Labyrinth 2017

COPENHAGEN I
LABYRI NTERNATI
NTH 2017 ONALSCHOOL
L
aby
rin
th
L
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VOLUME35
JOURNALOFTHEARTS
COPENHAGEN I
NTERNATI
ONALSCHOOL
VOLUME35
2017
Labyrinth
35th Edition
2016-2017
Copenhagen International School
Journal of the Arts
All rights of reproduction and copyright are reserved and the sole property of the
COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL, Copenhagen, Denmark. This book may
not be reproduced in whole or in part, in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying without expressed permission from CIS.
COPENHAGEN INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL MMXVII
Dear Reader,
and adding a word or two here and
WELCOME TO THE 35th edition of
there.
Labyrinth!
Go forth and feast

Its always exciting to see the creative
On this great colourful, unshapely,
work assemble in a mad dash, seemingly
labyrinthine beast.
out of thin air at the end of the academic
year. Perhaps this is part of its success -
theres a spontaneity about it. Painting,
On behalf of the artists,
poetry, photographs, stories come hot off
the griddle of peoples imaginations. We
Rebecca Prisk, Lorenz Hindrichsen, Gora
are galvanized to create, or at least look
Lizaso, Darren Howard & Daniel
back at our doodlings and sketchings
Sarstedt
and pick out a piece or two, dust it
Labyrinth Advisors
down, polish it up and take that chance -
put it out there for the delight or disgust
of our readers.
What always strikes across so forcefully,

is the depth and breadth and colour of CONTENTS
our contributors ingenuity. Used as we
2D Art 3
are to channelling ourselves, teacher and Poetry 28
student, into particular kinds of work, Dramatic Monologue 58
usually for exam purposes - Extended Printmaking 61
Essays, Written Tasks, research-based art The Bob Carignan Art 73
projects, how breathtaking it is to see the Purchace Awards
Short Short Stories 76
imagination unchained - to mine these 3D Art 82
gold veins of inventiveness. Here are Non-Fiction 91
paintings and photographs that suggest Colour Photo 102
deep experience and sophisticated Digital Art 111
technique, personal essays that crack the Cover Art 119
Teacher Section 121
mould and bubble with the individuality
and the emotions of the writer, and
poems that stop you in your tracks, catch
in your throat...
Weve stuck with the new larger, glossy

magazine format. We feel it gives a more
artsy, urbane feel and gives the pieces Cover Art by Ralitsa Markova
room to breathe. A big change this year
is that weve done away with the prizes.
This is simply because its well-nigh
impossible to weigh and balance, rank
MORE LITERATURE, VISUAL
ARTWORK AND PERFORMING
and order such differently brilliant work.
ARTS ON
Instead we have lightly curated the
submissions, selecting and organising WWW.CIS.DK/Labyrinth
Labyrinth 2017
2D Art
3
2D ART
Anastasiia Katona
4
2D ART
Fitting In
Emma Jepsen
5
2D ART
A touch of emotion
Jorrit van der Baan
6
2D ART
No Pose is more Natural

Jorrit van der Baan
7
2D ART
Julie Jahant
8
2D ART
Elsemarie Riis
9
2D ART
Self Portrait
Evelina Katkeviciute
10
2D ART
Haakon Baird
11
2D ART
Self-Portrait
Katrine Blum
What Makes You Happy?

Katrine Blum
12
2D ART
Keala Frost
13
2D ART
Makara Manhart
14
2D ART
Melissa Gonzalez
15
2D ART
Mikhail Lenskii
16
2D ART
Ralitsa Markova
17
2D ART
Ralitsa Markova
18
2D ART
Sasha Calvert
19
2D ART
Tarne Lamp
20
2D ART
Gerda Kazakeviciute
Haakon Baird
21
2D ART
Haakon Baird
22
2D ART
Ida Ahm Poulsen
Jasmine Bagherpour
23
2D ART
Melissa Gonzalez
24
2D ART
Melissa Gonzalez
25
2D ART
Sunaina Chander
Haakon Baird
26
2D ART
Lewis Foster Miruna Lopata
Miruna Lopata Miruna Lopata
27
The poetry submissions for this years Labyrinth are emotional, honest,
mysterious, and altogether captivating.
As the great Archibald MacLeish once wrote, A poem should not mean but be.
These poems arent just about love; they are love.
These poems arent just describing happiness; they are radiating it.
These poems arent just discussing life; they are breathing life.
These poems arent just feeling pain; they are bleeding it.
(These sentences arent just repeating; they are proving a point!)
Sharing ones innermost thought, in its purest form, takes an awful lot of guts, to
say the least. Though, someone has got to do it. How lucky we all are to have more
than one Someone.
After all: words are all that connect us, and all that lie between us.
Petrina Danardatu
Labyrinth 2017
Poetry
28
POETRY
Regular (ish) Verse
In the first part of the poetry section, writers have used some form of regular
patterning in their poems whether it be in metre, rhyme/half rhyme, rhythm,
repetition... These structuring ideas are not necessarily in recognisable forms
(sonnets, ballads..) - well move on to those - but they can be musical and shapely
in original, meaningful ways.
Forest Fire
One lone ray of sunlight

Determined to make its mark
Working its way to a pile of leaves

Filtering in through the dark
One small hole was all it took

The smoke began to grow
Carried away by a passing breeze

The embers orange glow
Rose until it took the shape

Of a fiery amber flame
Til one swift thud,

A boot comes down,
Only the ashes remain

And the sun must begin again.
Maria hrgaard
29
POETRY
The Tallest Height
Often times, time escapes me

Hours last years, and years last minutes
I remember it now, clearly I see
A moment of endless hope, no pain to diminish
These points seldom come, and seldom stay

I cherish them like jewels, precious to the core
And so, the night draws curtains on the day
Ive accepted, Ill never settle the score
Sitting on that park bench, my starry night

My breath and yours, visible in air
For an instant, I saw the world from the tallest height
To move? My God, I wouldnt dare
Often times, time escapes me

Hours last years, and years last minutes
The winds of change are wild, free
Is it about where you start or where you finish?
Perhaps I will never know the answer

Perhaps I will never want to
I will continue to care, I will use my manners
We will love, we will cry; just like old friends do.
Petrina Danardatu
30
POETRY
Haikus
I wonder if you smile too

and you think of me
when you listen to love songs
Haley Seikaley
Made like this --

Do not try to change me.
Cause you cant.
Mathilda Lundqvist
Trick or treat candy.

Spooky webby Halloween.
Haunted house, take me.
Isabella Groth
The silent reader

observes everything around.
No-one notices.
Mathilda Lundqvist
As the whistle blows

the ball flies up and -- we score!
Victory is ours.
Joseph Saouma
My first Danish spring.

Icy dew on the flowers.
Non-existing sun.
Mathilda Lundqvist
31
POETRY
[at a track and field race]
Waiting for the gun.

Counting the seconds: One, two, ...
And here I go. NOW!
Alexandra Christiansen
Insecurity.
Trying to be someone else.
Losing who you are
CIS The School.

Host to worldwide citizens.
Making friends for life.
Black keys and white keys

Telling a hidden story.
Endless combinations
Celebrity crush
Fan girling til the night ends
Getting lost in it
Lying on the beach

Sunbathing and getting tan
Making memories
Eva Heiberg and Tindra Sderberg
Haiku overdose.
Always counting syllables.
Will it ever stop?
Lorenz Hindrichsen
32
POETRY
Screw
I am a screw, lying in your drawer,

With a one inch depth and a flat tip,
With a hex notched head, you dont
have the tools for me.
I am a screw lying in your drawer,

Rolling around, doing my own thing.
You pick me up from time-to-time
Wondering why you still keep me, I do too
I am a screw lying in your drawer,

Tired of staying here while I see you change
Other screws come and go, but you have kept me
Since the day you found me sparkling by your tent
I am a screw lying in your drawer

Dreading the day you find an allen key.
Mohit Kumar
Cliff
One more step.

Bullets flying past.
With Immense momentum.
Cornering her. Endanger, trapped,
She stood for one hideous moment
On the edge. Debating with the bullets.
She jumped.
Falling. Water fast approaching, she spread wide

Her wings. She glided. Soaring higher and higher her wings carried
Her, until bullets were no more
And was no more.
And her wings all the more.
And she was more than just an Eagle.
Mohit Kumar
POETRY
A poem about the Aral Sea (Aralkum Desert)
On Wed, Apr 26, 2017 at 2:24 PM, Rebecca Prisk <rebecca.prisk@cis.dk> wrote:
Urgent need For a poem.
Possible themes: cactus, sand, lizard, Arizona Desert
Pronto
Prsk
A sea as vast as any other,

Yet something was amiss,
The normal sound of tidal water,
Replaced with a dry hiss,
Signs of liquid times,

Lay scattered on the crust,
An old fishing boat's clock chimes,
It's hull coated in rust,
A sea of islands once lay there

Now only few remained,
The wind was now an arid air,
A landscape forever stained,
A natural border waned away,

But the borderers were the threats,
An area in kilometres of 68k,
Used up by irrigation projects from the Soviets
Ben Schroeder
34
POETRY
If I Told You My Secret
I wonder what you would do

If I told you my secret.
Never mind, I know what would happen
If I told you my secret
If I told you my secret

You would laugh and turn away
Because it would be impossible
For someone who looks so happy
to feel that way.
Maybe I am wrong.
Maybe you would roll your eyes
And call me a drama queen
And make me feel patronized.
Or perhaps, perhaps
You would remain in silence
Before calling me a liar
While I stand there in defiance.
It could be different.
You may want to help me,
But what you dont know
Is that this has no cure, no key.
But none of that matters now,

I am used to the nightmare
Used to the voices and shadows
To force that upon you simply wouldnt be fair.
So Ill smile and laugh

And youll never even know
Until you see me hanging
From the highest window.
Paige Egelston
35
POETRY
My Tired Head
(An exercise in couplets)
I believe Im addicted to my bed

