Goodnight and all the love, Maya Barter & Alexandra Craveiro PEACH Magazine’s Editors
A LETTER FROM YOUR EDITORS 14th July 2022
Dear WelcomePeaches,toour third and final print issue of this year! We can’t believe where the time has gone. As we reach the end of our peachy journey, we feel nothing but love and gratitude for all of you and your art. There are not enough words to describe our appreciation for you and all the incredible memories we have made together through PEACH this year. It is an understatement to say that we will treasure this experience forever. From the bottom of our hearts, thank you for everything you’ve given us this year. We have been lucky to spend time with you at all the PEACH events and get to hear and experience your work. This year has been special because of all of you. We are currently writing this note in our garden as night falls. With this final issue, PEACH’s hibernation begins, and it is time for us to leave you all. We will miss the late nights we spent working on these issues. We will miss our wonderful team, whom we are forever indebted to. We will miss PEACH Magazine.
TABLE OF CONTENTS Eyelids - Melisa Ela Ozer A Dedication to Before Sunrise - Idsam Egal Before Dusk - Muskaan Aleeza Admani Vulcanic -Anwen Venn Deep breath in - Abbie Harrison Photography - Esin Aynal Yakamoz - Melisa Ela Ozer Home - Muskaan Aleeza Admani Home Illustration - Marco Rubial All that took place - Jem Kotecha Our Place - Conor Costelloe Artwork - Marco Rubial The Monster Under Her Bed - Talitha Cherry Night Wondering - Atharva Deshpande
TABLE OF CONTENTS Past Midnight - Muskaan Aleeza Admani A Night Life’s Love Life - ERH the night before - Elizabeth Stringer Nyctophilia - Joya Choudhury Nyctophilia Illustration - Abbie Harrison Among the Stars - Laila Ali Blood on the Line - Yanisha Luckhea Warring - Shemona Safaya Artwork - Marco Rubial “Quem é a linda da avó?” - Alexandra Craveiro Homeward & What Lies Ahead - Zo Sajjad A picture of the living room after sunset - Maya Barter Branches Can Glow Simrun Kaur-Rathore
As we take one night at a time.
Waiting for the veil of sleep to drape over our eyelids. Waiting to pull us under Into a deep sleep until the unforgiving break of day.
Can’t I drop this moment into resin to preserve it? Protect it in my palm?
Our arms and legs tangled together like two red ribbons Bound by clumsy fingers. We hardly spoke for an hour, We didn’t need to To enjoy each other’s company. And I cherish that.
There is something about you that glows.
‘Your hands are cold,’ you say. ‘Yours are warm,’ I laugh as I take your hand. Together we create an equilibrium in our final night together, who knows how long until we will get another chance like this
Our eyelids half-closed, too afraid to say goodnight. Your sighs of affirmation that we’ll always have each other Turn to baby’s breath as you yawn.
We can’t quite see the stars in this clouded city Instead, the Northern Hemisphere cups over us on your ceiling.
(she/her)OzerElaMelisaby
Tiny white petals peck your cheek.
You brush at the stars stuck by my eyes in cheap Gold and silver Where they had been on the second day I had fallen for you. My eyes –
Glow-in-the-dark stars bear witness to our last words.
How many moments will we have left like this?
Eyelids
Sun-drenched, warm, mellow, I whisper.
‘No, I
‘Expressive?’‘Yes,likeright
‘Huh –
‘Exactly!’ ‘Blue
‘I’m
‘Pretty and blue.’ trying to write a poem and it’s kinda difficult.’ think I’m the worst person to come to about poetry.’ know. I just need your ‘Ahh,perspective.’myperspective and your magic description.’ and pretty and expressive.’ now. I can see everything on your face...and the food inteeth.’your are you joking?’
‘I
They met on a train, two strangers, both with different destinations however ending up at the same one. They both engage in intimate conversation throughout day and night, side by side just them two in the city. Falling in love with each other with innocent glances. Their romance flourishing in the night. Watching this romance unfold in front of my eyes. Jesse and Celine forever in my heart.
‘loving someone and being loved means so much to me’ - Celine
Illustrations by Abbie Harrison (she/her)
A Dedication to Before Sunrise by Idsam Egal (she/her)
Before Dusk by Muskaan Aleeza Admani (she/her)
Vulcanic by Anwen Venn (she/her) I see them, Sitting on stars, Their gazes transfixed, But their distance so far. Embraced by night, Mesmerised by light, Propelling concepts and ideas afar, But staying exactly where they are. They trace the lines of Orion’s Belt, As they dance with Aquila, And sing with Lyra, Comprehending where legends dwelt. One turns to the other, Grinning from ear to ear, And asks, feelings smothered, “Want to know the view over here?” The other sighs, Wrapped in voids of worry and might, Angels crafted in the pigment of their eyes, And devils hidden out of sight.
