These highlighted poems embody the bitterness, magnanimity or warmth of ink, symbolizing the absorption of negative/positive, dark/light thoughts and emotions while transitioning by using contrasting imagery and conveying the dualities. Inspired from the book, "Drinking Ink", by Persian Author Mehran Hashemi. The first two poems were chosen as the overall "best entries" and who both received Mehran's book. Out of the remaining twenty-four participants, eight poets were chosen to be featured, alongside. "BITTER TASTE OF INK" It's like whirlin' winds, that wander Oh, like, a tempest, tornado winds like heat o' a blarin' sun mid skies ragin' seas, waves, that undulate. Mornin' dew, droplets 'pon foliage
a fragrance, that lingers ever long It is vast havens, a soul that soars It's a majestic sage oak, oh strong Pearlettes o' rain that o' gently pelt thunder, lightnin' that crash, so roar it's the ground beneath that moves feet, relentless, walk, ripple 'n core The silver lune at night that shines
crystalline stars envelop o' bright The shadows that lurk and so follow
darkness that encompasses night

Rage of anger, or passion's desire Gentle voice echoes, oh resonates falls doucley 'pon, a gentle caress heaviness, warmth o' rests weighs Sapidity 'pon awaitin' lips & tongue A kaleidoscope of flavor and of taste that playfully dance, blotted notes depths of insides, that o' permeate... © MENA SISTO
Canada "FUGACIOUS TRAILS OF INK" The nib drags slow, scraping like dry leaves, Ink spreads thick as molasses, bitter to taste The air smells of old books and burnt wood, Shadows curl in the margins of smoke. I feel the weight of each word sinking, The paper rough, soft as winter skin Fingers stained, I peregrinate through lines, Roaming in black rivers that cool and burn. Light flickers - soft gold beneath heavy ink, Its warmth transient, swallowed by the dark The taste or iron lingers, sharp on the tongue, Like blood drawn from an old, forgotten wound. The room hums with the scent of rain, As ink drips, spreading slowly across the page I hear the soft sigh of parchment bending, Beneath the weight of thoughts long buried. Each stroke is a whisper in the stillness, A breath of cold air cutting through heat I trace the lines, feeling them lift - An ephemeral breeze slipping through clenched fists. My eyes blur, the ink shines like wet stone, Fugacious moments lost in the night's chill, I trek between light and shadow, Tasting both sweetness and ash on my lips. The page fills, ink curving like a final breath, I write, absorbing the bitter, the bright, The dark lines twisting like tendrils of fog - Savoring the light that dares to fight. © CONCETTA PIPIA US "THE BITTER TASTE OF INK" I sprinkle scribble ink of my nib
to craft crumbly, letters on paper Beads of letters knit together into words Syllables perform standing in queue. The crafty crew whisper, shout, smile, giggle, telling tales of voyages of age; Frowned faces when little grumpy,
weep softly for the sob stories. Metaphors sing flute on the wind waves, Similes bake the pumpkin sun and lemony moon. They cook sweet salad of childhood and chuckle at bubbly babies' gestures. 'Poems read out purple pages of life.' © RAFIYA SAYEED Jammu/Kashmir, India "LIKE A DRINKING INK FLOWING THROUGH A NIB" Delving into the inkblot of love tests Some signs would appear on the deep shallow. Where tristesse and pleasure hang together Breaks amid bitter and sweet would follow. Feeling bad hidden beneath a tracing smile Has been the sugary taste of love and hate, Empowering the feeling of loneliness: Absorbing joy and living second-rate. Yet, as hate seems palpable and fugacious, Love always triumphs over abhorrence. Two contrasting things have been long infused With warmth and coldness after endurance. Dualities discern a faint emotion Like drinking ink flowing through a nib. And amid the controversial feelings, The oft-said love and hate journey ad lib. © WALID BOUREGHDA Algeria "THE OARLESS BOAT" Words fail, thoughts flounder on the beach Like waves, unable to sustain the weight The mast of the boat, beyond the reach Of imagination, propels the mind for a fight With the wind, which sweeps as it sways In delirium, the boat of life, in queer ways. There's no sapidity in ink that has spilled, Like a day sliding through the dark night And the stars twinkle