Its the best place to rest my tired head
People, even the ones I love, are tiring

Perhaps especially those I love; Im trying
Though something lately has changed

Another person with whom I range
The hills, once familiar, feel brand new

The wrongs, once committed, seems I can undo
Words now seem to spill out of my mouth

Without reservation, with no cowardly doubt
The music to which I listen sinks down deeper

What has happened? I dont know either
There is only one thing I know for certain

Only one thing for which theres no guilt-fueled burden
In talking to you, I forget to sleep

In talking to you, I remember to breathe
Petrina Danardatu
36
POETRY
Villanelles
The following section comprises a selection of villanelles. A villanelle is a

nineteen-line poetic form consisting of five tercets (3-line stanzas) followed by a
quatrain. There are two refrains and two repeating rhymes, with the first and third
line of the first tercet repeated alternately until the last stanza, which includes both
repeated lines. Ha! What a doddle! These writers have managed the form with
different degrees of exactness, but the results are wonderful! Notice the way the
poems give a rather static, cyclical feel - they tend to be reflective rather than
narrative.
Nearly a Villanelle
There's nothing else I see when on the field

The game kicks off, I start as number nine
My mates around me acting like a shield
I look beyond the foe at the backfield

The opposing team rush up in a straight line
A shoulder hits my chest, my fate is sealed

My team protect, as if I were bloodline
The game becomes a rugby battlefield
My mates around me acting like a shield
Sebastian Jensen-Visser
I found a girl with heart of sun.

Does she care, I do not know
I gained her heart and finally won
For the others I have none

My Love for her I cannot show
I found a girl with heart of sun
I dont want just anyone

For her all safety I will forgo
37
POETRY
Im scared of love but will not run

And over time my love will only grow
I found a girl who is someone

Like a heavenly river my love will flow
I found a girl with heart of sun
Sebastian Jensen
My Formal Apology
Believe me this; I tried my best

On mercy of all others, I rely
The dark of night weighs heavy on my chest
I yearn to be a home, haven for love and rest

Against my cries, the night will fall and so will I
With less to offer than Id confess

Guilt, a native coat still in mid-July
Had I had my way, Id head Southwest

With you in arm, brings bright blue sky
Id have all the love to give, and in you Id invest

With love like glass, no thought to flee or fly
Petrina Danardatu
38
POETRY
The thunder fills the air with fear

(Inspired by the villanelle form!)
The thunder fills the air with fear

The wind creeps across the lake
The storm is near
The waves rage in the high seas
Keeping the people awake
The town on its last kness
The people hide knowing what is coming
The streets filled with the sound of people running
They miss the sound of calm breeze
The storm is near
No one can hide their fear
The greatest storm of this year
The rage of the storm batters into the buildings

leaving a trail of destruction in its wake
The storm is here
Nathaniel Dixon
Music is a hearts soul

The way it flows in through your ears
As it takes ones mind for a stroll
And it lets us lose all control

It brings most eyes near to tears
Uniting people as a whole

Forgetting about all the years
Problems can now unroll

And release ones inner fear
Emotions will take a toll

And worries will just disappear
39
POETRY
Letting go as a whole
Breaking down the hearts frontiers
Nienke Kernkamp
Expat
New school new date,

Boxes standing on the road
The start of a new fate
A current life to formulate

Breaking of current codes
New school new date
A new language to translate

In the city of our abode
Our community we all relate

All coming from abroad
New school new date
To the next time we await

Getting used to a new mode
New school new date
Eva ten Have and Elisabeth Roed
Tell me, do you really care

A call from you is rare

You only try to ruin her
A call from you is always rare
40
POETRY
Its her you want to scare

Yet, it is I who is strucken down
Time with me, you cannot spare

You never offer a penny for my thoughts
You care for me the most, you swear

All your actions strike her down
Speaking to you is my worst nightmare

You never listen to what I say
You say you love me past compare

Though, every thought of mine is wrong
Natalia Larr
Frustration about school
I waste my time five days a week,

Big words and numbers are what count,
You feel youll never reach your peak.
The production rate is very weak,

I sit at a desk for endless hours,
I waste my time five days a week.
What is the purpose of learning greek?

Just write what the teacher wants to hear,
School is good if youre a geek,

Big numbers give you the highest score,
I waste my time five days a week.
Just use your Personal Project techniques,

And then life will be a piece of cake,
41
POETRY
Will I fail? Or will I proceed?

The answer is sadly found in numbers,
I waste my time five days a week,
Leah Marcus and Clara Strmsted
The Inferno
The fire burns the life away

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
The smoke will lead them all astray
The animals flee through the grey

The heat follows the southern gust
All they could do was run and prey

The ache for chill was all but lust
The smoke had led them all astray
The vines and roots will just betray

Past ancient bunkers all but rust
Through the trees the creatures would sway

Their legs had failed in all their trust
The smoke had led them all astray
Thibault van Buchem
Hollows
If God is real, then why do you still cry?

The breath in my lungs follows when you go
I gaze as hollows creep into your eyes
Your promises to me were cold and dry

Your laugh, so sweet, it (almost) saved my soul
42
POETRY
Ill pray for you, Im blessed to call you mine

I know I'll cry, but it won't hurt at all
I see your face in each cloud in the sky

I lie down on the grass till I turn cold
If god is real, then why do you still cry?
The parts of me you fear, I'll watch them die

Your rough hands on my cheek are all I know
Haley Seikaly
Decay
I watch the screen with faded eyes, good night

Reflection time, my favorite thing to do
For once its done, but now move on upright
For endless hours we sit, till we lose sight

In class we sit to find the big breakthrough
The day is long, the dark creeps out, starlight

First home at night, so tired, but work needs done
The sun is out, another day, im fright

Were back in school, another day of fun
It all repeats, till we can perfectly recite

If just we had some time to be ourselves
Gustav Korsholm and Mads Andersen
43
POETRY
Sonnet
Our only Shakespearean sonnet. Such a sonnet is constructed from three quatrains
(four-line stanzas) and a final rhyming couplet. The whole is composed in iambic
pentameter. The rhyme scheme is abab cdcd efef gg. Not for the faint-hearted!
Brilliant Petrina!
There is Me, There is You

We were children then, now children still
A bumpy road left scars and scrapes that stayed
To forget; I try, I try, but never will
When brought to knees, one must learn to pray
Confused and dazed, too oft a state of mind

So common is the place of childlike hope
Not to think of moments, memories left behind
To climb or bind is served from the same rope
All of you is found in every part of me

In ways I walk, I talk; the way I love
At times, too afraid to say or see
With you in heart remains there skies above
My heart is dumb and young, though brave and true

So long as there is you; there is me, too
Petrina Danardatu
44
POETRY
Free Verse
The final section of poetry is made up of Free Verse poems. Free Verse is an open
form and is unconstrained or irregular in its use of metre, rhythm and rhyme.
Many poems composed in free verse tend to create the rhythm of natural speech or
are shaped for a particular effect on the eye and ear. The unrestricted form allows
the poet an extra freedom to arrive at his/her kind of truth!
The Dark
The Neon City is what people call it.

The lights never dim, the rain never stops and the people never sleep.
Blue and purple lights paint the streets, yet flashes of yellow and green are not to be
seen.
The rain patters against the window sills and punches the ground.
Life before this battle against darkness is but a memory.
It was called The Dusk
Seasons were left in the past as the sun illuminates us no more.
The Neon City is what people call it
And it puts me at ease.
Thibault van Buchem
The Storm Is Here
It's raining again.

But it's different.
Stronger more powerful than usual.
The drops echo through my head but none hit me.
Only the small clouds of dust hit me here me here in my nest.
The storm is here now I myself am helping the storm
Spreading my own rain down on the beach below.
They are like turtles someone says and indide they
Were turtles newborn ones defenceless on the cold sand.
Lots of rain now and cracks of thunder from the
Ocean as the shells come raining down.
The sand now red looks like hell.
Sounds in a language unfamiliar to me.
This truly is D-Day.
Haakon Baird
45
Broken Tusks I was no longer walking with the herd
I was being trampled upon
With him I was being crushed
With him I felt as though I could hear the echo
I was an elephant
Strong and proud My worst fears
Cared for by my lover All rushing at me
By him Its over
Over, over, over
I felt as though The echos
The miles of desert The echo
Couldnt tire my feet The pain echoed through my body
Couldnt steal my breath As a knife
Because I was majestic Or a gun shot
Being fired through my no longer hard
But then gray skin
At once
Four words I no longer felt
Not three Majestic
And it was gone Strong
Proud
The sun was no longer shining I felt as though an elephant
It was burning Without its tusks
The sand wasnt soft A helpless,
But stinging in my eyes Lifeless
Bundle.
Philomena Niebergall
Pen to Paper
I watched the way she smiled,

The way she walked when she was angry,
It was mesmerising, the emotion.
When, when she put pen to paper,
Her whole face lit up,
She seemed one.
When she dazed off,
Dreaming, thinking, exploring,
She never quite would come back.
46
POETRY
That was, was until she put pen to paper,

Her pen flew across the page,
She laughed, she cried.
She used to sit there,
All alone,
Just, just listening.
To others she seemed odd,
They never really understood,
Until they read her work.
Day, by day, by day,
She stopped showing,
She came by once every two months.
People no longer knew who she was,
I still watched, watched the emotion,
Watched her cry, watched her laugh.
When she didnt come,
I knew it was over,
Never, never would I again see those bright blue eyes that shone.
I missed the emotion,
The single cup of coffee she ordered,
The way she could get lost but be, found
I still go there,
20 years later,
Hoping, just hoping, I will catch a glimpse of her again.
Chloe Nash
MYP
Ladies and gentlemen, the MYP has now turned on the Fasten Seat Belt sign.
If you havent already done so, please stow your personal life and independence
underneath the seat in front of you or in an overhead locker.
Please take your seat, have books, reflections and college applications ready.
We remind you that this is a non-freedom course. Freedom is prohibited on the

entire school, including the lavatories. Tampering with, disabling or destroying
the lavatory freedom detectors is prohibited by MYP law.
If you have any questions about the rest of your life, please dont hesitate to ask
one of our course attendants. Thank you
Gustav Korsholm
47
POETRY
Building
A new school opening,