“I dream of a view so pretty, Where Mars reaches out to Venus, Symphonies and tones drifting from her ditty, And when they see us, She blushes as he rages, Embattled by a love of the ages, That only he should see, ThatCherish,Love,isnot good enough for us, And we would plea, Beg the Gods to leave us be, Because we just want to know, How love feels and ebbs and flows, To lyrics only the two could stow,
Deep breath in by Abbie Harrison (she/her) Sight isn’t deepEyesimperativeclosed,breathin. Looking at the shades of my closed lids Only helps to hear the breath I can try to sync ours up, Though I fail Why the hell do I need to think all the time? must always be occupied Can I not just enjoy a moment of timely bliss Eyes closed, deep breath in. Skin on skin As skins collide A little Feelstinglenice. As if my capillaries are bouquets Detonating into bloom 60 seconds until launch59...58...Boom
Counting isn’t going to make the time last longer Nor will it exponentially increase my appreciation Eyes closed, deep breath in. Good job my eyes are closed really Delirium threatens to settle in Speaking some nonsense about tomorrow As the shaky breath becomes laboured Its less arduous to listen in Stethoscope my ear drums Place it right on the heart Check its beating Is that regular Is it SkindeepEyeshealthy?closed,breathin.sewntogether by a thousand cloths Woven in silk Toes that touch the dewy grass Now touch skin Touch skin that’s not as soft as my own Cracked and broken Sahara WhoNighttimeScorchedthighsearthwarfarecancoverthe most ground The ground that’s scarred The ground that separates and conjoins over and over A bit like a pastry Eyes Deepclosed.breath in.
Photography by Esin Aynal (she/her)
Our shoes would never recover from this
Like the finishing coat over an oil painting
And he kissed me in the red rain
Yakamoz by Melisa Ela Ozer (she/her)
Our party had been cancelled
The way his eyes shimmer when he’s looking at me And I’m looking at him
In pastel shades of purple, pink and yellow
I had spent the morning Watching the sun paint the sky
Under the white umbrella, pink roses blossomed by our feet
So we stayed home instead
When everything is beyond your control
It’s too dark for us to be in the park
I could pluck from the sky to eat
Like pismaniye
But for once the sky is clear
And I fly across the Earth
The soft light washed over his face
It’s hard to feel sane
Like a bud in Spring
Sometimes English doesn’t do justice
To what I’m feeling What I’m seeing Wings sprout from my back
In hopes for a word to describe
As he slept
I was feeling down
The clouds were made of pamuk
His eyelashes curled from the pressure of sleep
The crescent moon finds itself in his eyes
[Yakamoz: A Turkish word used to describe the way the moonlight reflects onto the water]
So I made the sky rain strawberries
Memories from the night before Left crust in my eyes
Are like constellations in the sky
To find a word for this cosy feeling I settled on Hygge Comfortable and content, I could say something unoriginal Like how his freckles
He wanted to be an astronomer I was the meteor He would catch in his net As I fell from the sky one night
After my great quest
Under the black umbrella –Our shoes would never recover from this Posture like a bonsai tree, He presses his forehead to mine
‘I have a cold’ – I said He smiled – ‘I don’t mind’
‘I don’t want you to catch a cold’ ‘I don’t mind’ – he kissed me again Something was in his eyes –Some of that gold dust It had gotten in his hair, His lashes, On his coat Forelsket – the euphoria Experienced as you begin to fall in love.
And I found this Backwards form from The great Ottoman poets.
I felt in love So I searched the Earth
They’re winking at you, I’m sure They’re definitely flirting with you I would, too, if I was brave enough I was feeling happy So I made the sky rain gold dust And he kissed me in the rain
To find a word that described him Oh – how the stars twinkle in the night sky
And sometimes, they will return to a new dawn
There are some people who walk into your life as a sunrise They emanate a light to trail you out of the dark –Family. Friends. Lovers.
But every day is marked by some novelty –For better or for worse, Not everyone returns. I don’t like e n d i n g s, But I have come to realise that it’s okay to hurt when letting go –It means that I care, and love, and live. It means that my feelings are genuine. It means that I am h u m a n.
