Author: Kyla Pasha

Tell Her

Will you still persist, axe to your own throat, standing on the front lines? I love your body, don’t you love your body? And all the dead rebound off the ground, and say, “Tell her to stop, Kyla, tell her to come live on this side of the line, where there is sparse shelling and time for tea between. Tell… Read more →

Poem from the Front

Dispatch: I love in odd places. And I can’t pull myself out of those crannies. Wait a moment, while I check for the sun. If it’s come up over the top of the wall, I’ll know there’s no going home again – or in. It’s inside that the film is playing. War stories, over and over again. Light flickers off… Read more →


Ask for a world in which the white recedes and colour bleeds back in. You can feel a hand again as it softly strokes your hair – and you know it’s your own. Nothing takes you from pain like its own promise. And where is promise? Ask for a primrose world, one that means something beautiful but you don’t know… Read more →

In the Pure

She says she doesn’t know love. But in her drift on the sea, there is a love of sand and iron. There is a love of the dead. She won’t come to you like this. A slip of the whirlpool and she’s gone and who knows what she reads in sea beds in that moment in the dry? She is… Read more →