With the smell of fresh paint,
And the wet concrete;
A building full of babbling kids,
And such beautiful minds
Yet unfinished.
Harshal Buradkar
My sister
Tongue-tied but tries hard,

The look of cuteness and innocence,
Yet unable to pronounce
She looks around, as if she were a cat, and daydreams with curiosity.
The only cure is medications and therapy.
We have our differences,
We get in fights, but we are brother and sister.
She loves me, but I love her more.
Whenever I come back from school, she drops everything and runs
straight to me,
to give me that hug that I have been waiting for all day.
Harshal Buradkar
My Inspiration
Restraint
Why should I stop?
What stops me from doing what I like?
I stop because I love her.
I know that she will never again be mine.
I made my own mistakes and know that he never did.
But Im here, and shes happy so what does it matter?
It hurts to watch and it hurts to be here but she asked me to be
Who am I to say no?
I want to rush up there, I want to stop the whole thing
But she looks amazing, and for once she looks happy
She has what she wants now
But Im sad to say that what she wants has nothing to do with me
48
POETRY
She puts me in the back far away from her and her happiness
Why am I here?
Im here because I love her, I need to keep telling myself that.
I see her with him and it breaks my heart my skin crawls with agony but I have to be
ok, or at least
Pretend that I am
Sebastian Jensen
You Could Never Be Her
you cant stand it when her name spills from my mouth

to you,
it feels like a punch to the gut
you want her erased from all our lives
you want to be unrivaled
you wormed your way into our life

you stole her house
you stole her life
and youre the victim?
you dont see how the mere mention of her name

spreads a smile across my face
like butter
she is and always will be my light love this line
you strolled right in as if you belonged

you continued as if you were special
you thought you had won first place
to him, you are his third

to us, you are his mistake
to her, you are her enabler
to see what she truly deserved and desired
in life
do you still feel special?

do you still think you are the one and only?
when will you understand you will never be who she is?
I cant wait for the day

you realize your worth
Natalia Larr
49
POETRY
the first signs of spring
I know that spring is coming

when the colors start returning.
The cherry tree next to my driveway
has bloomed and is shedding its beauty,
like fairy dust in the wind writ large
in showers of white pink scattered.
I found new music last week;
it was music of change and painterly
and shimmering walls of shades
that made me feel so much.
The ever-present grey has cleared
now from above all around,
revealing a sapphire sky
like a gemstone dusted off by change.
The streaming sun now
is the paint bucket of G-d,
making everything awash
in the way it is supposed to be,
filling up my heart
with all the colors I can feel
as the sky was filled
after greatest storms
They say this is the cruelest month;
I do not understand
how cruel it can be
to let me feel such things again
and I know that spring is coming.
Brandon Lewis
50
POETRY
Fasting:
15 minutes before sunrise

6 in the morning,
My grandfather takes his practiced walk to the table,
Where he's laid his homemade traditional palestinian foods,
A bowl with silky smooth homegrown hummus topped with a dash of olive oil,
A cup with the sharp scent of fresh mashed chilis,
And most important, the warm cushiony bread, right out the oven.
The foods he ate before the wars and migrations,
When life was simple, when Palestine was simple.
He fasts to feel the pain of others that cannot afford,
Food, or Shelter, or even Family,
Or maybe he fasts because he couldnt afford,

Food, or Shelter, or even Family.
Jameel Shammout
ONE: GINSBERG (BASED ON KILL YOUR DARLINGS)
I wandered the library halls as a freshman,

Naked in my innocence,
Blind in my mediocre madness,
My ordinary insanity,
In search for a single slither of a nations dream,
Beaten by walls of fraudulent morality,
Fighting a war called rhyme
While another was waged across the immaculate ocean
Of drowned visions and damned Gods of lost virtues.
I wandered off onto another path altogether,

Of hallucinations and dirty syringes behind closed doors,
Of theft and incessant, obsessive passion
For what we did and how the paper kept ripping
Beneath the fabrications I used to call fingers.
I closed my eyes and stumbled through the murky waters
Of diluted minds that smelled like kerosene,
Through empty rooms and alleyways where I waited
For whom? He wouldnt want you to know,
He resents the sound his name makes
When it fills the countless pages of my journal over and over again.
I think he wanted to call it hysteria, but I couldnt hear him
Over the sound my heartbeat was making in its psychotic obsession.
51
POETRY
It was the delirious poetry of our new vision

That we nailed on walls and spelled in little red rivers on our flesh.
It was the maniacal fascination of everything new
And the frantic, drunk rejection of our fathers ways,
As we inhaled the unknown and broke our nails
On cracked bottles empty of liquor and coffins we made
Of our sins, wrapped in pages of bitter poetry that smelled
Like betrayal and death, like murderous passions and nooses.
I think it smelled a little like him, too.
Now, as I sit, early on this hang-over morning,

Wondering how everything happened so quickly,
I hesitate to recall the tapping of his fingers
Against a typewriter. Had he ever used one?
Or had he used me instead?
The waitress comes, her hands fidgeting
As she takes away my empty cup of bitter coffee.
The usual? she asks. I nod,
Shake the ash of my cigar into the ash tray.
She comes back with a glass and wanders off,
Same way I used to before I met him,
Naked in my innocence.
Blind in my mediocre madness,
My ordinary insanity.
The taste of whiskey hisses against my throat,
Reminding the pale, broken thing of a writer,
Behind the cracked, old table, on the mahogany couch,
That all that makes me write tastes, smells, feels
Like the poetry he was baptized in.
I, too, was born to worship this desperate religion that was him and I.
But as the pencil scrapes the pages,
It is a different sort of prayer that twitches on the corners
And the cracked lines of my lips.
Another lover hits the universe.
The circle is broken.
But after death comes rebirth.
And like all lovers and sad people,
I am a poet.
Anastasiia Katona
52
POETRY
Hates, irritations
Waking up
Five minutes before
The alarm
People who find

Everything
Fun and amazing
The fact that

Fast food
Is unhealthy
The feeling of
Forgetting
Something
Putting on
Make-up
Before it rains
People who
Chew
With their mouth open
Not having
Inspiration
For a poem
People complaining
that theyre tired
Everyday
Youtube commercials
That are longer
Than the actual video
Stubbing your toe

Into anything
Ever
Eva Ten Have
53
POETRY
The Bell
Our small bodies sat in a circle

In the middle of the school parking lot.
Silence walked over to us
Hand and hand with tension.
Their presence wasnt welcome.
On this day in June the sun was bright,

And the temperature was hot.
The sun was too bright.
And the heat of the sun scorched my skin leaving a mark.
Leaving a reminder.
The blinding light shined in my eyes.
Causing tears to roll down my face.
Bluntly, silence started to speak.

It was trying to tell us something,
Before the noise would interrupt it.
Jump ropes melted against the concrete.

Kickballs sat inflated in the field.
Basketball nets swung with rusted metal.
Swings hung with rotted seats.
We listened intently to the silence.

For it had our memories.
It had our childhood.
Then the silence started to walk away.

It gained speed.
Then jogged.
Then sprinted.
It was nearing the finish line.
We anticipated the noise.
And waited for its arrival.
Then the bell rang,

And everything changed.
Rene White
54
POETRY
The Crossing

A sudden green light
. chaos
A tide
. chaos
Surrounding me
. chaos
Left and right

Bewildered, disoriented
In the center
The flow carrying me
Controlling me
Guiding me
To the other side -

Safe.
Elsemarie Riis
The Park by the End of the Street
A cold winters air did not give the place much merit
The frozen pond where ducks used to habit
The ash and bottles left behind by hopeless children covered the snow
In the eye this place had lost most of its colours
It emitted this feeling similar to blue
Somehow though this lacking scenery

With such emptiness visually
Reminds me of this feeling of home
The strangest part of it, is it comes from being alone
The fall leaves could cover its totality

The combination of a fire-like texture upon the ground and the dark sky
Would make you as if home was at reach
The pond illuminated with an orange full of playfulness
There you could hear the echoes of children drinking and singing in the distance
I reckon the average person knows this

As the memories of this horrid and wonderful place come back
What would you call this feeling
55
POETRY
The light could shine through the fresh tree leaves

Cheerful children were smoking behind the trees
The place was flooded in lights and colours overflowing with emotions
The pond reflected light along with its murky green colour that would make anyone
curious about what lies under
Though as I remember I already know the future which is now past

The more I think of such place
The more its lights come back though different
A little lighter and once more similar to blue
Feelings of happiness and feelings of regret
Filling you within as if to suffocate your lungs
This feeling of melancholy

Does not give this place much merit
Though it reminds people of hope and takes it away with ease
It can make your rejoice and smile though give you sorrow at the same time
This feeling that posses you and guides you through the good while you feel the bad
To me this feeling is eternally graved into me until my last as it is embedded to you
Anonymous
but soon, maybe
I live my life through bountiful Almosts

Caught in the middle of two places
Almost home, almost happy, almost burned out
Almost ready to love, almost loved in return
Almost (adv.): not quite; but soon, maybe.
I am restrained by the past, by things Ive done

The places Ive been, the people Ive known
Teased by dreams for the future
Taunted by the ticking of the clock
Tied like a dog to a pole
Often, I hate the thought of Almosts

It burns a pit in my stomach
A black hole the size of my soul
The gray area of the spectrum,
The (not so) Great Unknown
56
POETRY
Why can things not just be either or?

