Rain Dew Emily Bruce 14 The Wilting Rose: A Sonnet Keren Ginzberg 15 When I Look at the Sky at Night M maria Yancheva 17 Illusions Anonymous 18 Fairytale Childhood: A sonnet Paige Laframboise 18 Ode to Cheerios Aletheia Chiang 18 Poem for the Day in Between Birth and Death S schirin Rachel Oeding 23 The Anti-Socialite Stephanie Santiago 23 Lament of a Student Trapped in a Particularly Dull Philosophy Class isabel Zaw-Tun 23 Heaven Mary Elizabeth Campo 24 Midnight Storms Shannon Clarke 24 Reversing Unspoken Sound gabriela Naces 27 We Are Not those Silent Creatures M mathusha Senthilmurugan 27 I Am Julia Goyal 27 Silence Keisha Toney 27 After Life David Zada 28 ‘Dirty’ Cindy Huang 28 ...No More Asma Khalil 28 I Want Martha Porado 28 Through It All Jabari Tamkeen 31 Why? Christi-Anne Nazareth 32 The Force of Nature – Winter Rumman Khondker 34 I’ve Formed Myself an Allen Ginsberg Cover Band N nevena Martinovic 34

I Wish a r r i a n e l o , a g e 1 8

Young Voices 2007  Camouflaged dragons Max Mak, age 14

 Young Voices 2007 Sunrise The Sun Rises in the West long walks home; i “… And that concludes my presentation.” I finish presenting my sipped a beer, with chips artwork and go back to my seat amid my peers’ languid applause. possibly the best conversation i have ever had Art classes on Friday afternoons are always listless. Every Friday with myself. Ms. Tinkerbell makes us spend one hour on critiquing each let me visit you at three in the morning other’s projects. She doesn’t allow anybody to interrupt during not my friend, but the the critique. No one – probably except Ms. Tinkerbell – finds it Room-mate interesting to look at other people’s work and try very hard to pick offers good conversation out the nonexistent highlights and colour schemes. I look around and a lack of being ignored and see that more than half of the students are either nearly asleep at the most inconvenient of times; or biting their nails. too bad it complicates things “The next piece is by Avril, an artist par excellence. Avril, come psychedelic music at five am up and show us your magnus opus.” Ms. Tinkerbell’s overuse of mind drifts from body to symington foreign words reminds me of a witch casting out random spells. apartment b, knock knock knock Avril goes up. She is not really “an artist par excellence.” Ms. no answer, Tinkerbell calls every student that. In fact, Avril is rather shy and goddamn mediocre. She is not a cheerleader, not an athlete, not an artist, i had planned on saying thank not a musician, not even a geek. She is not anything. you give me a hug, let’s be “My artwork is called The Sun Rises in the West,” Avril begins in a friends voice that can hardly be heard. Nobody except Ms. Tinkerbell pays it drowns out the other tenants’ snores attention to her. as i breathe in cold air “Hold on a moment, my dear,” Ms. Tinkerbell interrupts, “what springing into did you say your artwork was called?” More students are listening something i would rather do now. Ms. Tinkerbell just interrupted a presentation – something is sooner than later, like happening. knowing someone like “The Sun Rises in the West,” Avril repeats, looking embarrassed you seem to be. with more people paying attention now. prom is a party of people “OK,” says Ms. Tinkerbell after a long pause, “you know, honey, i don’t like, but still there is the intention of our project is to illustrate our wish. I understand room in this cardboard box that everybody’s wish is going to be a little different, but I expect for you and me to it to be something more than just unrealistic science fiction.” She dance to songs that bleed looks at Avril trenchantly. into each other Avril looks as if she can burst into tears in any moment. She bites in the moon light, her lips really hard and says, “It is about a realistic wish.” Everybody if you were in the class is awake now. We want to hear how a “sunrise in the home west” is realistic. next time i “My mother died of cancer three years ago,” Avril begins, her came a-knocking voice shaking. Every eye in the classroom is staring at her. We don’t on door b, see where this is going. “Before she died, I asked the doctor what made of plywood and could save her. The doctor said, ‘Little girl, if the sun rose in the regretted words and west, your mother is probably going to be saved.’” botched goodbyes, Avril stops and goes back to her seat, not looking at any of us. uttered lies and Silence is devouring the room. This silence is different. It is neither a sense of suspense when stagnant nor listless. It is the retrospection of each of the wishes all you need to do is walk we have illustrated. We wanted to meet the rock star; we wanted thirty minutes to have the best shirt; we wanted to have what everybody doesn’t knock have. Avril’s wish awes us. For the first time we are introduced to and wait for the symphony to end: some wish that is so simple, and yet so powerful. clap once clap twice, the door opens and Y u k u n (Snoweria) Z h a n g, watch your palms turn to ice Age 16 S a b r i n a S c o tt , a g e 1 7

Young Voices 2007  The Stupidest Animals

The stupidest animals, We know them very well, We interact with them every day, They’re transforming the earth into hell.

They’re ruining this planet, As if it is a game, The world’s future is on their shoulders, But they refuse to take the blame.

Continuing with their selfishness, They simply are not caring, All these horrendous conditions, The world must keep on bearing.

With their stupidity, They’re destroying this earth, With global warming, The world’s death, they’re giving birth.

J u s t i n e S h a c k l e t o n , A g e 1 2

Gothica S a n d y escobar, age 15

 Young Voices 2007 from expressing our true selves, which is something a girl looks Complexity Of Dating for. So the question here is, are these “expectations” supposed to be broken, or met? I got home from a date tonight. As I prepare to go to sleep, this is tricky. If the door closes in her face, and you laugh, I wonder how today’s date was. It must have been one in a everything could falter, and you could kiss that date goodbye. million. Like who goes out to play hockey with a bunch of If you open the door, she already knows what to do. Then there random people, wrestle on the beach, and throw eggs at an could be that possibility that she might open the door for you! abandoned house? All in one day! Geez, that’s quite original! Home free! I could have went out and done the good old dinner and a this is where strategy takes place. You see, the date I went movie. But like any other guy, you want your date with your girl on didn’t involve doors, money, or driving (god bless the TTC). to be the best because you never know; it could be your last. These factors weren’t even considered when I was planning this leads to the whole complexity I’m about to throw out the date. I looked for stuff that would express myself in the there that revolves around dating. Generally, and it’s very limited time I had with her. Wrestling on the beach was out of blunt, the guy in a relationship (or a relationship to be) does the blue, but fun, and I kicked her ass; egging the abandoned the planning, driving, opening doors, closing doors, and house was perfect to get some good down time in there; and initiating the almighty “kiss”. The thing is, these are things that the hockey game in the end gave me a chance to showcase my mothers teach their sons, and they are things mothers expect skills in hockey! The end result – as I brought her to the foot of their daughters to receive. I remember my mom telling me to her front door, a HUGE smile blasted from within that beautiful be courteous and generous when I’m going to go on a date, face, and SHE kissed me! Wow! Crazy, eh? and my mother telling my sister to be sympathetic and thankful trying to impress a girl in the end is far too complex and for everything. The question here is, is paying for a meal, trying to make the night perfect is complex as well. When you picking the right movie, and opening doors original, when they know you’re with someone that you feel comfortable with and are “expected”? you know they are comfortable with you, everything seems to guys generally want to go over the top with dates, well at fall into place. Guys – if you do your thing, everything will be least I do. I’m not trying to represent guys here, but trying just fine. to show how hard it could be when you have “expectations”. These expectations could act as barriers that can hold guys back A n d r e w A n t i n i c c i , A g e 1 8

Living in Harmony P h i l i p Mak, age 12

Young Voices 2007  I proved myself, The Ballad of an Outlaw As the man drew his gun, He dropped it instantly, I rode into town, And I knew I had won, One Friday afternoon, Tied my horse, “There’ll always be a gun, At the local saloon, Faster than yours, Your time will come, Entered the premises, That’s for sure.” With a certain despair, As uncertainty and melancholy, I snorted with resentment, Overshadowed me with care, At the old man’s words, He was gone now, At the bar I drank, Thinking of him was absurd, Worry put aside, The feeling of my gun, For many months I roamed, Tinkling with pride, Challenging every man in my path, All of them consequently, At the cowboys’ souls, Feeling my wrath, Who ventured afar, To the creator himself, I had become a beast, Commanding the stars, Feared by all, A killing machine, I was the quickest of them all, That drew his gun once an’ for all, I bragged to all the men, One challenged me, Every night, We never saw him again, As I uneasily rest, I see the old man’s face, The old man beside me, And think in disgrace, Who before caught my eye, Sat me down beside him, Of his words etched in my mind: And said not to question why, “There’ll always be a gun, When he said: Faster than yours, Your time will come, “There’ll always be a gun, That’s for sure.” Faster than yours, Your time will come, Wearily I woke, That’s for sure.” As my next challenge arrived, He was large and fearsome, I sprang up from my seat, But I was deprived, Not willing to hear, The old man’s words, Deprived of my killing, That played in my ears, Of my murderous ways, I was ready to draw my gun, With Satan beside me, No matter where death lay, And temperament in my veins, I shot the old man, As I drew my gun, To prove I say what I am. I felt a pain, I lay on the ground, His once wise eyes, In my life’s stain, Became lifeless and hazed, As he joined the men, I stared at the night sky, Of whom I shortened their days, The stars mocking me, I thought of the old man, I ran from the saloon, And now I see, Got on my horse, Rode it vehemently, “There’ll always be a gun, Till the night came with force, Faster than mine, A man must die, The old man’s words, When it’s his time.” Stung my mind, As I wondered, T a m a r a T h o mp son, age 14 If he was right,

I shook my head, As it ached in vain, And challenged the next man, Who rode alone on the plain.

