A Journey of Ignorance

A Journey of Ignorance is a collection of poems by Maria A Perdomo and Pramudith D Rupasinghe. The poems explore global and political issues such as nature, war, and liberation, drawing on Perdomo's boldly honest tone and taking inspiration from Rupasignhe's humanitarian work. Several of the poems, including Not an inch and After the guns fall silent, make specific reference to conflict in Ukraine, and these poignant poems express the realities of war and its impact on people and the environment. The poems are dedicated to "everyone who thinks they run the world".

Read the poems below.

  • The Pink Flowers

    MARIA A PERDOMO

    The pink flowers tried growing 

    in the shark-infested waters. 

    They were looking for the sun 

    in an inhospitable world. 

  • Cursed Waters

    PRAMUDITH D RUPASINGHE

  • Six Women—Decolonising Reproductive Healthcare in Australia and Beyond

    ASHNA HEDGE

    These women, separated by oceans, united by dispossession, are threads in the same story. A long story that reminds me that reproductive healthcare is never just clinical. It is cultural. It is personal. It is political.

  • Go Tell It to White People

    CHIBUEZE DARLINGTON ANUONYE

    What is troubling about racism, the subtle, gentler ones that constitute my experience in America, is that despite its pervasiveness, we don’t know how deeply involved we are in it, whether we’re its victims or perpetrators, or both.

  • No Pride in Humanitarianism

    CLARE BROWN

    I had expected my new job to be a steep learning curve. What I was not prepared for, was that it would awaken a deep, frustrated rage inside of me.

  • The Circumstances in Which They Come

    PATRICK HANNAN

    The only numbers the Australian government really cared about were the number of unauthorised boat arrivals, or to be more specific, the number of boats themselves, rather than the number of human beings on them.

  • The Invisible Subject

    SCHEREZADE SIOBHAN

    The first time I saw a woman chained to a bed, I was perhaps nine. My parents’ parting had left my small body adrift in a sea of adult sorrow. I was struggling to keep my head afloat after their bitter separation volleyed me between countries like a tennis ball in a prolonged, energy-depleted game.

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The Poison