Why is it not all black or white?
Suppose that would be somehow inhuman
Yes, perhaps thats why
I tend to find that ones greatest victories
Are founded upon ones greatest defeats
With no defeat, there is no victory

Perhaps with no darkness, there is no light
Without an Almost, there is no Completely
And how completely awful that would be
I feel it is safe to say this

I am made of bountiful Almosts
Isnt it exciting? Isnt it living?
Oh, isnt it grand? Well, is it?
Am I exciting? Am I living?
Can you tell? Can you see?
Can you almost believe me?
Im almost home
Im almost happy
Im almost burned out
Im almost ready to love,
Im almost loved in return
Im almost there.
Petrina Danardatu
57
Labyrinth 2017
Dramatic
Monologue
58
DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE
Reflection
Halfway through the school year, we were given the task in drama class to each perform a monologue, and
I decided to write my own. My main inspiration was a performance I saw last summer at the Edinburgh
Festival, a three-part monologue called The Jennifer Tremblay Trilogy'. It was a heart-wrenching and
thought-provoking performance that explored a womens relationship to her daughter and to her mother.
A lot of the content also comes out of conversations with my own mother and the advice she has given
me.
I died last Tuesday, the Funeral was on the Thursday, my mother stopped crying on the
Saturday, and my kid went back to school on the Wednesday.
I wonder who told her, when and where.
I wonder who made her breakfast the next morning.
I wonder if she slept alone, if she slept at all.
I wonder if someone held her hand, stroked her hair and said all the right things.
I wonder who refilled our printer at work I was going to do it, you have to jimmy the tray to
the left and pull upwards before it opens. They always make me do it
I wonder how long it took them to identify the body after the car smashed in my ribcage.
I wonder if they had an open casket.
What did I look like? Broken, peaceful, could she recognize me?
November three years ago Hanna told me she was scared of death.
I told her, squeezing her hands she has such small hands that death was just like going to
sleep after a very, very long day.
I hope she remembers that, too.
I told her on that morning, on that Tuesday, on that last Tuesday, not to be late, to hurry up, but
now all I want her to do is to slow down
To watch the endless rain form endless patterns on the windows because it all turns out not to
be so endless after all...
I want to tell her that we will ... she will get through this.
I want to tell that its okay to be scared.
Its OK not to know and not to understand, and that things take time.
And if you have to try again and again and again and then still fail, its still OK.
And you cant give up, because even though it may feel like the world will end it wont.
The sun will still rise and life will go on.
And always ask questions, because even when you feel like youre the only one who is
confused and different, youre not.
And remember, you are not alone.
And I am proud of you.
And I am proud of you.
And I am so so sorry.
July two years ago Hanna runs into the house, Mama Mama, her face pale, her eyes
wide. She holds her hands out in front of her.
I drop my pen.
In her clutch, a dead bird.
59
DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE
Its chest crushed.

Its head hangs limply off her hand.
Its neck snapped.
Is left wing at an awkward angle rests on her thumb.
I want to grab it and hurl out the window, as far away from her as possible.
But I dont.
Instead I help her dig a grave, and fold a tiny paper coffin where we place its cold body
into. I listen to the eerie hollow sound of dirt hitting paper as she throws handfuls of
soil into the
Grave.
I watch her little body tremble as she buries the bird. The bird.
I dont know what comes now, but I do know that I want her to take my hand and to
tell me about her teacher who always writes her name with an h at the end.
And the centaur who lives in our garden and only eats tulips,
And all the things that shes seen that I never would have thought to notice:
Like the way that trees dont have branches near the bottom of their trunks.
And, mum, isnt it funny, that numbers never end, that they just keep going?
And what would happen, mum, if we stuck every page of Harry Potter end to end and
threw it off the top of the Eiffel Tower, would it touch the ground?
And why are read and read spelt the same?
And why is the sky blue and the grass green?
And why am I here?
And why is she not?
And is there a chance that this is not the end?
And do I want it not to be the end?
Because right now, all I want is for this to end?
And why, why is this all so unfair?
Maibritt Henkel
60
Labyrinth 2017
Printmaking
61
PRINTMAKING
Frank Odhiambo Okoth-Menya
62
PRINTMAKING
Escalating in Pieces
Hannah Sturesson
63
PRINTMAKING
Elsamarie Riis
64
PRINTMAKING
Haakon Baird
Winter with a Twist

Hannah Sturesson
65
PRINTMAKING
Autumn Stroll
Hannah Sturesson
Julia Otkjr
66
PRINTMAKING
Julia Otkjr
Stress#9
Katrine Blum
67
PRINTMAKING
Laura Volmer
Makara Manhart
68
PRINTMAKING
Sasha Calvert
69
PRINTMAKING
Sasha Calvert
Shriyaa Arora
70
PRINTMAKING
Shriyaa Arora
Tarne Lamp
71
PRINTMAKING
Tarne Lamp
72
Labyrinth 2017
The Bob Carignan
Art Purchase
Awards
73
THE BOB CARIGNAN ART PURCHACE AWARDS
First Love Yourself

Claudia Gesmar-Larsen
74
THE BOB CARIGNAN ART PURCHACE AWARDS
The path of a lifetime

Jorrit van der Baan
75
Flash fiction, or micronouvelle, is the most compact narrative imaginable, a story
in a handful of words that comes and goes like a flash. Yet in that tiny spell it has
planted a seed in the reader and the vague outlines of a story which the reader
completes in their head.
Cult followers have devised various sub-disciplines, such as the Six-Word Story,
the 140-character story (Twitterature), the dribble (50 words), the drabble
(100 words), and sudden fiction (< 700 words)
Just a hype or a literary form with potential? Find out yourself!
Labyrinth 2017
Short Short Stories
76
SHORT SHORT STORIES
Six-Word Story
In no more than 6 words, emulating this famous one-liner attributed to Ernest Hemingway:
For Sale: Baby Shoes, Never Worn.
(Let those words sink in. Pretty good, innit?)
Here another poignant one-liner, along the lines of David Bowies Space Oddity:
Goodbye, Mission Control. Thanks for trying.
Magnus Solberg
And another one written on the Nordhavn Campus rooftop.
Wind. Welcome to Copenhagen.
Johannes Tomasberg
Sudden Fiction (<700 Words)

The Journalist, He Watches
Inspired by The Terrorist, He Watches a poem by Wislawa Szymborska in which an
indifferent terrorist observes people come and leave the building where he planted a bomb while
the seconds are ticking away.
Pattering of bare feet and high-pitched laughter drifts through doors left open. Women
in gowns of red, blue, green pass over doorsteps, their neighbours house their own.
Crawling along the unpaved street, golden sunlight patching up peeling yellow paint,
taxis struggle past each other. Out of the window, a head, an arm, shouting,
gesticulating at drivers. On a red plastic stool, his face pasty white with sunscreen, the
journalist, he watches, he writes.
A dog roams the street, his spotted fur too loose; no one has scraps to spare anymore.
The children are hushed upon hesitant knocks. Nobody answers, nobody opens. The
tea lady sits behind her stove, with no-one to serve on her colourful stools. Above a
yellow license plate, with a notebook in hand, the journalist, he watches, he writes.
In the fading sunlight, long shadows are host to the skeletons of trees and taxis. The
wails that break the silence now and again are in a universal language, and need no
interpreter. A helicopter lands on a nearby rooftop. The cries on the street cease. Faces
peek out through drawn curtains at the steady low sound. Many cry out. Only one can
board. The journalist, he glances back, he leaves.
Eva Heiberg
77
SHORT SHORT STORIES
Date: 8 November 2016
From: William Smith <WSmith@NYSED.com>

Date: 8 November 2016 at 23:49
Subject: Tomorrow evening
To: Daniel White <Daniel.whiteeeeee@gmail.com>, Ella Brown
<Ella.b.taylor@fortress.com>
Should we meet at 19:00 tomorrow at Sarges?
From: Ella Brown <Ella.b.taylor@fortress.com>

Subject: RE: Tomorrow evening
To: Daniel White <Daniel.whiteeeeee@gmail.com>, William Smith
<WSmith@NYSED.com>
Can we move it 20:30? I dont know when theyll let me out. Depends on the result. If it
happens they expect the market to drop.
From: Daniel White <Daniel.whiteeeeee@gmail.com>

To: William Smith <WSmith@NYSED.com>, Ella Brown <Ella.b.taylor@fortress.com>
20:30 is fine with me. What about you, Will? Btw, Ella, do you really think its gonna
happen?

Lets do 20:30 then. Anyways when will the results be out?

<WSmith@NYSED.com>
Im looking at the poll right now. It looks safe, but Im still worried. The results will be
out just after 12.

78
SHORT SHORT STORIES

Its scary huh? But if it happens

To: , William Smith <WSmith@NYSED.com>, Ella Brown <Ella.b.taylor@fortress.com>
It wont and dont be such as conspirator, Will. Over half of the population cant
possibly be that stupid.

<WSmith@NYSED.com>
But if he could come this far? He is completely unpredictable.

