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Literature, PoetryDecember 15, 2014

Talk from the Cylinder

Untitled 12 by Abid Hasan. Courtesy: ArtChowk Gallery

Untitled 12 by Abid Hasan. Courtesy: ArtChowk Gallery

The people of the regions
of conscientious fortune, of dykes, canals,
who know the rest of the world did not
have the state housing net,
protestant justice,
have a hierarchy in distributing
empathy from bulging eyes
who is more oppressed, needs more
healing attention—

I am somewhere in the gray zone,
blacks are the magnet-skinned
for the fishing iron of self-appointed saviors
who keep the wheels of the financial robber nonetheless
well-oiled and efficiently smooth run like a pelican’s belly,
the survivors of mediterranean war zones, Balkan,
are a bit above me in this drowning well
of envy, rivalrous self-pitying slaves,
but I am a good swimmer, and can breathe
in the sea-bred nectar of pain, and extract light
that keeps my eyes dark as a Tuareg’s
in my face of a hated Jew, Slav, Turkish landlord.
I can swim and dart like the merlin, the barakuda
baby swordfish
see, look
I cut the bare legs of girls,
refugee girls, white, negresses
I cut their clothes and cheeks—
I am happy to wield this power, at least I am a mer-man.
But by sundown their empathy has its limit for me,
I am separated from the other fish to be saved,
for they found some petroleum in me
that cannot go into the new electric cars of tolerance,
and I am in the end a cruel magician.
a pitiless and intelligent Manichean.
a jew to be despised.

~ Arturo Desimone

Arturo Desimone’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Hamilton Stone Review, New Orleans Review, Jewrotica, Small Axe Salon, and the Acentos Review. He was born and raised on the island Aruba. At the age of 23 he emigrated to the Netherlands, and after seven years began to lead a nomadic life-style that brought him to live in such places as post-revolutionary Tunisia. He is currently based between Buenos Aires and the Netherlands.

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One last love letter...

April 24, 2021

It has taken us some time and patience to come to this decision. TMS would not have seen the success that it did without our readers and the tireless team that ran the magazine for the better part of eight years.

But… all good things must come to an end, especially when we look at the ever-expanding art and literary landscape in Pakistan, the country of the magazine’s birth.

We are amazed and proud of what the next generation of creators are working with, the themes they are featuring, and their inclusivity in the diversity of voices they are publishing. When TMS began, this was the world we envisioned…

Though the magazine has closed and our submissions shuttered, this website will remain open for the foreseeable future as an archive of the great work we published and the astounding collection of diverse voices we were privileged to feature.

If, however, someone is interested in picking up the baton, please email Maryam Piracha, the editor, at maryamp@themissingslate.com.

Farewell, fam! It’s been quite a ride.

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