 Young Voices 2007 Karamchand The Fundamentals of Eyeliner and Burns if each person on the subway is going to the same place a place farther from sleepless nights, angry trumpets, unhappy dreams “Approach someone new. You may be surprised by the warm why do we not help each other smile beyond oppressive social reception you receive.” regimes -Fortune Cookie maybe we’re all just waiting to be saved from ourselves Applying eyeliner is one of the most testing feats for any girl who saved from unravelling at the drop of a tear, an obscenity in is going for a bold-sexy-in-style-but-in-an-offbeat-nonconforming- truth just-so-devious stare. With every tick of the second hand, each shortcomings are magnets to old iron hearts erasing a yearning stroke of kohl aches with a desired perfection and blazes like the youth gentle pulse behind a burn. As every second passes, the dull pain becomes more intense and unbearable. I reach out to soothe the I thought people just needed Beatles love and the Doors pain but where I should feel tender skin I feel cold glass. There is freedom no burn. There is only me in a mirror applying eyeliner. but all they got was Radiohead karma and Nirvana’s short- if I stare closer, if I look beyond my frozen eyes, I can see the straw-ed end reflection of my dream last night.U sually, when he holds my music that pulls generations to cry out that we are forty feet hand, I take it eagerly and despair momentarily vanishes. As they underground with no godsend alter our reality, a world where those feelings do not exist, these dreams are my most precious device. But last night, when he so beyond my pressure tests, scheduled advancement and gallantly captured my hand in his, I faced the greatest dilemma. drinking water I knew if I let this go any further, it would irrefutably be my I will have to gobble oceans of unsynchronized equations to greatest regret. I do not know how releasing someone’s hand can find where happiness lives hurt so much. How can I dispel an illusion I revisit relentlessly? I pursue it alongside deflated wars on a rainbow earth that i return my gaze to the mirror and realize my frozen eyes are teaches to only give melting. I can see into them for miles, yet I see no contradiction to my dream. There is no uncontrollable sobbing, just tears running A n e e s h a C h o p r a , A g e 1 9 down my face. Each blackened capsule traces a promise on my cheek; the black residue burns my skin. I begin to feel a dreaded pulse and search for some sense behind my reasoning. There is no more life and no more love. Time has stopped because my meaning is over. my eyes flicker to the clock on my right, pushing past the pain of my burns, to verify my theory. Much to my disappointment, it is still ticking, but much slower than usual. With each passing second, another fragment of insight is added to my anomalous epiphany. It comes to me slowly as the clock drags on, but my comprehension is undeniable. Regardless of the difficulty of the obstacle, time will progress.I t may seem impossible and hurt beyond belief with no evident cure. Nevertheless, the remedy of time mends all wounds, tangible or not. No matter how unevenly, if it lurches then drags, time will eventually go by and the burn will heal. Eyeliner can always be reapplied or a more appropriate waterproof brand can be used.

J e n n i f e r L a m b , A g e 1 5

Young Voices 2007  I screamed, I I screamed in pain, I screamed in pain as he punched me, I ran, I screamed in pain as he punched me hard in my arm. I ran through the school, I ran through the school in the hallway, I laughed, I ran through the school in the hallway trying to get away. I laughed evilly, I laughed evilly in the classroom, I slipped, I laughed evilly in the classroom as I punched him. I slipped on the ice, I slipped on the ice at school, He laughed, I slipped on the ice at school while running. He laughed evilly, He laughed evilly in the classroom, I thought, He laughed evilly in the classroom as he knocked me out. I thought about hiding, I thought about hiding from him, N uwan Tilakara t n a , A g e 1 3 I thought about hiding from him as I got up.

the mask we hide under S a i P a r a n j a p e , a g e 1 7

10 Young Voices 2007 Silence of the Abyss A Day in the Life

The timepiece struck two o’clock, Warm sunlight peers into the room. You are awakened by the Buried under the blanket were her tormented sobs. sound of squawking gulls and waves. The salty breeze enters Ferocious pain attacked her ruthlessly like a thunder, your room through an open window, filling your nose with an Her strength was utterly battered, she begged to surrender. unmatchable feeling, one only the sea can provide. You have breakfast. Through the air travel the voices of playing children In hopes of finding indication, already swarming on the beach. The rhythm of the waves She gazed into the sky with great trepidation. relaxes you and the squawking seagulls call you to run free with But the dark night only brought turbid obscurity, them on the sand. You do. As if a black cloak falling to cover her dejection, And engulfing her with the deeply hidden memory… Clanging tramways and honking car horns wake you, along with the ring of your alarm clock. Strays are barking on the She would not even dare, streets. You quickly microwave your breakfast. You are in a race To let the thought of trust enter. against yourself to get to work on time. Not again, you think Observing the cold world enveloping no care, to yourself, as you get into your car, turn on the a/c, and race Her guarded heart held grief and fear. to work. The power button of your computer haunts you, but nevertheless you push it. You toil away until lunchtime, trying Yet the obdurate icebergs started thawing, to get as much work done as possible and please your boss. It’s As you came into the picture. 8 p.m. You have been working for 12 hours. You exit the office. She learned to give in, You meet a wall of exhaust fumes that drive you even crazier And embraced the comfort. but you drive home, and collapse. Before you know it, the tramways are clanging, the cars are honking, and your alarm Until you committed the utmost treason, clock is ringing. They awake you from your nightmare about For abandoning her without a reason. how you’re going to get through the next day, and the next. Sitting alone yet again inside her head, Here you go again, like a robot. Legs resembled sculptures of lead. A rooster’s call wakes you. The smell of dung enters your room. Deceiving loyalty tattered, You can see the sparkling sun peer over a hill, saying good Her mere hopes shattered. morning to your farm. Good morning, sunshine. You walk to Your every word seemed so genuinely captivating, the well to the sound of peeping birds and grunting pigs. A Yet you left them deserted in her thoughts aching. bucket of sparkling spring water poured over your head wakes you fully. You head for the barn, joined by your trusty dog. All Deep down inside those innocent eyes, the animals are barking, neighing, mooing, clucking, grunting, Vicious tornados of rage lied. and peeping, as if they’re asking you to feed them. The cow is So full of confliction and contradiction, waiting to be milked, the sheep to be sheared. After the chores Life was anything but absence of inspiration. are done, you sit down for a hearty meal of fresh cheese, just-baked bread, onions from your own garden, and butter Every deplorable day she lived her hollow fate, you’ve just finished churning. When the day is spent, you lay Enduring the suppressions she contained. on a feather-filled pillow and a straw mattress, and fall soundly Locked up at the disruptive side of the barred gates, asleep, to the sound of raindrops falling on your roof, looking The succulent rivers of vitality slowly drained. forward to another day like this.

Though so much to express on her mind, A chilly breeze opens the window with a creak, breaking the Withholding her was the fears she confided. perfect silence. You lift your head and look around: the sun is Walking between those fine lines, waking up, the mist is rising from the base of the mountain, Insanity left trails of her tears behind. and the spring is dripping by your lodge. Songbirds of many colours – wonders of nature – sing to you their wondrous songs, Rocks and stones could only break those bones, luring you to go outside. Mountain flowers are everywhere. But you walloped into her soul and swept her off the throne. You have never smelled such perfectly clean air. A squirrel She was always there to listen to your woes whispering from approaches and knocks my pencil out of my hand. the heart, But you could not even hear her screaming now as if the two A u g u s t i n P e t r e , A g e 1 3 were oceans apart…

Words were repetitious, But her emotions all came out the same: So besieged she could not get across, Her feelings and her thoughts.

Exhaustions gashed her soul a blood-splattered gap, Faiths struggled with despair as gradually they sap. Without warning now and again, Slamming in the suffocation of pain.

Being dragged down to the fathomless depths, She lost consciousness from the brutal jabs. Maiming her with every bit of its madness, Legacies of woes continued in the silence of the abyss.

M i n n i e K o n g , A g e 1 7

Young Voices 2007 11 Winter

We have learned once, and swept our doorsteps. Good riddance.

We don’t identify, with defiance and the insightful criticism waltzing out of thin lips.

We shovel away and with great pains, kiss away beginning.

Winter’s always been here.

