Sharing for Paivapo Publishing. They’re looking for assistance to translate books from African authors writing in their native languages into English. https://ko-fi.com/africantranslationproject

From contributor Peter Dellolio: I’ve been very fortunate to have a short story collection and a book of new poems to be released this year.  The short story collection is with Cyberwit.net and the poetry book is with Lost Telegram Press.

The short story collection, That’s Where You Go & Other Short Stories is due out in a few weeks, and the poetry collection, Cul de Sac Diaries is due out later this year.

Eva Lianou Petropoulou shares the news about an upcoming poetry contest seeking all styles of poetry. Pieces are due November 30, 2025 and must never have won any other awards and must be accompanied by an Italian or French translation.

Contributor Jaylan Salah is between writing jobs and seeking a remote position from her home in Alexandria, Egypt. She’s got a background in literary and film criticism. Please let us know if you have a position for her or know of someone who’s hiring for gig or traditional employment.

Also, Synchronized Chaos’ first November issue will stop accepting submissions on October 26th. We’ll include anything sent to us on or before that date in November’s first issue.

Now, for this month’s issue: Union and Dissolution.

We explore ways we embrace and come together and ways we pull apart, divide or individuate ourselves.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand reflects on the closeness of family and how each of us seeks and needs loved ones. Maftuna Rustamova also speaks to the joy and importance of family in our lives. Priyanka Neogi contributes a tender and short love poem to a special man as Sevinch Kuvvatova pays tribute to loving mothers everywhere.

Fadi Sido shares of love and beauty concealed and revealed. Ibrahim Honjo crafts a romantic scene of love, youth, and brass bands. Mahbub Alam celebrates the renewing energy of youth. Kandy Fontaine and Alex S. Johnson’s Gogol-esque short story addresses the tenuous relationship many of us have with our bodies in a world where youth and beauty can be commodified.

Nicholas Gunter reflects on the anniversary of losing his father as Norman J. Olson contributes written and drawn sketches of country and farm life as a memorial to his deceased cousin Bill. Kassandra Aguilera grieves her deceased mother through dream conversations.

Ollie Sikes ponders requited and unrequited love. Mirta Liliana Ramirez speaks to the pain of love betrayed. Dilobar Maxmarejabova’s story highlights the harm done to children when parents don’t step up to the plate. Tea Russo sings a ballad of a loveless entertainer. Umida Hamroyeva sends up a poem of grief for a lost loved one as Taro Hokkyo expresses the visceral pain of losing his beloved, his spiritual home. Allison Grayhurst renders up a multi-section epic poem on emotional healing after the betrayal of a friend. Bill Tope’s story highlights prejudices people with disabilities face in the dating world.

The precarious political situation in the United States feeds into J.J. Campbell’s poems of personal disillusionment and slow grief. Ng Yu Hng reviews Nikolina Hua’s poetry, discussing how it evokes personal and societal sorrows. Kandy Fontaine speaks of a traumatizing and destabilizing encounter with a supposed professional in a piece that encourages readers to ponder how we use social power in our own lives. Mykyta Ryzhykh’s fresh poems speak with a tone of cynical self-loathing. In Kandy Fontaine’s second story, seduction and intimacy become weapons in a dystopian world where hybrid life forms feed off of others’ grief.

Srijani Dutta’s poetic speakers use memory and imagination to fill in the gaps created by miscommunication and mistrust in reality. Chloe Schoenfeld’s piece depicts music as a force to help two forgetful people hold onto their memories.

Dino Kalyvas sets a poem about universal human respect and dignity from Eva Lianou Petropoulou to music. Abigail George poetically asserts her unity with all of the world’s diverse creative people. Jacques Fleury defines himself in his poem on his own terms, part of the human race and sharing in universal human ancestry. Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews poet Nasser Alshaikhamed about the high aspirations he has for his poetry and for humanity. She also interviews Russian poet Olga Levadnaya about craft and the journey to peace through repentance. Dr. Ratan Bhattacharjee poetizes about good overcoming evil in the form of the Goddess Durga slaying a demon. Graciela Noemi Villaverde elaborates on the transformative power of poetry as Dr. Brent Yergensen dramatizes one of Jesus’ parables in verse.

