ISSUE III: Heritage
"Heritage" is The Global Youth Review's third issue, which revolves around images of culture, identity, and home for our 27 contributors, who hail from across the globe. We warmly welcome you into a space filled with riveting prose, poetry, and photography, all of which celebrate individual and cultural identity. Designed by Sena Chang
"Heritage" is The Global Youth Review's third issue, which revolves around images of culture, identity, and home for our 27 contributors, who hail from across the globe. We warmly welcome you into a space filled with riveting prose, poetry, and photography, all of which celebrate individual and cultural identity. Designed by Sena Chang
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POETRY<br />
POETRY<br />
AMERICANS ARE DIRTY HIPSTERS |<br />
CHINONYE ALILONU<br />
D<br />
ust caked feet slid into worn sandals<br />
Midnight skin sizzling under half of a<br />
yellow sun<br />
Cassava piled high upon Aunty’s head<br />
Buckets dragged miles to the nearest river<br />
Huts line the dirt roads of Uzoagba<br />
The metal roofs doing their best<br />
To keep the malaria ridden mosquitoes away.<br />
A simple visit to Grandma’s oil mill<br />
Mango trees adorning the compound<br />
Is all it takes<br />
To belong in this home away from “home”<br />
Uncle says Americans are dirty hipsters<br />
The English are the ones who have class<br />
Yet he hasn’t set his eyes upon either country.<br />
Maybe he sings British praises<br />
Because they are held responsible<br />
For making Nigeria who she is today.<br />
americans are<br />
dirty hipsters<br />
THEGLOBALYOUTHREVIEW.COM<br />
P<br />
A<br />
G<br />
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Home is elastic<br />
memory<br />
embodying the<br />
mental snapshots<br />
our conscience materializes<br />
in those in-between moments,<br />
like flickers of sunrise<br />
pouring through indentations<br />
within the leaves’ whispers<br />
that mirror neighborhood gatherings<br />
under the trees’ shadows<br />
or scattered laughter surrounding<br />
the tranquil bonfire providing<br />
warmth<br />
to reminiscence alongside college<br />
friends.<br />
I embrace the comforting familiarity<br />
embedded in those stretches of<br />
space,<br />
like when our lips collided under the<br />
wooden canopy of the gazebo as<br />
the patter of the rain surrounded us<br />
in its own teardrop melody<br />
like<br />
when<br />
when our lips collided under the<br />
wooden canopy of the gazebo as<br />
the patter of the rain surrounded us<br />
in its own teardrop melody<br />
or even the rhythmic echoes of<br />
your velvet heartbeat when<br />
I laid my head on your chest while<br />
the pink skies covered us<br />
under their watchful gaze.<br />
A coworker once described<br />
home as the taste of roasted chicken<br />
P<br />
doused in melting A gravy,<br />
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a reminder of his local town<br />
and raucous meals with siblings<br />
A coworker once described<br />
home as the taste of roasted<br />
chicken<br />
doused in melting gravy,<br />
a reminder of his local town<br />
and raucous meals with siblings<br />
as the sun disappeared beyond<br />
the glowing diner windows<br />
framed by neon lights.<br />
What I learned from the<br />
twenty years I have lived so far is that<br />
the elasticity within our memory<br />
encourages us to bring home<br />
into coming expeditions and experiences<br />
adorning the unknown.<br />
twenty years I have lived so far is that<br />
the elasticity within our memory<br />
encourages us to bring home<br />
THEGLOBALYOUTHREVIEW.COM<br />
into coming expeditions and experiences
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