M a d e l e i n e C u mm i n g s , A g e 1 6

Frost K i m i a M o o z e h , a g e 1 7

12 Young Voices 2007 Surrender A Contribution

It was the light in his eyes that broke her heart. The way his The airport is a funny place. It is always packed with people, arms found her the moment she was there, and reached for her always busy, always moving. In the airport, I walk by dozens when she wasn’t. It was his love that killed her inside. The way and dozens of unfamiliar faces, not giving a single thought past he leaned on her as if she was strong made her feel weak. She what I see right before my eyes. But one day, in a crowded New did not realize the strength of his commitment to her, and now York airport, my dad asked me a question that got me thinking. it was too late to rethink it. She was in too deep, and there was “Did you ever think why all these people are at the airport?” only one way out. In the end, it was the affection he had given he had asked me quizzically. her that made up her mind. i had to admit, I was surprised. He consumed her in a way that left her with nothing. She “No, not really,” I replied. “I mean, I hadn’t really thought looked back on all the sleepless nights she had spent by his side, about it.” or waiting for him to call her again. The minutes and hours she my dad just looked at me. Then, after a moment, he replied. had spent thinking over her decision, regretting it, before she “Me neither, until today. But all this time at the airport got me had even made it. thinking. When you look around, there are so many faces to As soon as the thought entered her mind, she regretted see. So then I thought: every face – men, women, even children everything. Getting drunk, enduring the pain that followed, – has a story. Every single one. Think about that for a moment. and eventually, he was with her 24/7. If not physically, his voice I mean, are they at the airport to go to visit their families? Are constantly spoke in the back of her mind. they having a hard time at work, and want to go on vacation she just couldn’t handle it any more. She was only fifteen. on some unknown, tropical island?” She had school to worry about – she would one day like to “Tropical island?” I questioned, cocking an eyebrow. make something of herself, but with him always there, always my dad laughed. “You get my point.” on her mind, it was nearly impossible. She picked up the phone the gears in my mind started to turn furiously, thinking about and made the call. He was as good as out of her life. Her grip this. My dad continued. tightened around the receiver and then relaxed. It fell to the “Then I thought about bigger things. Are these people at ground and so did she. Crumpled on her knees, she started to the airport going to a funeral someplace far from here, where cry in tune with the sound of an ended call ringing somewhere one of their relatives or loved ones has passed away? Are they in the distance. having trouble in their lives, or their relationships, and looking His cries haunted her. Every moment of the next week it for a fresh new start somewhere else? was all she heard, even if he wasn’t around. Somehow she still All these things I thought of. I thought of seeing so many found it hard to let him go. He was her life, her everything, for faces, most that I would probably never get to see again, and almost a year, and now it was all over. Soon, another woman’s all of the stories each person has that I would never get to arms would hold him close, as hers used to. hear. I didn’t know if the stories were sad, or happy, or tragic, soon, she would be erased from his mind, and she would or anything else, and I thought that if I didn’t make an effort, I be left remembering him. It pained her to think about having would never hear them. him in her mind, always making her think about him when her this made me think hard and long, harder than I had in a name probably wouldn’t even stay in his system. long time. I thought that when you put it that way, the world soon, someone would be happy with him, and she would seems like such a huge place, vast and endless and full of never be the same. She knew what she was doing was right – discoveries waiting to be discovered. When I thought about this she wanted him, more than anything, to be happy. She wanted strange thing that my dad has told me, I got inspired. him to laugh, and live his life as if she was never a part of it. to this day I always try to make an effort to know people. the next week was a blur of strange faces and voices To listen to their thoughts and opinions or laugh with them or revolving around her. Her world didn’t seem to be her business maybe even tell them my own thoughts, because I know that anymore – it was now open to everyone who wanted to see it. if I try to do this whenever I can, I will be giving a small part of They all wanted him. But they all had to go through her, and me to this big world. Because when I think of all those faces, all make sure it was okay to even look at him before making their those stories and thoughts and opinions that fill up this world, I next move. Many didn’t even get that far. On that fateful day feel proud that I’m telling my stories and thoughts and opinions she felt raw and exhausted. Having cried the entire previous too. A contribution, if you will. night, just as she had many nights before that, she was tired and heartbroken. But today was different. Days were slowly A l t h e a G o r o s p e , A g e 1 2 ticking away, and it was at the point where she had no more control over him. A knock on the door startled her, and pulled her from her thoughts. It was time. She opened the door, and stared blankly into the grinning faces of the people standing in the hallway. Tears she didn’t know she had poured out of her eyes. She waved the procession in, and walked back into the apartment. She reappeared a minute later with him in her arms. With a quick breath she handed him over to the woman. Her son – her child, was now in the arms of a new mother. He was no longer hers. She no longer shared her life with someone else, and no matter how right her decision was, she could not bring herself to realize that just yet. It was his love that killed her inside, but it was her love for him that finished the job.

K s e n i a s T assiouk, age 17

Young Voices 2007 13 Rain Dew Performance of a Lifetime

Empty your buckets on to me Katrina’s heart pounded a mile a minute. Sitting in that waiting Drip ever so lightly till you pour room was making her very nervous. She stood and paced to Blue ochre blue gasp in the light and fro, up and down the length of the room. Her thoughts Weightful clouds were running wild with possibilities of what could happen in Drain, drain the hours to come. Then, the dreaded voice: “all contestants of Dewdrops rest upon these trees the Performance of a Lifetime Piano Competition please report Soak in moisture through my skin to the auditorium.” Katrina stood, and slowly made her way Suck me dry to the auditorium. When she walked in, she was awed by the Suck thy earth dry number of people in there. “There must have been millions,” Dry core dry she thought. But at the front was where she would have to sit. Empty your buckets among us please Right up there was where the best piano players of the world Rid of empty wasteful beings were. Tonight was the night! The night that would decide her Spit your spit future. “Katrina Whity,” the announcer called. The audience Pour your drink applauded as she strode down the aisle to her seat in the front. Water gun me She sat down in seat number three. She’d be third to perform Pour out your tea that night. She’d be the third contestant who would give the Bleed your water, dry we are performance of their life. Musky night the first two performances passed rather quickly with no See no stars significant events. Then, it was her turn. She rose and made Moonful glass her way onto the stage in front of millions of people. Stopping Rainful mask beside the grand Petrof piano, she stood, and bowed. The Empty your rain buckets audience clapped. Then, she sat down on the piano bench, and Dew rain with one sweep of motion, she began. She played like a feather Rain dew in the wind. As she played, her soul flew through the room, caressing every face, transforming everyone into a tranquilized e M i l y B ruce, age 17 dream. Her fingers grazed the keys as her hands flew through page after page. She played for her family, her dead brother, who had believed in her. She played, as the heart-wrenching song told a story of her own life, and her own family. Brightness returned and shimmered in her soul. Her soul, one that had once echoed with happiness and joy. Then, she struck the final note; the end of her story, a page in her life finished. The audience was silent for a moment, then, they burst into applause. two hours later, the adjudicator stood in front of the many hopeful faces gazing back at her. She said, “This is by far the best competition ever! The decision I was asked to make today was not an easy one. So, without further ado, in third place, Kenneth Stone, in second place, Rachel Jolene, and the champion of today’s competition is Katrina Whity! Congratulations!” Katrina was in shock, she had done it! She had won the highest award there was for musicians! Katrina rose from her seat, and made her way to the podium, where she accepted the grand trophy. As she made her way back to her seat, she overheard someone say, “She’s done it again! She has swept us off of our feet, and she’s taking home the gold. Katrina Whity has given the performance of a lifetime!”

l Y n n T a y , a g e 1 3

14 Young Voices 2007 The Wilting Rose A sonnet

Upon the ground it sat resolutely Withdrawn into the world of silent thought It would be gone soon and absolutely Standing with the sad dignity death brought The rose had once been red but now was not Petals edged with black, wilting peacefully The rose stood tall as it began to rot Passersby looked and grimaced dreadfully The withered leaves fell; sad and pathetic Making not a sound as they touched the stones It quietly died; proud and poetic Invisible to the world and alone In the minds of people it would remain Beautified, thornless, its beauty retained