Niloy Rafiq harnesses a courtroom metaphor to highlight how he speaks the truth through his art. Shahnoza Ochildiyeva composes an essay on the purpose and value of the written word. Damon Hubbs depicts an encounter with the ambience and aesthetic of William Butler Yeats as he drinks in Dublin. Z.I. Mahmud probes layers of meaning in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, how his understanding of Shylock and racial and religious prejudice might have gone deeper than we realize.

Journalist Jakhongir Nomozov interviews Azerbaijani poet, translator, and linguist Firuza Mammadli, who has deep knowledge of and appreciation for her nation’s literary history and also strong words of caution for students, especially women, who seek to pursue a creative life. Sobirova Samiya highlights the inextricable connections between language and culture. Choriyeva Oynur outlines the literary contributions and legacy of 15th-century Uzbek poet Mavlono Lutfi. Yuldosheva Yulduz Ravshanovna, a teacher, highlights how she sees the light of Uzbek historical poetess Zulfiya carried on in one of her pupils. Muxtasarxon Abdurashidova expresses her gratitude for an inspirational teacher.

To’raqulova Pokiza discusses ways to enhance student speaking and communicative competence in English as a second language. Abdirashidova Ozoda discusses how to encourage preschoolers to develop communication skills related to socializing. Hasanboyev Sardorbek urges educational leaders to make computer literacy and communication via computer an educational priority. Texas Fontanella connects a variety of words and images and references together in a series of text messages. Mark Young plays with words and images, exploring and stretching meaning.

Damion Hamilton speaks to common human, traditionally masculine fears and aspirations. Taylor Dibbert’s poem speaks to the ordinary and universal annoyance of food poisoning as Chimezie Ihekuna recollects sentiments of resilience during the Covid-19 pandemic. Lan Qyqualla’s poetry melds themes of love, loss, longing, and transformation.

Abdel Latif Mubarak’s poems evoke dreams, wonderment, fears, longings, and the desire to live for a greater cause. Eva Petropoulou Lianou calls for compassion, peace and an end to war. Parvinder Nagi urges humanity to make the individual and collective choice to act ethically and responsibly, as does Bhagirath Chowdhary in his poetry. Graciela Irene Rossetti urges humanity to keep soul-searching and discover the true meaning of peace. Tagrid Bou Merhi speaks to the dawning of society and consciousness and the full humanity of women. Eva Petropoulou Lianou reviews Ahmed Miqdad’s poetry and shares his wishes for peace and self-determination for the people of Gaza.

Anthony Chidi Uzoechi’s prose poem evokes the weight of historical grief and suffering in the lives of many people of color. Maja Milojkovic reflects on the nihilistic destruction of war. Bill Tope laments and fears recent dark turns in American politics. Til Kumari Sharma speaks up for young people, women and girls, and the students fighting in the 2025 Nepali uprising. Duane Vorhees also speaks of revolution, along with sensuality, coupling, and new life.

Andre Osorio uncovers a language of resistance and survival in Hua Ai’s new poetry collection Exiles Across Time. Daniela Chourio-Soto draws on artistic language and metaphor to speak to despair as part of the human experience.

Alan Catlin mulls over the precarity and drama of human existence. Yongbo Ma crafts moments of inflection, when matters will soon change, as part of his commentary that movement is life and stasis becomes despair. Nicholas Vigiletti evokes the ennui and frustration of low wage, dead end jobs.

Jessica Hu’s strange poetry speaks to a brutal and cold world. Mesfakus Salahin implores nature’s wild elements not to ruin his joyful union with his beloved.

Aurelia Preskill reflects on the beauty of an apple and how easily Adam and Eve could have been tempted and forever changed. Sayani Mukherjee reflects on autumnal magic and metamorphoses. Rafi Overton gives us a butterfly’s reflection on his past metamorphosis and how what he truly needed was self-love regardless of physical status.

Ari Nystrom-Rice reflects on how people and nature, in the form of the ocean, are inseparable. Stephen Jarrell Williams’ poetic speaker shares many facets of his memories of the sea. Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin’s tan-renga convey different “moods” of nature: resilience, fear, aggression, and coexistence. Yongbo Ma evokes loneliness through images of burned-out spiders out of silk for their webs.