To: , William Smith <WSmith@NYSED.com>, Ella Brown <Ella.b.taylor@fortress.com>
People do have common sense, Ella

They dont. Look:
Clara Strmsted
79
SHORT SHORT STORIES
People Are Happy to Pretend
The sun beats hard and golden on the rich green fields that are spread through the
entire city. School kids chase each other barefoot from playground to playground.
Laughing and jumping at the brightness of the day. Yellow slides, and green monkey
bars carry them further and further into the blissful ignorance of childhood.
The waves of the ocean can always be heard, the salty air soft and forever present.
Tanned legs, and wavy hair are no delicacy here. Palm trees provide shade, and safety.
They stand tall, strong, bold. When looking at one, people cannot help but hope theyll
be the same way one day.
Nothing is ever more than 15 minutes away. A golf-course. The beach. A school. The
grocery store. Playgrounds. A best friends house. The mall. Secret hiding spots.
Everything just an arms length away. In the palm of a hand. Its here. Everything is
here.
Education is Grade A. The schools have the most qualified teachers from thriving
nations. The curriculum promises success. Excellence. The kids go on to go to big
schools. Ivy Leagues. Renowned students. Summa Cum Laude. Valedictorian. High-
paying jobs right out of college. Success and excellence. However well they do, they
cant wait to come back. They miss it here. Nothing compares.
In this town, everyone seems to know everyone else. They know everyone's names,
where theyre from, what they say, who they love, what they do, what they know.
Peoples lives are public property here. They all know where they belong. They do not
dare contest it. They know what happens if they do. People are happy with the way
things are. Being here is a privilege. A once in a lifetime chance. People are happy to
pretend in a place like this.
Wesley is not new here. He knows everything. Hes seen everything to see. Running
keeps his mind and body occupied. So, he runs. He doesnt know how long hes been
running for. Maybe a few minutes. Maybe forever. He doesnt know what hes running
for. Maybe towards something. Maybe away from everything. He doesnt know who
hes running for. Maybe for himself. Maybe for everyone. Wesley doesnt know.
Nothing is ever more than 15 minutes away. In no time, he reaches The Fence. Its not
as spectacular as one wouldve hoped. Its taller than he imagined. The barbed wire
rings at the top are going to be a challenge. He supposed hed cross that bridge when he
got there. He could see through to the other side. It looked different than the inside.
Foreign. Fresh. Unexplored.
Time to start. He sticks his right sneaker into a low hole of The Fence. He reaches up
with his right arm and hoists. Hes not vertical against The Fence. He makes sure to
hold tight. Now, the left foot a few inches higher. Right, left, right, left, right, left. Hes
flying. His knuckles are white, and his arms are trembling but he pays it no mind.
80
SHORT SHORT STORIES
Right, left, right, left, right, left. Halfway up. Right, left, right, left, right, left. He pauses
for a minute. A faint noise. A subtle sign.
The world seems to go silent for a minute. As if all the people in the world turned their
heads, either out of politeness or fear. And as anticipated: a sharp, puncturing sound;
right to the chest. Wesleys face loses all expression. He continues to hold on, for what
seems like a moment too long.
In this town, everyone seems to know everyone else. News travels as swiftly and
silently as the night. The people know everyone's names, where theyre from, what they
say, who they love, what they do, what they know. Peoples lives are public property
here. They all know where they belong. They do not dare contest it. They know what
happens if they do. People are happy with the way things are. Being here is a privilege.
A once in a lifetime chance. People are happy to pretend in a place like this.
Petrina Danardatu
81
Labyrinth 2017
3D Art
82
3D ART
83
3D ART
Hannah Sturesson
84
3D ART
85
3D ART
Anastasiia Katona Anastasiia Katona
Emma Wenberg Gerda Kazakeviciute
86
3D ART
Harshal Buradkar Harshal Buradkar
Laura Blum Leonie Wechsler
87
3D ART
Mia Machholm Mia Machholm
Melissa Gonzalez Tess Kauffmann
88
3D ART
Holm Lamp
Sunaina Chander
89
3D ART
Raitsa Markova
90
This years collection of enthralling nonfiction proses is absolutely remarkable.
From thought-provoking articles and humorous satire about current issues in the
world to notable personal essays and profiles, the variety of proses submitted this
year are incredible and depict the creative and critical minds of the writers. This
section showcases the works of the brave and talented writers, who have had the
courage to voice themselves and share their experiences, and gives you stories to sit
back, read and enjoy.
Sunaina Chander
Labyrinth 2017
Non-Fiction
91
NON-FICTION
Speeches
of what it means to be you, to be me, to
The world will not be destroyed by be human?
those who do evil, but by those who The number of bullies on a school
watch without doing anything. (Speech playground is always a lot smaller than
delivered to High School Assembly, 28 its unflinching audience. Power comes
November 2016) from the masses, but when these possess
This quote by Albert Einstein seems to no conviction that there is a need for
put many incoherent thoughts and change, or, if there is, they do not believe
opinions from many different people that they can change anything, the
into one simple sentence. At first sight, it schoolyard remains to be dominated by
seems utterly straightforward and two or three people. This way, those who
convincing; everybody knows that those do not act, do as much harm as those
who stand by on a schoolyard with their who act wrongly.
back turned to physical or verbal Yet if I turned my back on a prevalent
bullying are doing something wrong. issue, I would feel nothing, while if I was
Yet the world is not destroyed by a case the cause of it I would feel and be seen as
of bullying, or those that do not interfere guilty. Perhaps this sense of moral
in such a situation, however despicable security is the danger, the conviction that
this may be. The world is destroyed and the responsibility is not ones own.
corrupted by the human ability to turn Not acting seems like a neutral position
our back on what is relevant, on what is to have, but by not acting I am doing an
happening right in front of us. Humans, incredible amount of damage. I have
allegedly the only beings with a been born into this world where I hardly
conscience, have somehow become the know how not to be wasteful, how not to
most damaging of all species because of be careless. By seeing atrocities on the
our ability to have such a massive impact street, on the news, I am the silent
by doing nothing. witness. Everybody seems to be waiting
In first world countries, when we live for an opportunity, the opportunity to do
our lives the way everybody around us something. Yet you do not need to be an
does, we become supporters of injustice, activist to act, a speaker to speak up.
customers of slavery. A college student was raped in an alley,
I as a child found it difficult to watch a what did we say? Let the boy have a few
lion hunting its prey, but had no minutes of fun? Rapist will rape? Ban
problem eating bacon with my breakfast mini skirts? Lock up all young men? A
or having chicken in my salad. Simply society that is unable to grasp the root of
because I do not have blood on my a problem will not be solving things
hands, does it mean I am not a killer, anytime soon.
that I am not guilty? Does it make me We know of the worlds problems. We
somehow morally superior to the lion? know that our clothes are made from the
No. Is this tricking of conscience a part of sweat of toiling workers, crammed like
human evolution? Benefitting from the sardines in factories, factories in
downfall of others, has it become a part countries that half of us cant even find
on a map. We know that the increase of
92
NON-FICTION
droughts and famines is a result of our Know your assets, and use them! I
abundant use of electricity and fuels. We cannot tell you what they are or what to
know the hows, and the whys, yet we fight for, that is not my place. But I can
do not know the whens, because we are tell you that Nelson Mandelas path to
waiting for someone else to save the freedom was not tread in solitary,
world. Mahatma Gandhi did not stand alone.
The world will not be destroyed by one There may be leaders, but only as long as
person, or one thing alone. The there are followers, a purpose, when we
responsibility lies in the masses that do have decided which direction to go in, a
not recognise the power in their solution, when we have taken
numbers, in their conviction. responsibility for our errors, and started
The truth is, that no man, or woman can calling the world our world.
move mountains. Nobody can change
the course of a nation, alone. But we do Eva Heiberg
not need to be heroes to make a
difference.
How to successfully annoy your parents

(Speech delivered to Davids favourite into better more well-rounded human
English class in ye aulde City Campus, beings.
October 2016) If we push our parents hard enough we
For thousands of years our parents have can ensure they end up doing the things
pestered us, told us what to do, and to that they ask you to do. By employing
get off our laptops. For thousands of certain tactics you can make your
years we have obeyed, rather reluctantly parents less lazy, as eventually they
but we have obeyed. We, as teenagers, wouldnt trust you to do simple things
have the right to irritate, to aggravate such as doing the dishes, doing laundry
and to even hate nay, loathe every aspect or babysitting. They eventually trust you
of what our parents tell us to do. We as so little that they would rather do it
teenagers have the duty and privilege of themselves. To the untrained eye this
irritating our parents to the point where may just seem a lack of trust, but really,
we shape our parents into better human it is a great victory on the childs part.
beings. As long as our parents tell us Forcing your parents to do basic things
what to do, we will twist and bend their like a regular human being means that
words to our will as much as possible to they are one step closer to being a good
either make our lives easier, or we do all person.
we possibly can to pester our parents. Completely ignore your parents or
Parents have always annoyed teenagers pretend to not hear them. This works on
since the beginning of time and so many levels: you can be asked to do
teenagers have always come up with something; ignore it, you could be asked
creative and innovative new ways to to come downstairs; ignore it, literally
annoy their parents. Our retaliation is anything your parents can say; ignore it.
simply our way of making our parents This can be very effective just blame
your parents for not being able to tell
93
NON-FICTION
you what you have to do. Make them While what we do is a kindness, our
question themselves, make them ask parents dont see it that way. They see us
themselves if they really did say that one as lazy, boring and reluctant children,
important thing to you. This does mean but, we must endure, prevail and
that your parents either have to do the succeed; otherwise who would be there
thing themselves, which makes them for our parents? No one would be there
even more responsible, or you make to make sure that they better themselves
them at least get some exercise by and others around them. We are there
making them go up and down stairs. for our parents every day, turning them
You are effectively taking steps to ensure into more well-rounded human beings.
that your parents get into or remain in We help them along every day of our
shape. lives, trying to make them strive for
Us not doing things are actually really greatness. Without any thanks or
helpful because it plants the idea that recognition, we push them to the very
they can do something better than us, limit and get them to go even further.
(even though they really cant). This Really, they should be thanking us for
makes them think that if they can do being so lazy.
something better than us and if we
continue to do something badly, they David Cooper
might eventually do it themselves.
Boxes completed the quiz your category pops