K e r e n G i n z berg, age 14

the nightingale and the rose D a e u n k i m , a g e 1 5

Young Voices 2007 15 Protection E l e n a W u , a g e 1 6

16 Young Voices 2007 A Soul Set Free The Magician’s Apprentice

I ran through the dark forest, the shadows crawling on the old Angry clouds gathered on the horizon, staining the red with trees and their branches. My feet patted the compact earth, black. and the low tree boughs ripped and caught on to my clothing. “Lower the sails,” the captain ordered. “We will have to ride I was running out of breath, and I stopped, panting, in a large out the storm.” clearing. Roan stood on the prow of the ship. Ever since that fateful it was a graveyard, and on the dark grass I saw gruesome day, he had been running from Master. Master, who had such spiders crawling creepily to the menacing iron gate. The powerful magic he could blot out the sun. His only hope was to gravestones were a dull grey, and they were covered with dark escape across the sea, escape to Sourdain. green vines, looking rotten with the dust of the crumbling then the storm struck without warning. stone upon them. Rain lashed out at him, needling his face and hands with i stepped closer, to see the name carved into the stone cold. He struggled to keep himself steady as the ship lurched. nearest to me. Stooping down, I gazed at the rock. It read: The crew rushed here and there as Roan had heard them do, Ryana Dreamt, 1992-2005 slipping and sliding. He staggered to the mast and clung to it my own name. No, it was not possible. Was I dead? It can’t desperately. be true. If I was dead, would I be able to read this? Was I dead? then there was what could best be described as a screech Was I? of some kind. But it sounded unearthly and ancient. The “I’m not dead!” I shouted out, and it echoed eerily with the screeching of a creature, long and keening; it filled his stomach swirling wind. with ice. “Not dead…” I added shakily, and sat down, crying. I felt thrown into sharp relief by lightning was a long, slimy a sort of gel-like substance on my cheeks. I wiped it off, and tentacle. Dripping with water and seaweed, it stood taller than found that it was a tear. I looked at the hand that had wiped it the highest mast and three times as thick, tapering to a tip off, seeing it translucent. above their heads. i attempted to poke it with my other hand, but it went right “It’s the Kraken!” Roan heard a sailor cry. through. Like thin air. Not like an alive person’s hand. I looked “Load the ballista!” down, my vision blurred by tears, and saw that I was not sitting the order was relayed to the front of the ship where the on cold earth. I was floating in a sitting position. Everything giant harpoon-launching crossbow stood. Quickly, crew about me was translucent, from my fingernails to my skin. members carried a giant spike forward, securing it with a loud suddenly, images came to mind: A knife, glinting ominously mechanical clank. amid the splattered blood. My mother, crying, with mascara “Fire!” running down her face, her tears black. A wooden coffin, Roan whipped around just in time to see the spike streaking closed with me inside, death taking its toll. off towards the limb. i floated back to my grave, where I saw rays of sunlight Almost immediately, there was another shriek so loud it hurt dancing on the carved letters, illuminating them. Golden his ears and left them ringing. It was a noise of anger. The specks glittered, and an elegant hand seemed to rise out of the appendage reared up, the spike jutting out like some grotesque heavens, inching near me bit by bit, beckoning me to hold it. I splinter before withdrawing into the murky depths. took up the offer, and was lifted up, soaring. At every second I next second, a truly monstrous head rose out of the sea, a felt more at peace. My soul became free. mottled green, as the tentacle had been. Enormous, quivering st. John stood quietly, watching the scene as he stroked fins flanked it like ears. Bright yellow eyes deep in their sockets his long beard. This child would be let into heaven, and walk burned with hatred. through the Pearly Gates, where she would meet her dead “Load!” relatives. Content, the Saint said: “A soul set free.” there was a series of metallic noises as the ammunition was loaded. S ara Vladusic, age 12 “Ready!” the captain squinted, concentrating all his effort into one shot. The beast screamed its defiance. “Fire!” A whoosh and it was away. It found its mark. When I look at the sky at Dark red blood spurted out of the Kraken’s eye, staining night the sea. The creature roared in pain, its tentacles thrashing in its last, desperate hour. There was a horrible crunch as one knocked the masts clean off. Another whipped out, punching When I look at the sky at night, straight through the hull of the ship. With a great shudder I see a flicker of stars, and I think: the craft began to sink. A third dealt the final blow, splitting When people the world over look at the sky, the vessel clean in two. Roan heard one last, agonized screech what do they think? before he hit the churning water. When Roan finally woke again, he found himself on the white Toronto, Lisbon, beaches of Sourdain where the tide had left him. He thanked Baghdad or London, the gods that brought him here. people the world over Roan was free. look at the sky at night. T i f f a n y C han, age 13 Then I close the curtains and go back to sleep, and I think: Do the people the world over go back to sleep?

A fireball of light punctures the sky like a missile. The falling star disappears, but I think: Is it a falling star the world over?

As I close my eyes, I begin to dream, and I think: If the people share the night sky the world over, why can’t they share the earth?

Maria Yanche v a , a g e 1 6

Young Voices 2007 17 Illusions Fairytale Childhood

You are so sure you know me, and you A sonnet Don’t even think twice about it, but Realize there is more to me, and that, if you let me The sky, beach-stretched across both of their hearts I will step out of the box that I In rapture with own southern snow globe Am encased in, let the mask that I hide behind With luscious hopes and barely timely starts Just fall away, and shatter to pieces Aware of all and nothing, wrapped in robes An empty promise I no longer fulfill, my Adorned in crowns of shells and lizards’ tails Illusion has become a part of me Knew every secret to the Gordian knot Saw beauty even amid scabrous shale I am not loud and rude, and I In hybrid morning they found what they sought Am not tough, spiteful or disturbed Doomed to be split by time and unclaimed love Not any of the things you say I am Once unmovable mountain’s curtain torn Who are you to say when I still hide from To reveal scaffolding, nothing above You and your clouded eyes? I know you Elizabeth and Robin mutely mourn Think i am strange, different, but you don’t know Like a fading starfish washed on the shore I am just bleeding on the inside, and I A fairytale childhood, nothing more Am really the opposite of the illusions that you see of me P a i g e L a f r a m boise, age 16 Give me some time, try to let Me feel safe without my dreaded disguise Faith in the end will bring me out of my shell And finally, I can be free and be myself Long Time Coming I’ll be released from that hollow darkness, and you’ll It started when I attached a single red rose to her locker Shed some light back into my life, but don’t tear door. The next morning, she was giggling at the idea of a shy My costume away from me, because this admirer. She called me over as I was walking. Illusion is the shield that I hide behind “Hey Dom, any idea who got me this charming rose?” she teased. “For you? My money’s on the janitor,” I coyly laughed. We A n o n ym o u s chatted, and then set off for separate classes. When I turned the corner, my smirk became a full-blown smile. Nice job, I told myself. Just a rose and no card. She liked it. Behind The Curtain i had fancied Karina since the ninth grade. I never had quite the bravado to say anything. We were casual friends. I took care to keep my distance. Sometimes, I would creep up to her locker, It’s 11:45 p.m. All I can hear is arguing, from downstairs, but after school, and leave anonymous gifts and compliments. She that’s normal. I’m in my bedroom, looking out the window. was never to know the identity of her gift bearer. I imagined I think I’m supposed to be asleep right now, but I can’t sleep that she would be terribly disappointed if she found out. with all the arguing anyway. usually, I left flowers and cute trinkets that she might have so I look out the window, trying to block out the screaming. liked. She really loved the candygrams on Valentine’s Day. It was It’s a beautiful night, with a full moon. All the houses and the inherently sappy stuff that she treasured. She was the type streets have a silver-ish glow, and the sky is cloudless. Opposite of girl who would save the ticket stub from your first date. Not my window, there is a row of houses, and I have a clear view of that I even stand a chance for a first date, I thought. what is going on in each window. one day, I got her a sizable, goofy chocolate bunny. It was for in the far left house, I see a computer, and an overwhelming Easter. From my locker, I took the package and began slinking collection of stuffed animals on the windowsill, making me toward Karina’s locker. The halls were emptied. No one had ever seen me doing this. No one had ever seen the earnest think that this is a child’s room. Some houses to the right, I smile on my face. see a lit room with a couple arguing behind the blinds. My As I neared, I saw a note stuck to her locker. I began to worry. heartbeat quickens for a second, and I am again aware of the Who was it from? Was someone mocking me? It read: arguing voices coming from my first floor. I quickly look away, and move my eyes along the remaining houses across the Dominic – for I am almost sure that you are Dom, street. Dark room. Woman brushing. Somebody asleep. Then I see something that makes me stop. I can’t keep accepting the things you leave here. It’s lame. in one of the houses, to the right, is a girl looking out her You need to flee your little shell. If you agree, meet me window. Her white curtain is drawn by her hand, and she has a in the utility closet across the hall and we can do some curious expression on her face. The moonlight is so strong that I bonding. It’s been a long time coming. Karina. can see she has impossibly large green eyes, and straight brown hair. Her skin is pale, made only paler by the moonlight. I don’t T i n a L ong, age 15 understand why, but this girl is too interesting for me to look away. Her eyes wander the streets as mine were, behind her white curtain. She looks at the row of houses on my side now, and I am waiting for her to look in my window. She is getting Ode to Cheerios closer… closer… and finally, she looks. My heart jumps, though I don’t know why, and caught in the moment, I wave. Oh, tiny imperfect rings of perfection! there is a moment of waiting, which seems to take forever. Crispy, crunchy, wholegrain goodness I’m waiting in anticipation, to see if she will acknowledge me. Aromatic nostril invasion Then, in a split second, I see it. Her enormous eyes blink once I feel your coarse, grainy, little bodies crumble between my in surprise, and her face cracks a smile. I smile back. This is very fingertips exciting. Maybe we could be friends? What’s this girl’s name? And I sprinkle you, golden dust, Why haven’t I seen her before? Who… The way our gentlest Mother sprinkles bliss “Hey, Useless! You’d better be asleep!” Premature snowfall – despite all of our fuss – the voice comes out of nowhere, bringing me back to reality. I quickly draw my curtain and lie down, covers over my face. I I observe you with fascination as you struggle to stay afloat wait to see if they’re coming upstairs to check on me, but I hear A million miniature ring buoys made of wholesome oat no footsteps. I wait two minutes to be safe, then sit up again. Bobbing up and down in a frothy sea of white i know it’s hopeless. She must have gone by now, back to In a moment you will vanish out of sight sleeping, or maybe looking at a different row of houses, but Only to resurface who knows? My heartbeat quickens again as I slowly draw the Triumphant and victorious curtain to see if the girl is there. I look out the window, smiling. she is not there. A l e t h e i a C hiang, age 17 P r e r a n a D a s , a g e 1 5