on the mast, chilled With salty foam, enhancing the cool light Of the sky, while the moon winks behind Clouds, sparkling over waves, in the wind. If you master the art of rowing, like a pro Doors will open, in many fronts, like flowers. Worried over faulty fateline? No oar to row! This fugacious life is not meant for doubters. The spilled ink will solidify into sapphires Of wisdom, fulfilling all your earthly desires. © KALUCHARAN SAHU India " THE TAPESTRY OF INK" In twilight's realm where ink-stained thoughts align, Fugacious shadows dance with ghostly grace. A nib, with patience, scribes the bitter brine, And sapidity of sorrow's dark embrace. Palpable are the whispers of the night, Where dreams peregrinate through realms unseen. In pages worn by truths both harsh and light, Where fleeting moments ink the space between. In contrast's hands, the hues of dusk entwine, With light's warm kiss, the coldest shades resign. Each word a bridge from light to shadow's vine, From bitterness to warmth's embracing line. The story written, both the dark and bright, A symphony of shadows and of light. © OLAWALE TOBILOBA EMMANUEL Nigeria "UNTITLED" One more drop I have always felt that if not for that drop feeding my quill I could never lay a hand I could never have a will to master that fugacious time. I could never breathe in papers and see the nib of my pen dancing I could never listen to my grief song trudging under the weight of uneven fate. Resorting to my ink, to write and push the gate I colour letters and listen to them. I sigh; I tailor my verse I bow to my lyrics no matter whether it is early or late One more drop so that my nib never goes dry One more drop to scratch the sky One more sigh when grief is palpable I rather say The heart is capable of putting up with all that pain in your eyes when you bid goodbye One more drop so that One more sheet fueled to my quill A lane to my feet so that I could get back That pint of happiness that peregrinates. © SIHEM CHERIF Tunisia "POEM OF PAIN" Tears ooze from the nib As it drags across the parchment of the soul. They pierce where the tip pricks The stain radiates its crimson tinge Smoldering whatever is beneath In a slow persisting twinge That seeps deeper finding its way To be called heartache. The nib carries on Its journey of inking patterns Stitching together wishful days And uneasy nights, unmindful Of the stains it leaves behind Some radiating, some permeating Some simply evaporating. The radiating ones scar The permeating ones haunt And both point to evaporating ones Every once in a while, Smiling at each other. They all turn into stories, Songs and colors, too, From shrieks, sobs, sighs. Those days and nights Heap up, interspersed Gradually getting heavier Thus forcing out a drop of Seasoned ink of pain Splattering it across Many such sewed-up pages Instantly Distributing pain To all those who stay behind. © MOHAMMAD ZAHID Anantnag, Jammu/Kashmir, India "PEN'S UNIQUE ROLE" So many times it has been tried When the power of ink served as a guide For a worthy cause, that's hard to face And when poetry's roles easier to embrace. The power of words and rhymes Can do the impossible at times. A palpable weapon for an impossible mission, That all it takes is awakening and realization. The truth hurts most often And with its sharpness, can make a callous heart soften. It can bring change or result in a wink Once the target tasted the bitterness of the ink. Thus, poetry can have that unique role Of patching up or digging a deep hole. It can also serve both ways Waking up from a deep sleep or putting a stop to An uncontrolled blaze! © JOEY V. FERNANDEZ Philippines "SANDSTORM" My hand was painted red I rained bombs over your head Pitch black night heard your scream All days broke into smithereens Dark days and moonless night Dusty roads holding on the fight Scarlet drop mixes the sane Anguish and strife covered my land. Shanties razed by fire Nothing palpable to quench the ire There's no place safe to go Wondrin' why you have nothing to do. No one lifted even the nib of a pen To scribble my anguish and pain I was not my brother's keeper Help didn't come across the border. Tonight I painted the night red It's about death and the bloodshed Reminding the world of the innocents Buried across the abandoned pavements. © FLOYD GALE CABUS Philippines