Poetry from Muntasir Mamun Kiron

Young South Asian preteen boy in a white shirt school uniform and with short brown hair.
Muntasir Mamun Kiron

Father of The Nation Bangabandhu

In the heart of Bengal, a legend was born,
A beacon of hope, from dusk until morn.
Sheik Mujibur Rahman, a leader so true,
Guided his people, through skies clear and blue.

With words that stirred, like thunderous roar,
He fought for justice, forevermore.
A father of the nation, with vision so vast,
He led with courage, from the shadows he cast.

In the struggle for freedom, his voice rang clear,
Inspiring millions, dispelling fear.
From the streets of Dhaka to the halls of power,
He stood firm, in the darkest hour.

Bangabandhu, the friend of the masses,
In his presence, hope surpasses.
A champion of peace, in a world torn apart,
He carried the dreams of a nation in his heart.

Though taken too soon, his legacy lives on,
In the hearts of the people, from dusk until dawn.
Sheik Mujibur Rahman, a hero so grand,
Forever cherished, in Bangladesh's land.

Muntasir Mamun Kiron is a student of grade 10 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Poetry from Faleeha Hassan

Young Central Asian woman with a green headscarf and a dark colored blouse and brown hair and eyes.
Faleeha Hassan

Writer’s Block

When I try to write
I sense that millions of readers are
Crowding the paper’s edge,
Kneeling, genuflecting, and lifting their hands
To pray for my poem’s safe arrival.
The moment it looms on my imagination’s horizon,
Gazing at the concept in a diaphanous gown of metaphor,
Young people smack their lips—craving double entendres.
Meanwhile, with piercing glances, the elderly scrutinize
Its juxtapositions and puns.
Then the concept smiles shyly, dazed at seeing them.
On the paper’s lines both young and old meet for a discussion,
But my words resist
And erect walls of critical theories.
Then the paths of personal confession contract,
Contract,
Contract.
My imagination calmly shuts down,
And the conception retreats inside my head.
At that hour, it afflicts my world with
Bouts of destruction.
Workers refuse their paychecks.
Farmer let their fields go fallow.
Women stop chatting.

Pregnant mothers refuse to deliver their babies.
Children collect their holiday presents but
Toss them on the interstate.
Our rulers detest their positions.
Kings sell their crowns at yard sales.
Geography teachers rend their world map
And throw it in the waste basket.
Grammar teachers hide vowel marks in the drop ceiling
And break caesura by striking the blackboard.
Flour sacks split themselves open, and the flour mixes with dirt.
Birds smash their wings and stop flying.
Mice swarm into the mouths of hungry cats.
Currency sells itself at public auctions.
The streets carry off their asphalt under their arms
And flee to the nearest desert.
Time forgets to strike the hour.
The sea becomes furious at the wave
And leaves the fish stuck headfirst in the mud.
The shivering moon hides its body in the night’s cloak.
Rainstorms congeal in the womb of the clouds.
The July sun hides in holes in the ozone layer,
Allowing ice to form on its beard and scalp.
Skyscrapers beat their heads against the walls,
Terrified by the calamity.
Cities dwindle in size till they enter the needle’s eye.

Mountains tumble against each other.
My room squeezes in upon me, and
The ceiling conspires against me with
The walls,
The chair,
The table,
The fan,
The floor,
Glass in the frame,
The windows,
Its curtains,
My clothes, and
My breaths.
The world’s clarity is roiled.
Atomic units change.
I vanish into seclusion,
Trailing behind me tattered moans and
Allowing my pen to slay itself on the white paper.
.......................................................
by Faleeha Hassan
Translated by William M. Hutchins

She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.

She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is the Pulitzer Prize Nomination 2018, PushCart Prize Nomination 2019.
Member of International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020, Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021) One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023 Winner of women the arts award 2023 Member of Whos’ Who in America 2023 SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA

Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com

Poetry from Emina Delilovic-Kevric

Light skinned woman with long blonde hair and a sweater with green, blue, and black pattern sitting and reading outside in the snow.
Emina Delilovic-Kevric
Bare life

Adam Zagajevski says in one of his songs
That we have to settle for a cramped prisoner's cell
Cobwebs covered cities, metropolises, countries
in fact, it covered everything that is called house, home
and all of this is interwoven with longing that once upon a time everything was or will be
different someday
Our bodies are exposed, stripped, decentralized
My interlocutor seems to be breathing as we travel illegally on German paved roads
As if to say, lean over
I lean in too
And I fall into the slow eyes, like Alice I sleep in the fall
I hear him say that there may or may not be a way out
All we have left is prayer
God will settle the score
He is not dead as they say
The man is not dead
I sigh and wonder if I am human, am I already dead?
I hold my breath and return to the nearest star
"Aren't these myths, all these unions, all this crap about attacking, not attacking
We are just players in some game we played as children, remember??"
I try to remember, but I keep feeling the policeman's rough hands touching me
I'm naked in every coat and I'm shaking with fear
And where are we going, to embrace death?