18 Young Voices 2007 Bottom of Death Valley S a l o m e S i k t anc, age 12

Young Voices 2007 19 “It’s none of your business, just get one already!” Midnight Memories “Here, here, Mom… can you read me a story?” “You think I would?” Leave now… get out of this world. Blood… piercing… “Umm… okay… I’m gonna go play outside!” shrieking. You won’t see the lights of tomorrow, memories… memories… say goodbye… * she awoke from her delusion, wearied and perplexed. She shifted over to one side of the bed, checking the time. At that moment, she cried. Her moments with Terry were 11:50. flooding back in her mind, refreshing all the good times with she straightened up, got off her bed, grabbing a bottle her little child. The spirits swiftly faded away in an instant but of whisky as she left. She walked out of her room without came back as she thought of it. hesitation. The dark stairs creaked as she slowly dragged herself “Terry… why did you have to go… why… my only child… down. In nightgown and slippers, she wobbled down her front don’t you remember all the good times you had with Mommy?” door steps, hearing her drink swing back and forth in the she whispered to herself. miniature bottle. “TERRY DIED YOU FOOL, NOW IT IS YOUR TURN!” I see you’ve changed… good. “NOO! GO AWAY! I can’t take it anymore!” she bellowed into she grinned. the dark night sky. “I want to be alone… just go away.” it was dark out, and she liked it that way. Complete emptiness this night, is the night, where life will end. Her own soul filled the air, followed by the faint sounds of the crickets. A inside her has been vanquished. The spirits inside her will loud police siren roamed across the street, fading and fading. dominate once again. Her memories and pictures flashing She looked at her house one last time and turned away. The inside her head surrounding her like a wall. “Terry… Terry… whisky was still with her. Where are you now?” she walked to her car and hastily grabbed the handle. She slid The time has come. in and closed the door. she inched towards the edge of the bridge. Closer and closer, Go now… into the beyond. she felt like Terry was coming. She sat on top of the parapet, A sly smile came across her face. She opened the bottle of looking across the grey clouds. A sudden pain fluttered in her whisky and took several gulps and drove off into the dark. head. She seized her hair and began to rip it. She grunted and The leaves clattered and the wind roared as she opened the shouted. Nothing would stop her pain. “Terry! Terry! Come window. The wind brushed her thick black hair as she narrowed back!” her eyes. Rain started to fall, beating the windowpanes like little * fingers tapping. Yes, blood… sweet. “Oh look, Mom!! A field of flowers!” He held my hands real she found herself drowsing off on the highway. To her tight. surprise, many people were still on the streets. She wanted to “Wow, it’s beautiful.” be alone, away from her spirits. “Mom!! Wanna run in the flowers with me?” He looked at the wind roared heavily through her window. It was now me with those eyes of his, desirable and tempted. midnight. “I dunno Son, it’s kinda...” Yes, my dear… drink, drink, take it all in. “C’mon! Follow me!” she snatched her whisky and drowned it in her mouth. She He held my hands and danced around the flowers. That was gasped for air and dropped the glass bottle. the first time I saw what life really meant. Seeing him giggling “I ca-n-n’t…go aw-a-ay.” and prancing in the colourful blossoms, I felt as if my life was Take your time… drink it all… plenty. complete. the gleaming pavement caught her eyes. She drove faster. the day after that was… when Terry died. Found in his room, She wanted to be with the light. Her hands, thick with sweat, murdered without a trace. He was covered with a blanket when clutched on to the wheel. The rain beat faster and soon the sky I saw him. Blood was on his bed splattered everywhere. His tiny brought thunder. Her breath was short. She felt teeth – real little face was covered. I wanted to see him one last time. teeth – hanging on her neck. She needed air… for she would of… * she skidded off to the bridge. Stopped and got out. Other cars flashed past her. The rain stopped. Her pain had eased and she stood up. Birds Why… WHY DID YOU STOP! WHY? GO! THE OTHER WORLD flew over her, breezing her wet hair. Her light blue nightgown, AWAITS YOU! now torn and muddy, waved behind her bare legs through the A paroxysm rushed through her. She broke down, screaming. wind. She closed her eyes. “SHU –T-T-T UP!!” “How… how selfish was I? Oh Terry… forgive me… I never She struggled for air, groaned in pain. The rain covered her meant it that way… Terry… thanks again for that rose.” She by the second. spoke softly, “Now, Terry, I will join you. I want to be with you “AHH! G-GO A-W-AY!” she stuttered. again.” Sweet rain. she stepped closer to the very edge and sighed deeply. She she crawled to the bridge and looked ahead. The sky was leaned forward and dived down. She felt calm as the force hazed and filled with spirits. It felt like a nightmare in hell with dragged her down. A familiar face appeared in the waters. It thousands of needles piercing her helpless body. was Terry’s. She reached for him and tried to touch his warm “What… what is this place? Where’s Terry… my little boy?” cheeks. She smiled. Terry was a mere child… a sensitive one. His blood was so “Terry!” cold, yet sweet. One lick fulfilled my body. “TERRY IS NOT DEAD! HE’S…” M i c h e l l e H uang, age 14 A rip of fire lashed right through her chest. She collapsed. The rain washed her hot body, soothing yet cold. She knew she was at the border to the other world. She clenched her teeth to overcome the pain.

*

“Mom!! See this!! I drew this today at school!!” He was jumping for joy to see my reactions. “What is it?... a poop on a stick?” I snickered. “But Mom, it’s a rose! I drew it for you! Isn’t it pretty?” “Oh, pfft, yeah… just put it on the fridge and while you’re at it, get me a bottle.” “Sure, Mommy, but what is that stuff anyway? Why do you drink it a lot… is it good?”

20 Young Voices 2007 Leosaurus K a W a i L eung, age 12

Young Voices 2007 21 Behind those Hazel Eyes S h a m e r a S a t hiaruban, age 14

22 Young Voices 2007 Poem for the Day In Between Just Another Story About a Birth and Death Teen With a Depressing Take on the World There is that cracking and hatching, and so it speaks to you in a language that tastes of fruit flesh It’s the end of school, and I head for my locker, grab my stuff – the inside of a fig – complicated, sweet. and leave. But I remember to sit on the bench by the wall, because if I leave the school, the safety of its walls disappear. On the day of your birth, As a mass of students rush by me, talking about things I don’t you tattoo their writhing concepts know about, I wonder if I will have to be scared forever. No onto the palm of your hand. one talks to me and I don’t talk to anyone. That’s how it works And so, as a friend opens your palm these days. I feel completely and utterly alone. To them, I am you remember the sweet stain of fruit flesh. unimportant, just another piece of air. Finally, the crowd thins out. As I sit, I watch the clock tick, There is that cracking and hatching, careful not to do anything suspicious, I have an idea. I think I’ll there is that language that pushes itself write about my story. I mean write just for myself, not school. through the earth. After an eternity, I get ready to leave. Before I step outside, I You glance towards gravity and see check that the coast is clear. Seriously, that sounds like it’s out toes, ankles, held fast. of a children’s chapter book. Not for me it isn’t. As the chilly November air greets me on the front steps of the main entrance And so you stand. of my high school, I start to think of homework. Something else And feel rotation after rotation of this globe of to dread. Around me, I see many groups of teenagers heading infinity whirling you through space. home. They’re talking, laughing, yelling and I just wish I could pop up in one of them and be accepted. There is that memory that defines you. As I trudge along the already salted street, melting the There is that knowledge that thought and first snow of the year, and look up to see the bleak sky, my word are as transient as the garden in which you stand. spirits fall to a record low. The dirty road and the bare trees Go pilgrim, just make me lonelier. As I look ahead of myself, I see what is forget a little! And see Mecca growing from probably the dingiest Starbucks in the history of the world, your wrists. and remember what happened to me a few months ago. What makes me more scared than I already was. What I’d probably S c h i r i n R a c h e l O eding, age 17 say is the worst thing that’s happened to me in my life. one day, as I was walking home, I got attacked... they’d come out of nowhere, and told me to get into the alleyway. I had just stared at them, petrified. And then one The Anti-Socialite of them had thrown a punch. Scared as hell, I’d retreated backwards into the alley. I was cornered, so they’d attacked. A punch here, a kick there – soon I’d blacked out. When I’d come Catabolic atrophy after a collision of delight back, all I could feel was the pain. I had countless bruises, cuts Enigmatic foray and broken bones. I’d stumbled into the coffee shop, but the Laughter barraging the air of awkward silences waiter had just said to me, “Either you buy something, or you Names litter the ground get out – your pick.” I’d been out of cash so I’d left... Torn asunder to leave or be drowned by the prattle ever since, I’ve been so scared. As I finally get home, a feeling This is why I’d rather be home instant messaging you of safety washes over me. My mom says hello; she doesn’t know My life underground is by choice about my problems in school and out of it. And then, I say hello No situations to leave me unravelled back to somebody who’s probably my only friend in the world. Sworn to facades on my own terms See you online N i h a a l S ilk, age 12 s T e p h a n i e S a n t iago, age 17 Happiness Lament of a Student Trapped Dear Happiness, in a Particularly Dull You are the bright star in everyone’s life. You give hope to those who have given up, give life to the dead. You are the Philosophy Class one we all look for, the one who is never found sad. You are happiness, the fairy that even the most deceived still know. If death is like a dreamless sleep You pick us up when we fall down, tell us “yes” when we say Eternal rest – no counting sheep “no.” You have faith in us and in return, we trust you like a mother. I think that I would rather be You help us through all trial, through pain and the saddest grief. Dead than in Philosophy. Without you, nothing good would rule, with you, that is all we see. If death’s a change, a better place You are found in the warm wind that blows smiles on our face. A paradise we hope to face, Every morning, we see you in the golden streaks of sunlight and in I think that I would rather be the cheerful song of a bird. You’re the “A” that shines in our report Dead than in Philosophy. card, the “super!” on corrected homework. You’re the one who If death hands me harsh punishment, keeps us going when things are just plain bad. You’re there after A pit of fiery torment mean words are struck and we’re feeling awfully sad. Bullies torment, I don’t think I’d rather be monsters laugh, but still we keep our heads held high ‘cause we Dead than in Philosophy; know you’re waiting for us, just around the corner. Life isn’t real But I don’t think I’ll go to Hell without your starry eyes to guide the way. No one is a person I’m imperfect, but I’ve behaved well. without you inside. You float through dreams, dance through days, If purgatory’s what’s in store people run to reach you; you’re that important to us. You are always A painful waiting place, a bore, within arm’s reach, whether we’re in a desert or on a mountain top. I think perhaps that I might be Sometimes we think you’ve left us – if only we would look. Dead – not in Philosophy. You are the bright sun that is always there even when hidden by clouds of sadness. And once we wipe our tears away, we’ll I sabel Zaw-Tun, age 17 see you shining once again. Yours forever, s T e p h a n i e Y i p , a g e 1 2