(Delivered with gusto at the ESU Final at up on your screen: Congratulations if
Nordhavn Campus on 5th April 2017.) you were an ice cream flavour you
would be vanilla! These answers vary
Today I want to talk about boxes. Most but you always get an answer in the end;
people like boxes: physical boxes, digital there is no sorry you didnt fit into any
boxes, hypothetical boxes, and of our categories. No matter the
theoretical boxes. By boxes I mean answers you give, you always fit into
categories; labels, groups...definitions. some box, and you can deny it, but we
Life is easier when it is sorted. Do you all are comforted by that thought. The
know those quizzes, the ones that thought Its OK, youre not abnormal.
determine what ice cream flavour, But, the same laziness that makes us
Disney character or vegetable you would want simple categories for ourselves can
be? They ask questions like, What is drive us to sort other people into
your favourite colour? Whats your categories. Our mind contains hundreds
favourite Britney Spears song? How do of boxes into which we sort
you spend a Thursday night? We know people. They structure our assumptions,
that none of these questions and answers generalisations, and expectations of
have any logical correlation and yet people that we know and love - but most
there is a certain attraction to this kind of importantly, of those that we dont. We
sorting; labeling. Because after youve constantly sort people into our mental
94
NON-FICTION
boxes; people who we dont know, who you: these assumptions will not lead to
we have not met and to whom we have me being spat on on the bus and called a
not spoken. These boxes are the building terrorist, or to being cornered in an alley
blocks of the discrimination we see in and have the words, get out, we voted
todays society. leave shouted at me, or to being banned
Now, I know what youre thinking. We from a country, or to being shot.
need definitions, categories, groups. Generalisations affect me but I do not
Everyone gets sorted, everyone makes suffer from them. Definitions affect me
assumptions. And thats true. Last year but I am not limited by them. However,
when, I was living in North London, I every day they do cost other people jobs,
was the only white kid in my class of homes and lives.
thirty students. I was one of the ten who But like I said, life is easier when we sort
was not wearing a hijab. People assumed things and people into boxes. People like
things, like that I lived in a nice to tidy up. And people like to take the
neighborhood. That I couldnt dance. easy way out, even when it is wrong.
That I drank coffee from Starbucks every Newspapers, employers, politicians: like
morning and that I went running a lot. to take the easy way out. It is so much
This was sorting, this was generalising. easier to say all true Danes are white
People were defining me. But the and blonde, all Syrians are a threat to
important thing is that I was not our country than to admit to ourselves
suffering. Not in the way that I could that when people tick boxes like, Syrian
have been if the situation had been Dane or Muslim, they do not define
reversed. For I am, just like most of you, them. If we admit to ourselves that it
at top of the stereotype food chain. I did was 90% non-Muslims who committed
not, do not suffer from other peoples last years terrorist attacks and that 60%
assumptions of me. My point is not that I of police killings are committed by white
do not get sorted, that I do not feel the Americans, than our pile of boxes starts
pain of people assuming things about me to topple. It gets messy. But life is messy;
that are not true - but I am not limited by it is complicated and twisted and
them. I will not be stopped at airports beautiful. It isnt easy to live without
because of my religious clothing. I will classifications, without definitions,
not be accused of being aggressive or without boxes, especially for those of us
violent just because of my skin colour. I who do not suffer from them. But it is up
I may be sorted into boxes, people might to us who are not limited by them, to
make assumptions, but I can tell push for a messier world.
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The Risk of Playing Table Tennis
Better Safe Than Sorry the young adults for believing that they
According to rules at the Copenhagen owned the place and of exposing
International School (CIS) a qualified themselves to a high risk of getting
teacher must constantly supervise seriously injured. The two students did
students before they can even think of not have any valid argument to defend
considering playing games such as table themselves due to the fact that they were
tennis due to the high risk of becoming in breach of school regulations. The two
fatally injured while playing. This 16-year-old boys have therefore been
extremely dangerous game, table tennis, appropriately penalized by the
does involve weapons with a high management of CIS.
potential of destruction, such as the Fair And Square
heavy 25 grams plastic ball and the According to a local newspaper, which
sharp rubber bats, the school states. has been covering this serious case, two
Nevertheless students at CIS are allowed polite sixteen-year-old high school
to spend time on the rooftops of the students were sent to the principals
school where there is a risk of falling a office and expelled for 14 days for
deadly distance. Still this is absolutely playing table tennis in the gym after
nothing compared to playing the school." The two young students who
dangerous sport, table tennis. were recently involved in a life-
Students Caught Red-handed threatening situation when they were
Two high school students from grade 10, playing table tennis have now received a
who are members of the student council fair punishment for their criminal and
and the football team respectively, irresponsible behavior. Fortunately, for
recently experienced an encounter with a both the lives of the students and the
furious teacher when playing table reputation of the school, a highly
tennis after school. The teacher accused observant and vigilant teacher of the
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school heroically saved the two students table tennis, in Denmark alone. These
before it was too late. She disagrees with numbers are what the rules of CIS are
the sentence that the two boys have been based on. With a certain skepticism and
forced to face: I think that they have curiosity the newspaper investigated the
been given too lenient and insignificant a origin of the statistics. They discovered
punishment for such a serious breach of that the numbers of people dying in car
school regulations. I believe that they crashes and of people dying from
should have been expelled permanently playing table tennis had been
instead of the symbolic 14 days. In accidentally switched around; A minor
conversation with the above-mentioned detail, which is unfortunate. A mistake
local newspaper the two very honest and that anyone could make. This newly-
polite students stated: We feel very discovered information does not change
fortunate that the heroic teacher saved us the rock-solid rules of CIS, which still
before we could have had the chance to believes that table tennis can be
experienced any serious incident, and we extremely dangerous. And the teacher
feel blessed that the management has who bravely saved the students is still
chosen to expel us only temporarily. being recognized as a hero among the
staff of the school.
Rules Are Based On Cold Hard Facts Carl Bredholt
According to Denmarks Statistics, 3500
people are annually killed when playing
Global Warming: The coolest summer party on Earth

A study released last Monday, by the in the future, and Denmarks tourism is
Global Warming Organization (GWO) in projected to increase, especially the
Denmark, looks at the benefits of global snorkeling industry.
warming on the environment and
humans. According to James Stewart, Stewart mentions, We know that the
CEO of GWO, Northern countries are Arctic seas are melting, causing a sea
benefitting immensely due to global level rise of merely 120 cm each year,
warming. The temperature in Denmark which could eventually submerge our
alone has risen by 99% since 2012, and little Denmark. To prepare for this, it will
continues to rise. By 2020, it is expected be smart of us to forget about windmills
that the average Danish summer will be and clean energy, and invest in
45 degrees celsius, allowing more beach amphibian cars, since as we Danes say,
time, summer fashion, and ice cream Better to live in the present than worry
stores opening for a longer period of about the future!.
time.
Southern countries are also overjoyed
Danes will also have the opportunity to that the temperatures are rising. In an
get the Vitamin D that they are not interview by Climate Network, Johannes
getting currently due to lack of sunlight, Martnez from Colombia was asked
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about his thoughts of 2016 being the

warmest recorded year in Columbia, The only ones who are deeply affected
being 55 degrees celsius. How amazing by the global rise in temperature are
is that? Imagine, we are the only small toddlers. Does this mean that
generation that is able to experience such Santa Claus wont have a home
scorching weather. This is a once in a anymore? Will he stop giving us
lifetime opportunity that we should all Christmas gifts now? What will happen
cherish. to North Pole?, four-year old Josefine
Wille anxiously wonders after being
The natural process of global warming interviewed by CGN News on how she
is, in fact, benefitting all countries feels about the earth getting warmer.
around the globe, and we humans are
not the slightest bit responsible for it. Children like Josefine will need to stop
Yes, 12 billion cars are used in the world going to school in a couple of years and
everyday by a population of 7 billion, instead take compulsory sailing lessons
which are responsible for 70% of the to survive the sudden increase in water
CO2 emissions, but that does not mean levels. Families should also start
that humans should be blamed for the investing in buying oceans, because as
increase in global temperatures. Bob the land will be covered with water,
Smith, a cereal-eating, Netflix-binging ocean prices for the calmest water with
and self-proclaimed climate expert the best view of disintegrating coral reefs
believes that it is not mans fault that will rapidly increase .
cars were created in the first place.
Horses are just way too slow. You The global warming party has finally
cannot expect us to spend five hours just begun after centuries of waiting. To
to go grocery shopping for cereal. It is all enjoy this party further and experience
the horses fault (Cereal 24/7, 2016). the unique blazing weather, we need to
Global warming is natural and it is use even more cars and incinerate more
meant to happen, and it is not the waste so that the global temperature
responsibility of humans to control it rises, and we can enjoy this party to the
and go against nature. Smith even asks fullest and live a life of no worries. As
What scientific proof do we actually you say in Swahili, Hakuna Matata!.
have that global warming is real and not
a conspiracy theory? Sunaina Chander
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Believers in the Danish language will undoubtedly enjoy the following piece, an op-ed on the
cultural significance of the Danish expression curlingmor (curling mum) and curlingbarn
(curling child). The humorous metaphor takes its origin from the popular winter sport
curling, a kind of boule on ice in which sweepers armed with brooms frantically polish the ice in
front of an approaching stone in order to reduce friction on the ice and ease its course. Which is
exactly what parents do, isnt it? (says curling Dad Mr. Hindrichsen).
If youre intrigued, but struggle with the Danish, try the next dictionary. (No more
curling help on this one -- would defy the purpose!)
Uvidenhed og bjrnetjenester er et invalideret produkt skabt af