I melt in the endless horizon, the fabric is soft, happy substances flow through my veins
History is a schizophrenic record looking for good slaves.
Man is a historical idea, which should be understood in every language.
Or at least one would think so
"I think we will succeed there, if I succeed I will bring my wife and children
And you can find someone, a German woman"
He starts to smile, then abruptly stops the movement of his lips
"'What the hell, it's not all that dark, don't give up, hold on!"
He hits me on the shoulder
Before us, the flowers of evil sing their songs
It broke apart as we catch a glimpse of the shadows of the eve
Maybe I see my mother, my father, my house
The shy red ray of the sun hints that nothing is left
Even if we die, so what?

Emina Đelilović-Kevrić (Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina) After studying the b/h/s (bosnian/croatian/serbian) language and literature at the Philoshopical Faculty in Zenica she got her master's degree on the subject „Memory construction in the South Slavic interlinear community: typical models of the war camp experience in literature“. She is the author of the poetry collection „ This time without history“ and the short stories collection „ Erased lives“. Her collection of poems „ My son and I“ is awarded by the Publishing Foundation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 2021. In 2022 she won the second place in the international literature competition „ Isnam Taljić“. She is the winner of the second award for the best short story of the regional literature competition „Zija Dizdarević“ 2022, and she won the first place on international literature competition „Nastavi priču“. 2023. she won a third place on international poetry competition „Ossi di Seppia“ Italy.

Poetry from Maja Milojkovic

Younger middle aged white woman with long blonde hair, glasses, and a green top and floral scarf and necklace.
Maja Milojkovic

Raindrops 

Raindrops fall silently from the sky, 
The rose in the garden gently unfolds its petals. 
And love, like a river, flows deep, 
Entwined with rain and flower, in an endless dance. 
Gracefully, the rain kisses the rose in the night, 
Gently illuminating it with its droplets. 
And the rose, like a lovestruck maiden, 
Receives rain kisses with joy and a smile. 
Love, like the scent of a rose in the air, 
Softly envelops the heart, making it strong and tender. 
In this union of nature and emotion, 
We discover the beauty of love that doesn't fade even when the rain stops.

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia.
She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard" was circulating through her blood.
That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to others.

As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. "Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle". 
She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro,and shealso is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.

Poetry from Mahbub Alam

Middle aged South Asian man with reading glasses, short dark hair, and an orange and green and white collared shirt. He's standing in front of a lake with bushes and grass in the background.
Mahbub Alam
The Port

Like the light in the morning I rise like a rose
Then one after another making friendship with leaves of the trees
I lost myself in the bath of the sea
Swimming so high in the sky
I reach the moon where no darkness plays any role
I find myself on the port of you
We both smile out the same in the morning blushes.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh,
13 March, 2024.
 

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for over seven years. 

Poetry from Elmaya Jabbarova

White woman with long black hair and a black blouse with flowers on it.
Elmaya Jabbarova

The sound of love 

Excitement beats in my heart, 
A stormy wind blows in my heart, 
I was waiting for your face 
The prostration of my lustful eyes, my love. 
My heart aches with tender longing, 
I am ashamed to write in secret from everyone, 
I whisper to mountains and stones, 
The most mysterious word in my language is my beloved. 
The caravan of dreams has lost its way, 
He put the lasso on the ropes, 
He screamed silently, 
The unknowing loss of my heart, my love. 
Unforgettable day of first love, 
Even though you are far away, you have loyalty 
Written love, fate, 
A gift of divine power my love.

Elmaya Jabbarova was born in Azerbaijan. She is poet, writer, reciter, translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Shargin sesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for Africa», «Juntos por las Letras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.

Poetry from Graciela Noemi Villaverde

Light skinned Latina woman with long straight blonde hair sitting in a restaurant with her hands folded in front of her face. She's got a watch and several bracelets.
Graciela Noemi Villaverde
WOMEN
 
A shining sphere emerges
Flags moved by a breath
It comes from the roots, 
From that wind with which we were born, 

There in paradise 
Perfect crowning for our geometry, 
Adamantine, constellated, urgent 
More tenacious than anger 
Woman who breaks like a mirror 
Against the heart of an invisible sun,
 
And you bloom chewing the tide... 
So satiated with dreams that there is no art more tender than yours 
Shadows, abandonments, and prodigious love 
They form your grace. 
Harmonious, flexible, firm woman, 
With silences followed by pure acts
Today I revere what I am…WE ARE. 
WOMEN 



GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers. 

She's the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. Commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.