Young Voices 2007 23 Heaven The Ericsson

My favourite jewellery box I can feel it in my pocket. A solid square. It’s actually a Sony Had a ballerina Ericsson, thick and navy on the outside. The keys, which are a That danced to a song little bit scratched now, light up as I open it. It wasn’t always With the turn of a key. mine, though. I inherited it from my sister. She had it for a while, before she got a new one. So yes, it’s a hand-me-down. She glides across the wooden box Just like the pair of jeans she gave me last week. But I can’t In a dress like summer complain. It doesn’t have internet access or a camera or a And with a face like spring. built in mp3 player. But it’s a phone. My phone. And I made it my own. I changed the ring to something funkier. And the Her dancing helped me to background on the screen is now a picture of jellyfish. I even Dream. have a personalized welcome message saying: “Bonjour Dines.” And her song was so beautiful that So it’s definitely mine. It could paint every crumb of there’s a little crack on the side. Just a tiny one. My sister’s My childhood. fault. When it belonged to her, she dropped it, and a friend rolled over it with her car. It reminds me of the time she These were the days dropped a different phone in the toilet. Another Ericsson. Stuff When I watched Heaven through these eyes. like that happens to her. But I’m always responsible with my Back when my heart was young phone. Sometimes I take it out and look at it just to make sure And my eyes recognized only innocence. it’s still alive. I even feel lost when I’ve forgotten it at home. For awhile, it actually made my obsession with time worse. I’d I dreamed that paradise was achievable. be sitting on the bus, and then I’d take out my phone just to I dreamed that all my wishes would come true. look at the time displayed on the front screen. Even if I knew I wasn’t late, I just had to make sure. So now, I just turn the But as my strides grew weary, phone off when I’m going to school. And my wrinkles deepened, But the little round screen can be useful. It shows an arrow I began to wish when I’ve missed a call – which happens a lot, as the phone’s That my life could’ve been always off. Or an envelope when I get a text message. I think As lovely as that same song I danced to at one point I was doing more texting than making actual calls. Back when I was a child; I remember the morning I found out that a friend of ours, a When life was forgiving. lively woman who had once been in our congregation, had When someone was there died. I texted my sister to tell her, but I felt weird at the same To bandage my every scrape. time. I guess it’s because I usually send text messages when I’m meeting up with friends, or to tell my sister about something At times I find myself funny. The subject of death seemed too serious for a text Winding that stupid box message. Over and over and over again. Anyway, I’ve gone back to sending silly texts again. And now Trying to remember the steps that my time obsession has gotten better, I’m taken up with I used to take Alien Scum, a game on the phone. So as long as my Ericsson To that same old song. stays alive, it will be the time keeper, storage for all the comical experiences I have, the lifeline in my pocket. Yet I never stopped to question myself: Why? D i n a h M c K a y , a g e 1 7

I learned that there were many things Beyond my capacity. That fairy tales were just things Midnight Storms Carved on the back of our minds And that happy endings Tremors. You could not grasp Ripples through my creaky steps Through wishing and dreaming alone. Everything feels, and looks like metal In every shame and weakness I wait for the strike, listen for the rain drops She slowly erased every crumb of brace myself for the clap My childhood How do they sleep through it? Which withered away It’s rainy With her song. Or cold Or quiet where they are Perhaps I’d trade all the wisdom I’ve gained But in here, my heart is racing Just to have a last glimpse of I’m tense What seemed like – I want to peek out my window Heaven. glimpse at my street covered in summer weather And in the morning, the sleeping ones M a r y E l i z a b e t h C a mp o , a g e 1 5 will wake up and mumble about fall weather Suggest that it rained Never having peeked out their window

S h a n n o n C l a r k e , a g e 1 5

24 Young Voices 2007 Coast Watchers H o n g j in Yan, age 14

Young Voices 2007 25 If This is What We Look Like on the Outside T i n a S a u l - N urse, age 12

26 Young Voices 2007 Reversing Unspoken Sound I AM

I steadily stepped into an eerily silenced room I am a slave, a slave I am with no identity or rights, Naked and void of previous human entity I wonder if I flee from hereI ’ll find the gourd tonight. The lights, they shine unsteadily I hear stories Mammy tells me day to day and dangers to be caught, Even then, the room remains drab I see though now that if I follow the path to find the gourd dots. I want to be away from here with all my oh so might, And there it was I am a slave, a slave I am with no identity or rights. Sitting in the centre of all unvibrancy Fashioning an ostentatious ebony, I pretend it doesn’t hurt to be treated like an ass, Imperial ivory I feel I could bray the entire day but I’m not just high as their class. But rests in dust and dwells alone I touch the rough cotton as I pick them from the fields, Dead over a surfacing earth I worry and wonder as I pick these if my life has any means. Emitting just an unspoken sound That no mortal can ever dare to hear I cry and sob as I cook and clean with my pillow drenched at night, I taunted its presence and stood I am a slave, a slave I am with no identity or rights. And stared in awe and desolation Because it would not make a sound I understand my situation and I got to do best with it you see, Exceedingly craved and desired I say to find theU nderground Railroad and flee is the best for me. I dream that one day the kids of the future will have better lives to lead, In overwhelming greediness I try to be my very best ‘cause god always rewards your deeds. I scuttled along I hope to flee from here and travel safely tonight, To the ultimate grandeur I am a slave, a slave I am with no identity or rights. Atop of coarse wooden flooring Devoured in a blanket I AM Of powder coloured grey My sweaty feet compresses J u l i a G o y a l , a g e 1 3 Leaving footprints overlooked

Without a doubt, I sat on the stool Disregarding the layer of filth on the seat Silence Taking an immaculate breath of saccharine air I blew the grey particles off my ivory keys Smiling whilst I tickled them and played In the stillness of the night Underneath the envious moon As if I was drifting off to sleep I can hear the Silence In complete consciousness Like a darkened dream A sense beyond all the logic of sight Only effervescent Revealed From the passionate tunes and tinkles In the dead of night Only to those that choose to hear Alas, the ivory was seen no more Her quiet noise And ebony invaded ominously Finally feeling the dust between my toes She’s waning... waiting... whispering Amid the monotonous room Singing songs of neglect The light expired To the slumbering creatures of the darkness Wishing that someone would hear her call G a b r i e l a N aces, age 16 But when a creature stirs The calling Silence is chased away We are not those silent As unwelcome as the plague Disclaimed like a blemished lamb creatures And sometimes, I can barely hear her cry We are not those silent creatures, that once roamed this earth. We do not take treatment lower, K e i s h a T o n e y , a g e 1 6 than what we deserve. We once may have acted weak, but that, no more. We won’t watch our others, fall to the floor. We are not an it, or a thing at that. We give our respect, we ask you give it back. No one can touch us, hurt us, or mistreat us. We shall stay silent no more. Disrespected no longer. We are your mothers, wives, sisters, daughters, cousins, nieces, friends in all. We are human. We are an equal. We are proud, independent and honest. Who are we? We are WOMEN!

M at h u s h a S e n t h i l m urugan, age 15

Young Voices 2007 27 After Life …No More

Blind and deaf and dumb decay I cry these tears Skin and flesh that rot away And feel alone Curious and tempting thoughts I hide my fears What of my soul as my body rots? And cry some more

Will I drown in grievers’ tears? Why can’t anyone understand Or will I fade with passing years? All these things I’m feeling Tell me now, before I try, I need to find a way to cope What will happen when I die? But I just can’t stop stealing

When they close the casket case These tears won’t stop And send me to a better place Running down my cheek Heaven and Hell, are they just lies? I see the cop Excuses for better goodbyes? Then run down the street

My flesh won’t even leave a trace Why did I take that ring The worms and maggots eat my face From the jewellery store But where has gone my heart and soul? I don’t even need the thing Haunted questions leave me cold... But I promise ... No More!