forldres
Den vldigt underholdende og uvidenhed, og behov for at skulle
morsomme mediepersonlighed, kompensere for deres fravr ved hjlp
Christine Feldthaus, erkender hudlst af bjrnetjenester og pacificerende
rligt sin forfejlede opdragelse af sit ydelser.
eneste barn, Alfred, i den provokerende
dokumentar En curlingmors Udvikling af opdragelse
bekendelser: Jeg hjalp ham alt for meget. Ordsproget her hjlper ingen kre
I dokumentaren forklares der hvordan mor er et ikke lngere eksisterende
Christine Feldthaus efter 18 rs ordsprog. Det er ikke lngere gyldigt at
opdragelse af snnen har kunne bruge i store dele af Danmark, da den
konkludere, at hendes opdragelse har kre mor efterhnden altid er til
medvirket til udviklingen af et skaldt rdighed. Men er det en undvendig
curlingbarn. Hun fortller hvordan debat at rejse? Og er det overhovedet
hende og hendes mand uvidende har problematisk, at en stor del af nutidens
banet vejen for deres sn, uden at ane unge altid har deres kre mor til
hvilke fatale konsekvenser det kunne rdighed eller er dette blot en naturlig
have for selvudviklingen af egenskaber udvikling af moderne opdragelse?
og evner. Hun indser frst nu, efter 18 r, Jeg mener indiskutabelt, at dette
hvordan hun naivt har ydet ham fnomen er problematisk og br
bjrnetjenester gennem hele drengens debatteres. Et godt forldreskab er en
opvkst. optimal mde at uddanne og forberede
dit barn p at blive en bidragende og
Definition ydende samfundsborger. Via curling
Men hvad er et curlingbarn egentlig? I mener jeg bestemt ikke, at man opnr
den store gryderet bestende af dette.
ligegyldige, tilfldige og uinteressante
oplysninger, Internettet, var der intet En venlig opfordring
komplet bud p den egentlige definition Slutteligt vil jeg tillade mig at opfordre
af et curlingbarn. End ikke p Danmarks forldre til at trffe et selvstndigt valg
strste online ordbog var den at finde! i jeres brns bedste interesse, omkring
Baseret p dokumentarens forklaringer hvorledes I nsker, at vre jeres barn
og egne holdninger, mener jeg, at en behjlpeligt. Tnk nje over hvilken
rammende beskrivelse af et curlingbarn, indflydelse og pvirkning jeres
velforberedende curlingkost har for jeres
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brn, og om det fra et fremtidsmssigt tjeneste som I naivt har bildt jer ind ville
aspekt virkelig er en reel tjeneste, eller en vre i jeres brns bedste interesse.
Personal Essays
The Things I Carry In fact, what might be classified as the
(The following essay is inspired by The heaviest, is fear. Fear of failing, fear of
Things They Carry by Tim OBrien, a the future, but most of all, fear of losing
collection of short stories and vignettes the people that I love. And as cliche as it
on the Vietnam War. The book sounds, it genuinely scares me more
memorably starts with a long list of than anything. But I also carry the fear of
things the soldiers carry as they struggle living in fear.
through the jungle: weapons, uniforms,
supplies, first aid kits, personal I carry individualism and the fear of
belongings, memories, emotions, dependency. I carry the regret of not
dreams, fears, and a sense of guilt and knowing my grandparents.
foreboding.)
I carry privilege, which at times can be
First off, I carry the struggle of writing hard to recognize and appreciate, but
about what I carry. Because in all truth, I most of all hard to understand why I
am not entirely sure. And yet, when deserve it.
closing my eyes to think it, I suddenly
start to feel the throbbing weight on my With me though, making the weight
shoulders. Much like an animal that almost disappear, is hope. I carry the
adapts to its environment to help body hope of growing and learning. The hope
(or mind) survive, I have adapted to the that when I leave this planet, I will have
weight I carry with me every single day lived my life to the fullest achieving
to numb the pain. everything I ever dreamed of, travelled
Physically though, I carry a 3.5 kilo bag to all the places Ive ever wanted to visit,
strapped around my shoulder, full of and loved everyone deserving of it. I
what might be considered unnecessary carry the hope that one day, all women
and insignificant items to some, but not will be recognised not just for their
to me. appearance, but intellect.
I carry 2 black pencils, 1 blue pen, 3 I carry many things, the necessary and
books and my computer. I carry my the not, the tangible and the emotional,
phone in my front pocket, 2 chap sticks the heavy and the light. But this weight
(in case I lose one), and my keys to my does not pull me down, it makes me
house. stronger. The fear makes me more
aware, the memories more awake and
But I carry much more than school the hope more alive.
supplies.
Amalie Smedegaard
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Memories The air felt like fresh arctic breeze

I dont remember a lot, but I can delivered by this wonderful white
remember things that matter. I can machine. I remember the icy glass as I
remember the first time I spent time with was finally able to have soda as it was
my family in the snow. I was about three the weekend and I had been good in
and my sister and I were all packed up school. The refreshing taste as the frigid
in our little snow suits I could see my liquid ran down my throat satiating my
mom getting her jacket on but I couldn't tongue for the liquid it had so desired. I
wait. I was too hot so my mother opened remember leaving the restaurant to go sit
the garage door and I ran outside while in the car and drive home. I remember
my sister swiftly followed. I can trying so hard to stay awake and
remember the first time we moved. We participate in the conversation but as a
moved from Moscow Russia to Jakarta young child I was just too tired. I
Indonesia. I can remember the security remember falling asleep in the car but
to the compound with armed guards to somehow waking up in my bed.
protect us from hostile wildlife more
than dangerous people. I can remember I remember Christmases waking up on
the sweltering heat as we would come the 24th, way too early for any
home from school wearing our uniforms, reasonable human to be up at this hour. I
run upstairs to change and jump into the remember pacing in my room wasting as
pool. I can remember our drivers who much time as possible so that I could
would take care of us and entertain two close my eyes and all of a sudden be at
impatient children while they drove us the dinner with my family. I remember
to school so my dad could work and my eating as much of my grandma's cooking
mom could spend some time with her as I possibly could before finishing and
friends. asking to leave the table. My cousins and
I would sit in the living room and watch
I remember moving again. This time we TV as the adults spent time talking to
moved to Bangkok Thailand. I can each other. I could never understand
remember the horrid heat in the why they would spend so much time
classroom as I was forced to learn Thai. I talking but now I do. It wasn't about
felt as though the sun had been seated what they were saying to each other or
right behind me as I have never been what they were hearing, eating or even
more tired and ready to sleep as I had what they cared about. It was about who
been in that class. It felt as though we they cared about. They wanted to spend
were little ants kept in a shoebox on the time with each other as friends and as
shelf that sat in the sun all day. I can family and as I sit here in the hospice just
remember the humid nights. All dressed looking I wish I could talk to my
up ready to go to a dinner, then having younger self and say Hey go give your
to put bug spray on my legs, arms and mom a hug. She won't be here forever
face to make sure I wouldn't be you know. I wouldn't get it as a kid, I
smothered with mosquitoes. I can wouldn't understand what I was saying
remember how itchy it was but how but what I would know is that I love my
instant relief came when we made it mom. Always have, always will.
inside the restaurant and they had the
coldest air conditioning I have ever felt. Anonymous
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Labyrinth 2017
Colour Photo
102
COLOUR PHOTO
Perspectives
Alejandro Falla
103
COLOUR PHOTO
Zurich Series
Alejandro Falla
104
COLOUR PHOTO
Girl with the Purse

Alejandro Falla
_
Anemone
Harshal Buradkar
105
COLOUR PHOTO
Cherry Blossom
Harshal Buradkar
Exotic Bike
Harshal Buradkar
106
COLOUR PHOTO
Silver ball
Harshal Buradkar
The beauty of the sky

Harshal Buradkar
107
COLOUR PHOTO
The Colourful Lobster

Harshal Buradkar
The Eiffel Tower

Harshal Buradkar
108
COLOUR PHOTO
Broken
Mohit Kumar
Sands of Time
Mohit Kumar
109
COLOUR PHOTO
Trinitiy
Mohit Kumar
Wonder
Mohit Kumar
110
Labyrinth 2017
Digital Art
111
DIGITAL ART
Dreamland
Karolina Zydelyte
112
DIGITAL ART
Below Zero
Alejandro Falla Rodriguez
113
DIGITAL ART
Menel-lhug
Karolina Zydelyte
Summoning Olfaew
Karolina Zydelyte
114
DIGITAL ART
Underground
Alejandro Falla Rodriguez
The Shopkeeper
Karolina Zydelyte
115
DIGITAL ART
Through Celebtau
Karolina Zydelyte
Colour Blocks
Katrine Blum
116
DIGITAL ART
Emotions dont Fade

Jorrit van der Baan
Poster Empire
Addy Copas
117
DIGITAL ART
Tessas Hidden Happiness

Jorrit van der Baan
Explosive
Emma Jepsen
Megan Duncanson
118
Labyrinth 2017
Labyrinth Cover Art
119
LABYRINTH COVER ART
Ice
Mohit Kumar
Miruna Lopata
120
Teachers stampeded to submit material for this section - two of them. But what it lacks in
quantity, it certainly lacks in quality - as you will see. Clearly a case of Hindrichsen and Prisk
desperate for publication.
Laby.co.ltd. (ed.)
Labyrinth 2017
Teacher Section
121
TEACHER SECTION
My Bike
I like my bike
my bike I like.
Battered and bruised,

and sandwiched in a maze of handlebars, baskets, spokes and wheels
it stands and waits
unperturbed
heedless of wind and weather
as I approach it at Nordhavn
on a Monday morning:
My bike,
bought for eighteen hundred crowns

ten years ago
from my local dealer.
I remember eyeing him suspiciously
- A rip-off, but what can I do? -
yet it has served me dutifully
faithfully
fending off
evil thieves and bike snatchers
heroically
my bike.
Its one gear working impeccably

in spite of concrete dust clogging up
chain and sprocket,
I bike towards Nordhavn.
Its faded butterfly stickers
remind me of
pulling kids trailers,
balancing huge shopping bags
or fetching my own kids bikes
from the local playgrounds,
taking care of its own bike family
as Im taking care of it:
My bike.
I like my bike
my bike Iike.
Mr H
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TEACHER SECTION
Brexit.
A poem written to pull together threads of feeling about a visit to England at the end of June
2016 the very day Britain voted to leave the European Union. I travelled up from Cornwall
having seen my recently widowed father, had a mouth-ulcer, visited Bath and friends in Bristol
and Wimbledon..just one of those occasional pieces that tries to reassemble a moment. A blurred
sequence of photographs inlaid with feeling!
Little tired country

Kindly in its people
Overturned bins
Dad drinking gin and tonic with fish and chips.
Befuddled with dimming booze.
An uncle deploring Cornish rain, wanting to get out with The Wheelers.
Pea salad tasting of TCP.
Pelting rain on the motorways
In Bristol, John and family and a discomfort of plates, pans, knives, cups
A cluttered garden, an over-sized swing.
Baths dirty Regency splendour

Damp fustiness
Scaffolding on the Royal Crescent.
The feel of tenements
And life lived around take-away food,
Thai
Costa Coffee
Starbucks.
Stagnant queues at Raynes Park
The morning blow.