Wherever you may or may not be I just want you to know That if you ever came as a sunrise or a sunset to my unrelenting day No matter how brief or enduring your stay You will always feel a little bit like h o m e to me.
Too often, these relationships are only fated for springtide dreams and laughter –They are temporary. No matter how much of your heart they held in the palm of their hands No matter how deep of a conversation you had at 3am No matter how much of your soul is tethered to theirs
Not everyone is meant to stay.
And regardless of the letting go and missing you like the shore yearns for the waves on a stagnant summer’s day
byHomeMuskaan
Even if you can trace the creases of their eyes when they smile like maps of a too familiar road at the back of your hand,
Aleeza Admani (she/her)
I know now, the bittersweet truth
There almost always comes a time to let them go –As the light bleeds into night, you watch them f a d e away.
Home Illustration by Marco Rubial (he/him)
All that took place.
Original sin, overture swell.
All that was wanted, all that was meant.
When it all falls to pieces, do you think we will call it dawn?
When the hands of time are bent sinister, far past twelve, do you think we will call it a day? Marching processions into dust.
The slate washed clean. Dew drops hanging off cliff edge granite, reflecting back nothingness with a ‘Welcome Home’ smile.
Television static crackling over the whimper of epochal demise, talking pictures, dinner table set, finest china for the way.
by Jem Kotecha (she/her)
All finds an end, all finds its well.
Arcadia lights, cicada hums. Brothers in arms, sisters in tongues.
Bitter arrival, sweetest descent.
Something sweet on the breeze. The softest of nights, Flickering radars and infrared rays, all dim like lone lighthouses on rocky old bays. Daybreak’s worst fears, nightfall’s embrace. It may never have happened but it all took place.
When promise meets promise and we are no more, do you think they will call it the eve?
Our Place by Conor Costelloe (he/him) Glistening orbs of light, That is all that I can see, All I can hear is the water Listlessly flowing away The leaves rustling, The chill of the night, All slowly begin to fade Before the sight I see Entranced by the orbs, A smile brings me back “What is it?” You ask “Nothing” I smile
Artwork by Marco Rubial (he/him)
They breathe in sync And talk about their days She reaches out her hand Down towards his side Because today was hard and he clasps her fingers and squeezes them tight and he takes all her worries All her fears and her pains And he hides them from her Under her bed And he cries for her He bleeds and he dies for her He splinters and cracks and it’s his heart that breaks and his parents who scream and it’s her who sleeps She sleeps
Backs pressed parallel
WithOppositeonly
The Monster Under Her Bed
The monster under her bed is her friend She is all that he has When she leaves for the day to go out and play He makes her bed and fluffs her pillow
He reads her books and prepares her dreams
mattress between their breaths
by Talitha Cherry (she/her), @talicherry
Then he lies under her bed and he traces the wood scratches it and he waits for the stars and the dark and the keys and the footsteps And for her He breathes a sigh of relief And she lies on their bed
4 AM 4 AM is for the poets who can’t sleep because their minds are alive with words for someone who isn’t there. It’s for the alcoholics drinking themselves into amnesia to forget someone who left. 4 am is not for the lovers asleep in each other’s arms. It is for the lonely, the ones who love but are not loved in return. 4 am is for lovers, who love to fuck each other’s brains out all night long.
Night Wondering by Atharva Deshpande (he/him)
12 AndAMmy soul meanders, I tend to think about things that happened years ago, or something that happened two hours ago, or something that could happen ten years from now. My mind is like a typhoon, It’s a wreck. It’s full of beautiful yet awful thoughts. It’s 1 AM now and the mind continues to meander.
Illustrations by Abbie Harrison (she/her)
2 It’sAM2am now, 10 pints of beers, 44 143cigarettes,unreplied messages, 1523 words, and 1 tortured mind. All because of one simple, unanswered, question: “Why did you go?”
Past Midnight by Muskaan Aleeza Admani (she/her) I should be w o r k i n g Or perhaps s l e e p i n g In the midst of this dreary night It’s But3:24amhereIamInkingpaperAfterpaperAcasca d e of pages Unfurling before me. Grasping poems WhichDreamsNightmaresScribblesnoonewill ever see. Barricaded by enough absurdity To think that maybe SomeoneSomeday will care to read.
A Night Life’s Love Life by ERH (she/her)
Although Night has a reputation for housing darkest thoughts, For illuminating the sadness that the solitude invites; I wish to challenge its status as the darker side of day and night. Night has come to highlight the love that fills my life, As well as all the blessings in this final year of uni life.