D a v id Zada, age 16 A s m a K halil, age 12

‘Dirty’ I Want

Two little steps I will continue As one carry on, speaking, walking, hearing. She approaches. I will continue Whipped, like lightning disagreeing, listening, Carved in her bare, bare hands, and volunteering. I will continue to try to live at ease. Struggling I will continue to search for inner peace. To turn the knob from the fountain I will continue to nurture, love and care. As that just cause more pain. I will continue to give all that I can spare. More pain, more hatred memories Times like today, yesterday or even But think of the many things The days before that, I’ve never done before. Of all the things I know and love When there wasn’t a day I can’t help but want more. She wasn’t made fun of, or beaten up. Maybe it was because of her colour I want to see a cloud that can carry me away. As some would recall ‘dirty’ I want to see snow fall from a clear blue summer’s day. Such harmful words She shakes her head and gulps some water I want to have a friend who knows me from inside. I want to see a person who has never ever lied. From the fountain – Her thirst clenches I want to see a sunset that is timid yet so bold. Those tiny hands again, ready to turn the knob I want to see a hand for every child who’d like to hold. Her mouth, ready to drink some more. I want to see a mother who will not ignore their need. But someone pushes her and flung her down I want to see the hunger that was made for man to feed. To the ground and she screams Like an animal running away from its prey. I want to hear the melody that will always make me cry. The girl looks up to see a white boy I want to see pink cherry blossoms falling from the sky. Maybe four years older than herself. I want to see the darkness fall at the noble hand of light. “Hey! You savage! Read the sign stupid! I want to see the good prevail in these crazy global fights. Who says you can drink here!” Tears roll down her eyes I want to hear the warning that I know the world won’t heed. As she strolled away, feeling like garbage I want the revolution that I know I’m meant to lead.

Turnin her head back, only once, to I want to see the poverty and hear its muffled scream. Read those two words: I want to listen closely to a child’s wondrous dreams.

‘Whites Only’ M a r t ha Porado, age 14 C i n d y H uang, age 14

28 Young Voices 2007 angel of darkness R o b i n S kinner, age 14

Young Voices 2007 29 Sleeping Angel Jonoel Macaraeg A legria, age 15

30 Young Voices 2007 Through It All ‘Round we Sit

Her footsteps were quiet, I try to imagine myself as King, sitting at the head of his dinner Muffled through the snow. table, flanked by his sons and his wife, with a full view of his She had no gloves or jacket, long line of subjects and their plates. Yet ran as fast as she could go. or as the more common man, sitting at his head of the table, at his side are his children and wife. He flung the cabin open, or as the typical Chinese rural woman, kneeling in the And followed her outside. kitchen corner, surrounded by the wood stove on one side “Wait, please, I’m sorry,” and the bucket of water on the other, with a full view of the He screamed with all his might. grubby floor and her dinner plates on it. i try to picture these things, since myself, I always sit on the “I do not care how you feel, fourth seat to the left of the head seat every Chinese New For you did not care how I did. Year dinner. It seems like I’ve been assigned a seat from birth, I can’t believe you did that, and there is a certain hierarchy in my family. And you didn’t try to hide it.” Being a Chinese born in Canada, it usually means feeling misplaced when looking back at rural Chinese practices with She tried to run much faster, a “western” eye. I’ve grown in a world where there is a high But that cold was too much to bear. level of equality and standards in which we live. However, in He caught up and held her tight, rural China, there is a gap between social levels and the living Then gently stroked her hair. standards are not high either. Noticing many inequalities in rural China, the topic of dinner time seats stood out most to She wanted to pull away, me. In many villages, it is custom for men to take their dinner But his arms were just so warm. sitting at the table, while women and daughters take their She missed his touch and kisses, time waiting in the kitchen. When the men are done their Around him, she felt no harm. dinner, the women bring the remaining food into the kitchen, where they eat standing. Every woman in each household eats “I need to know you’re worth it, her meals the same way, except for the oldest woman in the That you will never hurt me.” household, who has the “privilege” to sit with the men. So he did the absolute unthinkable, A dinner time seat is more than a chair and the distance one He got down on one knee. has to reach to grab the food. Dinner is where families gather, where everyone talks about their day, where we all do the Her eyes they sprung with tears, essential thing – eat, and last but not least, where the family And not just from the cold. members find their sense of self in the family hierarchy. He really loved her, he always did, At my Chinese New Year dinner, it gets really hard to talk to He was strong, he was smart, he was bold. my second cousin who is around six seats to the left of me. It “Please, will you marry me? also gets hard to see my grandfather at the head of the table, I know I’ve made mistakes. four seats away from me. Noticing this, we have adopted a But I know that you will help me, huge round table, and in this way, everyone sees everyone If your hand, you’ll let me take.” else, and everyone can talk to everyone else. Of course, the grandparents are unhappy. It’s too open, they say. I can’t feel A lump was forming in her throat, everyone in order. To the rest of us, the round table suits just And tears were running down her face. fine. We feel equal. She knelt down, kissed him, this might also explain the exploding number of round Held on to his sweet embrace. tables at Chinese restaurants. We have had enough of this hierarchical seating system, either in rural China or at our New “Take my hand and marry me, Year dinner. It seems like it has been catching on, and ‘round I love you too much to go.” we sit. His eyes lit up and he kissed her neck, Making his way to her lips, nice and slow. S h e l l y L u u , a g e 1 7

He pulled off his sweater, wrapped it around her, And she didn’t appear that much colder. So he lifted her up and carried her in, Throwing her body over his shoulder.

She let out a squeal of embarrassment, And wrapped her arms around his waist. She pressed her lips to the small of his back, And it was his time to turn pink in the face.

He opened the door to the cabin, And tossed her gently on the bed. “Now, my dearest future wife, It’s your clothes that I want shed.”

Outside the falling snow was cold, Inside the bedroom was hot. This teaches you, you can make it work. Even if you two have fought.

J a b a r i T a m keen, age 14

Young Voices 2007 31 Why? Confessions of the Modest

Why did you leave me, You kneel here, elbows glued to the cobblestones, hands Why didn’t you stay, cupped with plea. Your head is tucked between your arms and When I needed you most, you stare only at the cracks in the street underneath you. You You went away. dare never look up to meet the eyes of passersby. Your eyes help you tell time when you are forced to squint your closed Now I’m here crying, eyes when the sun catches them as you greet a new day on Now I’m here sad, elbows and knees. Your hearing is all you truly own as you hear Now I’m here wondering what I did wrong, the chatter and the hustle of the workers, tourists and children Now I’m here writing another sad song. as they pass you, and the hourly chime of the astronomical clock that rings through the streets that are busting at the I picture your face, seams with life. You know that they are staring at you when Engraved in my mind, their chatter suddenly ceases as they approach you. You kneel Writing down words that I can’t seem to find, there and you hope desperately that you will feel the cold My body is shaking, crones hit your hands. My cheeks stained with tears, Your leaving me here confirmed all my fears. *

I don’t understand why God took you away, I open my eyes to the world that surrounds us. The beautiful Why couldn’t you stay for just one more day, city welcoming us; the spires shine lights of greeting as we walk You were my angel, the streets in its evening beauty. My eyes stare to try and carve My one sense of hope, the scenery, sound and smell that take me out of the ordinary Now that you’re gone, and allow me to dream... It’s so hard to cope. * I want to laugh, I don’t want to cry, The sun sets as you count down another day spent pleading, I really don’t want to have to say goodbye. and the street lamps start to provide light for the window shoppers, and walkers who enjoy evening strolls through the But the tears have been cried, very streets that are your home. You’ve pocketed the coins The pain has been felt, that you have collected throughout the day so that you are The game must go on cuz the cards have been dealt. not robbed of the very little you have. You beg there patiently, hoping that a few more crone coins will hit your tired hands. The fact that you’re gone I will have to accept. * But I’ll look back on yesterday, At the memories we shared, Street lamps gleaming with light and life encourage all to take an evening walk and take in the charm that fills the air. We And I’ll know that losing you has made me stronger. have been walking for merely an hour, but we will never forget the clean mountain air that fills our lungs and cleanses our very I have to move on, beings. I stop for a moment to capture this world that I am I have to be strong, discovering for the first time and that is passing by in a dream- I have to let myself deal with this loss. like setting, but out of the corner of my eyes I witness a sadness that makes my limbs feel numb. Unable to move, I feel useless I’m not scared anymore, because I don’t know what to do. There, in the shadows, silent, Cuz I know in my heart, on elbows and knees lays a plea for help. Everywhere I go, You’ll always be there with me, * Smiling and caring. Back home, it’s not the same. I am stricken with sorrow as I C h r i s t i - A n n e N a z a r e t h , a g e 1 4 remember the way you beg. I dream that one day all in need are helped as I carry with me the shame that I didn’t have the courage to drop a few crones into your begging hands. I continually recollect what I have witnessed and I realize that thanks to you I now see in a new light. A reach or a call for help is global; there is no shame in asking for help.