Disbelief. Reiteration. Useless, healthful swearing.
Rick, brilliant wordsmith, muted that morning, cyclically furious, unable to manage the
business of finding breakfast.
Roads screaming, teeming with traffic.

Cold Sainsburys and immigrant cashiers speaking formulae in filling stations.
Oh old and merry England

Of good wood, wit, the crossbow and the straight-spined lifeboatman
Oh new and merry England
Of colour and babel, reggae and spice.
Motherland
Great ugly, beautiful, misfitting jewel in the European Crown
Where have you gone?
Where are you going to?
Rebecca Prisk
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TEACHER SECTION
Farewell Song for Mme Dines

(To the tune of Charles Aznavours She - think end of Notting Hill, Elvis Costello -
then strong French accent.)
She, may be the face we cant forget

That lovely manire de coquette,
That subtle soupon de Chanel et de Dior.
Kids - she has to spoon feed all of them
Cos learning verbs is a problem
Their conjugation is mayhem
And they are all thick as a door.
She is la doyenne de la slide show

Her pressies have a lovely flow
Theyre full of bubbles that rotate and magnify.
She who knows simply all the ways to know
And she calls all the boys Pedro
(mais) Elle as toujours le bon mot
To edify.
She, who never, ever, ever has her key

Whose lipstick is a necessity
Who leaves pink marks on her teacup
She who has several hundred pairs
Of shoes but dropped one on the stairs
And Mary was her Prince Charmant who picked it up.
She, who has other cats to spank

It is Joelle we have to thank,
For all the fun and the philosophy.
We, we will miss her very much,
Her avalanche of books and such,
(For mess, Joelle we cannot touch)
The lipstick on our lives is - She..
Prisk
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TEACHER SECTION
Farewell song for the 2017 Graduates

(SATB To the tune of the beautiful Welsh Hymn Guide me O Thou Great
Jehovah (Bread of Heaven/Cwm Rhondda)
(Grandioso/grave)
Now your IB days are over
Now your classroom days are through
No more walks from Nordhavn station
No more essays overdue
No more crazy 9-day schedule
Wednesdays havent got a clue (not a clue)
Wednesdays havent got a clue.
No more CAS, no more reflection

No more falling off high chairs
No more hiding with Ms Dourley
(or)Heart attacks upon the stairs
No more need for daft excuses
When you lab is overdue (overdue)
When your lab is overdue.
Now youre off, the worlds your oyster

(and)What a world youre heading to
Hunger, hardship and corruption
Such a lot for you to do.
Air pollution, Trumps a moron
Watch out for the KGB (KGB)
Watch out for the KGB.
Lots of plans and lots of dreaming

Zest for life filling your cup
Have you met your Uni offer
(Or) did you fluff the whole thing up?
Are you going to Yale or Cambridge
(Or) is it a gap year upon the couch (on the couch)?
Is it a gap year upon the couch?
Now youre through examinations,

No more rubrics from Ms D
No more drilling from the metro
No one taking you (out) to pee.
How youve struggled, how youve triumphed
How youve drunk a lot in Greece (lot in Greece)
How youve drunk a lot in Greece.
You have nearly driven us crazy

How youd protest, how youd whinge
Engebret was sometimes absent
Lukass language made us cringe
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TEACHER SECTION
How weve loved you, how well miss you

Now its time to say farewell (say farewell)
Now its time to say farewell.
Prisk, with the collaboration of CIS teacher SATB choir Catarina Correia
(soprano), Erin Yakiwchuk (alto), Darren Howard (Tenor) Gideon Boulton (bass)
Lorenz Hindrichsen (bass)
"Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that
nothing that is worth knowing can be taught." (Speech to my rambunctious 9th
graders to kickstart our speech unit. They were kind enough not to fall asleep or level
missiles at me during the entire speech. In other words, a resounding success.)
I chose to speak on this quote by Oscar Wilde, one of the smartest people ever, for three
reasons: it sounds good, its clever, and there is a lot of truth in it.
Just to clarify, Im not in some sort of mid-life crisis (thats long over), I still think my
own teaching is utterly brilliant (I know it is), and Im not planning to quit soon
unless I get sacked for this speech.
Nor am I concerned that this quotation undermines all my beautiful teaching. Not at all.
I love paradoxes, but in this instance theres really no contradiction between being a
semi-decent teacher and Oscar Wildes claim because what the quote says is simply that
true learning what is worth knowing what is absolutely, fundamentally essential for
your life, for your future happiness, cannot be taught. It can be learnt, but not taught.
If you look outside our cosy international-minded, education-obsessed CIS bubble, you
can easily see that education on a global scale often fails miserably and produces awful
results, or is quickly eroded by more powerful forces and hence totally overrated.
Think of the many violent conflicts that are currently unfolding as we speak Syria or
Eastern Ukraine, to name just two. These are conflicts that got started by people with
university degrees: Vladimir Putin, who graduated from St Petersburg University in
international law (before joining the KGB), and Bashar Al-Assad he studied in
Damascus taking a degree in Medicine. Think about this. The person who has been
killing off his own people using Sarin gas, artillery and bombs has a medical degree.
(He probably took the Hippocratic oath like all doctors.) And Putin, who thinks that
invading Ukraine is lawful, and who fails to take responsibility for shooting down that
plane full of Dutch tourists over Ukraine, graduated in international law. This week
theyve been busy cluster-bombing Syrian hospitals.
One could easily extend that list. Kim Jong-Un, Supreme leader of North Korea, went to
an International School not too far from where I grew up, in Berne Switzerland. He
practically did what you do, educating himself about the globe, before returning home
and assassinating his uncle so he could succeed his father in starving his people and
scaring the world s%less with nuclear bombs.
Donald Trump studied Finance and Real Estate Development at the University of
Pennsylvania, and graduated in 1968. Yes he did. Closer to home, the head of the
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TEACHER SECTION
Danske Folkeparti, Kristjan Thulesen Dal, holds two degrees, in law and in economics.
Speaks good English. A well-educated mascot of a deeply unethical, xenophobic party.
Now maybe all these leaders cheated. Bought their degrees. Outsourced their papers.
Put on an act. Or perhaps the courses they took were practically worthless. Not really
testing or teaching anything.
Or perhaps these degrees were really just what they are: degrees. Proof of an education,
nothing more.
I often think of education as something you can wear, a kind of dress code. Its great to
have it. Who wouldnt want a sparkling CV, a top-notch degree, or preferably multiple
ones, something to impress, something to be recognized for, something that opens
doors. Like a brand-new suit with a tie.
So, to finish off, what is it, then, that an education wont offer? What is it that cannot be
taught, only learnt? Pretty much everything that really matters, Id say:
How to be honest to others

And to yourself
Friendship
Love
How to argue
And how to reconcile
How to give
And how to receive
Understanding others
Or at least trying to
Admitting your own faults

And being ready to forgive
Accepting imperfections
Accepting yourself for the wonderfully imperfect human being you are
Standing up for your rights

And for the rights of other
Taking care of our tired old planet

Taking care of future generations
Taking care of ethical principles
Taking care of those less fortunate than ourselves
All this, an education will not offer. Which is why I think its really important to
remember that nothing that is worth knowing truly knowing can be taught.
Lorenz Hindrichse
127
TEACHER SECTION
128
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Mr. H
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Mohit Kumar
130

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Labyrinth 2017

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COPENHAGEN I

Go forth and feast

What always strikes across so forcefully,

Weve stuck with the new larger, glossy

No Pose is more Natural

What Makes You Happy?

Ida Ahm Poulsen

Lewis Foster Miruna Lopata

Miruna Lopata Miruna Lopata

Regular (ish) Verse

One lone ray of sunlight

Working its way to a pile of leaves

One small hole was all it took

Carried away by a passing breeze

Rose until it took the shape

Til one swift thud,

Only the ashes remain

The Tallest Height

Often times, time escapes me

These points seldom come, and seldom stay

Sitting on that park bench, my starry night

Often times, time escapes me

Perhaps I will never know the answer

I wonder if you smile too

Made like this --

Trick or treat candy.

The silent reader

As the whistle blows

My first Danish spring.

[at a track and field race]

Waiting for the gun.

CIS The School.

Black keys and white keys

Lying on the beach

Eva Heiberg and Tindra Sderberg

I am a screw, lying in your drawer,

I am a screw lying in your drawer,

I am a screw lying in your drawer,

I am a screw lying in your drawer

One more step.

Falling. Water fast approaching, she spread wide

A poem about the Aral Sea (Aralkum Desert)

A sea as vast as any other,

Signs of liquid times,

A sea of islands once lay there

A natural border waned away,

If I Told You My Secret

I wonder what you would do

If I told you my secret

But none of that matters now,

So Ill smile and laugh

I believe Im addicted to my bed

People, even the ones I love, are tiring

Though something lately has changed

The hills, once familiar, feel brand new

Words now seem to spill out of my mouth

The music to which I listen sinks down deeper

There is only one thing I know for certain

In talking to you, I forget to sleep

The following section comprises a selection of villanelles. A villanelle is a

There's nothing else I see when on the field

I look beyond the foe at the backfield

A shoulder hits my chest, my fate is sealed

I found a girl with heart of sun.