From Cirque to Reign, Primrose Hill and Yani’s Ilford lane, My love has grown to cover all London’s peaks and planes.
My love has come to imitate the strength of Luxx’s strobes, Hailing Mary one Wednesday every month in utter guileless hope That our Fluorescent Adolescent will please never end, Before heading to visit Dixie, our loyal first-year-friend.
London life in night light became a void to build a dream; Allowing me to nurture friendships far from garish beams.
Buying British snacks became a love language in an empty Pooley House; I can taste the sticky, syruped ‘Yorkshires’ lingering in my mouth. My love has come to fruition under coruscated moonlit skies, And in karaoke booths this love was All Too Well intensified. The people in my life have made me the happiest I’ve ever been, In night light, my London life has grown a love life bursting at its seams.
the night before by Elizabeth Stringer (she/her) there’s glitter on the floor drunken polaroids on the drawer the sound of heels on cobble stones the mirrorball still acting as a throne the cracked mirror the stolen liquor dancing in the kitchen the memories pitch in mascara tears now folklore a token from the night before the ringing of forgotten phones the mirrorball now a forgotten throne the drunken solace what once felt lawless dancing in the kitchen the memories fade in gone are the knocks on doors all that remains are tainted roars an unspoken need to atone the mirrorball becomes an ancient throne the cracked mirror the stolen liquor the drunken solace what once felt lawless the night before now folklore
Sirens lull me wide awake
My heart is adrowse and hears only the sirens
Aching bones tie me down But I will myself an escape Escape and into their comforting embrace
All others have beeswax lodged into their ears, eyes Not I I yearn to see their soft shadows Begging me My foggy mind demands I CLOSE my day It warns me of the DANGER
Lure me to a languid trance My head is adrowse
byNyctophiliaJoyaChoudhury (she/her)
Tempting me to find solace in their arms
With their promises of care Too late for me I have fallen into the sea I have fallen into the darknessAwilling victim
Singing to me
Their wiles and their chill
With their sweetened words
Yet I long to hear more Calling to me
The DANGER my love for the sirens holds My mind begs me to HOLD ON. To RESIST them. RESIST the spell of the sirens
Sirens keep me wide awake I watch as they sing and halo me
Nyctophilia
Illustration by Abbie Harrison (she/her)
Thus, I call to you, silver moon
With every last breath Till I return to peaceful slumber
Among the Stars by Laila Ali (she/her)
Illustrations by Abbie Harrison (she/her)
Falling through the air as gracefully as a delicate snowflake
An anguish longing for love and light
I cry for the beauty within such flight
I wish to be as calm as nightfall in winter
In the hollow absence of light We look upon the moon and stars for comfort
To bring forth only songs of crickets
I fade into the night with such bliss
Being swept away by nature and wind
Taken through the mystic fog in dark skies
To dance among the starlights
Blood on the Line by Yanisha Luckhea (she/her) Blood on the line Breaths fading fast Is she fine? Or is this gasp her last? Hands reaching out Her body is sinking Her mind is in drought As the light begins shrinking Nightmares and dreams To her they are the same In the night she screams While DarknessIllustrationsadvances by Abbie Harrison (she/her)
Warnings: death, war, violence.
We had escaped. We were the remaining ones, huddled together in the room. Some of us eating, some catching a breather, others just existing while counting moments till the men would catch up. And there they were. Five or six of them armed and in uniform.
My heart sank thinking about all the people that had died because of them up until now. They started asking questions and separating people. We didn’t understand what was going on. Why the questions, why the running around, what were the answers anyway?
byWarringShemona Safaya
One “NoEverythingAndAnothergunshot.one.thenagain.faded.oneknowswhy
I was in the front of the room desperately looking around for a familiar face. But it barely took seconds for them to catch up before I could even wrap my head around the whole situation. Cacophony and chaos. People being interrogated and sifted like some unwanted particles from grains. It was a fairly simple question about nationality and so at first I did not realise what was going on until the armed guards tapped my shoulder, motioning to leave the room while some others were still inside. We exchanged confused glances with each other and the armed men came down with force, pushing us out of the Thatroom.was the first stream of panic and I started questioning the man who interrogated me. I asked him repeatedly, trying to explain what I had said earlier but they just looked at each other and gestured to the guards. We were being pushed outside and a riot broke out when a clear distinction was drawn between the right and wrong answer givers. No one knew where they were headed next; fearing they might be shot in a second and drop dead on the floor, white, like all the other corpses, still. Fear, frustration, bloodshed. No one understood much. People had started looking out for their loved ones, making sure at least someone was safe. There she was, cooped in the corner inside and her eyes searching for me in urgency un til they met mine. She sighed, so relieved, waving her pass and asking me to wave mine. I was wrong. I hadn’t given the right answer. My nationality was not what they wanted. She screamed in frustration and saw me in tears. Momma jumped here and there, threw her pass and then gestured to me that she’ll take care of it. That we will both be fine.