G i n a N igro, age 17

32 Young Voices 2007 Success M u z h d a H a k i m e , a g e 1 4

Young Voices 2007 33 Rats The Force of Nature – Winter

It was a long time ago, when a great drought brought forth Start with, famine to our country, with not a single drop of grain left for falling us poor peasants. Hunger made me as pale as paper. With of leaves, me to endure this starvation were two rats. Every night, they It’s getting cold and windy, squeaked loudly, either chitchatting or complaining about their Beginning of warm clothing, feels fresh and minty. growling stomachs. Green to gold, one evening, as I lay exhausted on my bed, I smelt a hint of then brown to white, meat. I instantly jumped up and followed the smell. I found a Oh! How time changed in front of my sight. piece of ham and beside it was a frail female rat. I shot out my To enjoy the snowballs, the schools we skip, hand to the ham, and as I did that, the rat bit my hand viciously. Only to enjoy, the amazing but The rat looked weak, yet her eyes blazed with fury, and shone hard icy slip! fiercely. I shook the rat off, yet she kept on attacking me, like Ouch! It hurts but certainly fun, a conceited cricket. I cursed, and slammed the rat hard on the Sometimes with a question arise, face with my slipper. The female rat didn’t move again, yet her Do we miss the sun? eyes stared at me with woe, dread, and hatred. As I was about to leave, the dead rat’s mate came back. Now Goodbye for now, to the schools we say, I finally realized why the female rat didn’t eat the ham. She was Starting today is our holiday. waiting for her loved one to come back and share that priceless Waiting all noon, for dad to bring the tree, piece of food. While I was thinking, the male rat started Decorating it with heart, screeching at his motionless companion, at the same time biting how marvellously we agree. its ear, then pulling its tail. Suddenly, it seemed that the male Christmas has arrived, it’s rat had realized what had happened. He just stood there, still. winter’s main course, My conscience troubled me a great deal. After all, I was the one Ho-ho, Santa has left a gift, no need for remorse. who stole the food and killed the other rat. I ripped a small piece off the ham for the male rat that had lost his partner, yet But world’s not perfect, neither is the season, he just ignored it. Comes with fever, and For a long time, the house was just dead quiet. Unexpectedly, everything has its reason. the male rat stood up, like he had made a great decision. He Shoo-shoo, wind blows hard, dragged his mate outdoors. Out of curiosity, I followed. Outside snow w a l k i n g is hard indeed, the house, the male rat disregarded my presence, and started How year’s going by with incredible speed. digging. It was a cold winter evening, and I saw the bright red Don’t gaze blood stains from the male rat left on the clear, white snow. behind, the sun is about to come, After the male rat finished digging, he buried his loved one, Just wait till you hear again the then went back into the house. jingle bells two days later, at twilight, the male rat died after he went on hum. a hunger strike. He just lay there, peacefully, as if his spirit had already joined his wife’s. R u mm a n K hondker, age 17 J a c k F eng, age 12 I’ve formed myself an Allen Ginsberg cover band

To go around and sing Out-of-date Political calypsos. (down with the Reagan administration!) and the people throw fruit ‘cause the people throw tomatoes and I must just be ahead of my time (Galileo was hated when he was alive)

N e v e n a M a r t i n o v i c , a g e 1 7

34 Young Voices 2007 The Pencil did it G r a c e L iang, age 12

Young Voices 2007 35 of worn string from one of her pockets. She then laboured My Little Hearts gleefully tying the ends of strings to the cans, dropping a candy into each, and tying the other ends to the belt of her dress. Alala swirled the cinnamon hearts around. They clattered as Now, every time she moved, a wondrous tinkly sound would be her fingers dug into the small mound and pulled them from heard. their little house. She picked two up and held them up to her Alala walked through the streets of her city. The only thing dark chocolate eyes and said, “Look, I’m in love.” She didn’t that set her apart from the dingy building was the smile on her like them. The tiny little red things were too spicy and hurt her face. The sound of her new toys was heard by everyone’s ears. tongue. But it was a waste to throw them away. Besides, they The noise annoyed most, but it made a few smile. Children were pretty. giggled as they followed the dancing clown. They skipped Alala placed the hearts in a pocket and went in search of alongside the girl and mimicked Alala’s strange chirping and friends to play with. She found a pigeon and a rock. Alala screeching. The children followed until their parents dragged pocketed the rock. She flapped her arms and ran heavily them away, but not before each of them received a bright red towards the pigeon while murmuring, “Coo, coo.” The white- heart. speckled bird quickly flew off in startled feathers and landed Alala walked while admiring the dust floating in the sunlight. a few feet away from Alala. She walked towards the bird with Alala sometimes wished that she was something else other than outstretched fingers, but the bird flew away again and landed human. Humans have such great burdens. They forever have on a bench in the park. Alala tried many times. to worry about their actions and they might hurt people. All A little boy on a plastic tricycle was watching her. He had she had to do was float around serenely. Alala smiled at this sticky fingers and dirty red hair. Alala looked at him from thought. But complaining wasn’t going to do anything. Alala behind long straight brown hair. She looked like a ghoul. Alala was trying to add happiness to the world. smiled at the boy and took out a cinnamon heart and showed it Alala found an old tree-man sitting on a stone stoop. He to him between her forefinger and thumb. She smiled an even was looking at his hands. She went up to the man and sat next bigger smile which exposed sharp little teeth. The girl crept up to him. The man turned towards the girl and looked at her to the pigeon, showing the little piece of red at her fingertips. uncertainly. His eyes were like the eyes of a St. Bernard. Droopy, The heart greatly contrasted her peachy skin. The pigeon eyed muddy eyes, but he might not be sad. “Hi,” Alala said brightly. the candy and Alala. The bird wobbled towards her hand and She leaned forward to look at the man’s hands. They were took the candy and hurriedly wobbled away. The little boy normal looking hands. They were tan and wrinkly. They had so watched the bird and turned his eyes towards the girl. She was many creases that they looked like scars. walking towards him with a pile of red stuff in her hands. He “What’s wrong with your hands?” asked Alala. The old man let her near him and cupped his hands to receive the treat. The looked at his hands again, “I don’t know.” candy transferred from hers to his and she ran. The little carrot “Well, you’re doing it all wrong.” The man looked at the top sucked on a heart. young girl at his side. She was looking up at him as if he should Alala walked down a sidewalk picking up pop cans. She made have known all along. the gesture into a dance. Every time she found a red can, she “See, look at mine,” Alala pressed her own hands into his would twirl until her head hurt. When it was a green can, she’d face. Her fingers were long and thin, but were dusty. “You skip over the can over and over again. When it was a blue can, know what you’re doing wrong?” The man shrugged, amused. she’d drop all of the cans and scramble to pick them all up “You’re not using them.” again. Alala didn’t follow the rules, though. As she ran, her “Huh,” said the man with grey hair. He stood up and put his layered skirts moved around with her. They were dull colors of cap on. “Maybe I should,” he said and smiled sadly down at the greys, but they became alive and a blur as she danced. Pockets girl. were all over her skirt, and they bulged with hidden items. One “Of course,” said the girl. She pressed a little love into his pocket was not big enough to conceal its object—a snake’s tail. hands and walked away. As the old grandfather watched her The strangers on the street watched the happy child wistfully walk away, he wistfully remembered what it was like to live in and remembered their own short childhood. The grown-ups the innocence of children. hurried to catch up with the stream of labour that pushed and the girl sucked on a cinnamon heart while weaving scraps of pulled them. paper into her hair. The heart tasted spicy and hurt her tongue, once the girl had collected twenty or so, she sat underneath but underneath it all, it tasted sweet. a tree to contemplate her loot. After many minutes of watching the cans reflect the dreary sunshine, she took out many pieces T i n a H ang, age 16

36 Young Voices 2007 Young voices 2008 Toronto Public Library magazine of teen writing and art

Guidelines

1. write what you want to write! Who can enter Write about monster trucks, flower Teens, 12–19 years who live or go petals, dew on the morning grass, a to school in the City of Toronto. dark and stormy night, love, death, bands, your friends, your parents, What can be entered your dog, your favourite librarian You can enter both writing and (or not)... artwork (one written work and one artwork per person). 2. submit only your own original work. Written Work: poems, stories, rants, reviews… 3. submissions are not returned. • 500 words maximum Keep a copy of your work. • typed entries preferred, but not required 4. Toronto Public Library has one- Artwork: for inside the magazine time print and electronic rights or on the cover to all work, as well as the right • 8 ½” x 11” preferred to excerpt from the work for • Black and white artwork only purposes of promotion. • submit only originals; no photocopies, electronic scans, etc. 5. written submissions will be selected from each of the How to enter following age categories: • complete fully the submission 12–14; 15–16; 17–19. form (see over) • Attach the form to your work 6. artwork will not be categorized • Drop your work off at any library by age for the purposes of branch choosing what to publish. • For written work only, you can submit online: 7. Those whose work is selected for > www.torontopubliclibrary.ca inclusion in Yonge Voices 2008 > Click on ramp will be contacted in June. > Click on Express Yourself > Click on Young Voices.

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Young Voices 2007 37 Young Voices 2008 Submission Form

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Young Voices 2007 39 Mahatma Gandhi R a m Y a R a j a g o p a l , a g e 1 6

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