lines are drawn, countries demarcated when people beyond borders are capable of love and living together,” the old man had whispered in my ear. I woke up to this. I woke up to war in my head.Content
Artwork by Marco Rubial (he/him)
by Alexandra Craveiro (she/her)
Glimpses, no matter how small, feel very momentous. I cannot enjoy fries – none compare when thinking of your hand-cut, sun-shaped ones, specifically the browner, smaller ones that taste crispier and saltier. Fruit is not just fruit. It is a reminder of the countless ones you would cut and blend up with determination; I think I still am a picky eater. Showers are flashbacks to the tiny sinking ships at the bottom of your tub, ones that would prompt imaginary journeys sailing through the Atlantic. These were always followed by warm pyjamas; funny that I now steal yours and bring them with me. And, of course, the warm, hot water bottle under the blankets near my cold feet – a tool that would always get me to sleep, even though reluctant. I wonder if you know that I still do that now.
As night falls, I look up at you from inside the car, like I always do. I watch the pink and orange hues behind you caress your skin as you smile and wave goodbye to me. And I wait. I wait patiently to see that sight again. I look for glimpses of it all, everywhere I go. I walk different paths and look over different rivers when I am away, but none compared to those we have paved and seen together.
I use every step we take down the calçada to trace back faded moments before they disappear too soon. My hand holding yours, or is it yours holding mine? It is hard to tell now. When I was younger, I used to hold your hand tightly. Squeeze and pull wherever we were. You would take it, of course. Only letting go when walking near the Tejo.
“Quem é a linda da avó?”
I compare the creases on my hands to yours and see those same paths – the ones we have built together on these narrow streets. Paths you walk down, singing quietly to yourself as I look at you. And the more I look, the more I see it. Generational features that I wish would carry to the next, so that I could preserve your memory in my future. Find glimpses of you in my life, wherever it takes me.
You ask, as we finish dinner. As you always do. I cannot stay tonight and relive it all first-hand. I cannot stay for a while, and we both know this. So, you fill reusable bags with care packages you know will never fit in my suitcase, and you squeeze my hand again before walking me out. Conversations echo down the spiral stairs before I step outside.
“Quem é a linda da avó?”
What Lies Ahead by Zo Sajjad
by Zo Sajjad (he/him)
Homeward(he/him)
Four little paws cross the floor once again
No plans are made for tomorrow
The blackberry sky marks the beginning of the evening. An announcement more reliable than the clock that ticks on the wall where the pictures hang
I call her name and she comes running four little paws on the hardwood floor too small to jump up into the sofa on her own
It’s bedtime now, she declares
Outside the wind sways the trees
The sunrise will bring new things, wait for me to rise and place them carefully in my hands
Time is suspended here
A picture of the living room after sunset by Maya Barter (she/her)
We sit together, watch the dread melt over the tea light on the table for the rest of the day, time has stopped erased from today and placed at the top of tomorrow’s to do list
A pinprick of light glides across the sky
The television lights up the room fingers knitting yarn: blue, green, grey. Our darling dog jumps off the sofa and waits by the garden door
Branches Can Glow by Simrun Kaur-Rathore (she/her), @simkrathore
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS We want to say a huge thank you to all our incredible PEACH members. PEACH magazine’s thriving creative community would not be possible without all of you. We cannot express enough gratitude to the peachiest of teams: Editor in Chief Maya EmmaAlexandraDeputyBarterEditorCraveiroAssistantEditorInezMacPhersonEventProducers Tali Stowell & Anthony Crittenden Workshop Leaders Alisha Isherwood & Abbie Harrison Social Media Managers Shwetha Mahendran & Laila Ali Welfare Officer Zo YanishaSecretarySajjadLuckhea We would also like to thank QMUL’s Student Union, for their continued support, as well as WFM prints, for printing our magazine. Cover design by Alisha Isherwood (@tinyplanet.crochet) All uncredited poem illustrations by Maya Barter