Abigail George reviews Rehanul Hoque’s novel The Immigrant Catfish, a parable about greed and environmental mismanagement and destruction. Bill Tope and Doug Hawley’s story narrates the redemption of a man who comes to protect birds he once carelessly killed. Jennie Park’s artwork shows a tender care for the natural world amid the threats it faces.

Brian Barbeito delves deeply into the nature and mysteries of one particular spot in the country. Other writers do the same for ordinary and individual people. Noah Berlatsky points out the subtle tragedy underlying Job’s Biblical story: the way the ending inadvertently suggests that people are interchangeable and thus disposable.

Teresa Nocetti uses a pillow to evoke the complex feelings of a person heading to sleep. Nidia Amelia Garcia does something similar with poetry concerning the history of wrinkles on human faces. Tanner Guiglotto presents a visceral battle with self-doubt. Ellie Hill explores different aspects of a teacup image to comment on how she possesses both delicacy and strength.

Muhammadjonova Ogiloy reviews Otkir Hoshimov’s story collection Ozbeklar, which highlights the dignity and beauty of common hardworking country Uzbeks. Pardaboyeva Charos spotlights the craft of Uzbek embroidery. Fali Ndreka highlights the creativity and skill showcased at Art Basel Miami.

Mushtariybonu Abdurakhimova relates her experiences at a cultural and academic youth development program. Her fellow students highlight other areas of study and knowledge. Aliya Abdurasulova outlines nuances of programming in the C++ language. Shahlo Rustamova’s essay reminds us of the importance of maintaining thyroid health. Ike Boat celebrates the career and skill of martial arts actress Cynthia Rotrock.

Dildora Khujyazova suggests a balanced and optimistic view of economic and cultural globalization, pointing out how individual creators can take advantage of the chance to bring their creativity to wider markets.

Synchronized Chaos International Magazine is intended as a venue for creators of all types around the world to display their works. We hope you enjoy this mingling of ideas!

Magic

The dried parchment of fallen roses

Basking too brightly like a simmering darkness

I come upon the edges

The words take too long  time dear friend

A cavernous niche budding at the plants

The roses were for autumn

A spring glance of glamour magic

A rundown air ways of steel blue cloth

Hanging around with a prosperous face

The dimming sunlight at the corners

Nature’s own mystical gallery

Pouring forth in autumnal haze, a hoax of paradox

Till I learned the failure of the gravity

Too nuisances at folded guttering.

Previously published in Wordgathering

A First Date

Hayley sat silently on the sofa in her living room; a shiny brass pole lamp scattered illumination over the four walls and the television was on but muted.  The colorful figures on the television danced in confusion in reflections on the linoleum floor.  Hayley was slender, almost petite; she had raven black hair and attractive features: a pretty face, bright blue eyes and an old-fashioned rosy complexion.  But her eyes were clouded. She sat quietly, still as a statue, except for her hands, which twitched furiously,  Hayley had just turned forty and had had Parkinson’s Disease for the past twenty years.

She continued sitting because standing and walking was such an unwelcome adventure, frequently resulting in missteps, staggering collisions with the furniture or walls, even falls.  At length, the telephone rang–the land line, not the cell she kept at hand–and she was forced to get up off the sofa.  As she rose, her head swam, she saw little white spots in front of her and she teetered on her feet.  She was unalarmed, for the dizziness often came and went.  The phone rang again.  She hurried a little, struggled to put one foot unsteadily before the other.   She brought her cane into play.  The telephone continued to bleat.

It was like walking through deep water, thought Hayley, as she reeled and staggered to the telephone table.  It was always worse when she had been sitting or reclining for a while.  Reaching a trembling hand out, she grasped the phone just as it stopped ringing.  She put the receiver to her ear and listened intently.  She spoke hello into dead air, frowned, and slammed up the phone. She glanced at the Caller I.D. screen and scowled.  No number or message appeared. 

Another hallucination! she thought bitterly.  She’d cancel the land- line, except she never knew when her cell might lose power or malfunction; and she needed a reliable connection to emergency services.   She’d have to get an extension wire in order to place the phone nearer the sofa.  She sighed.   The hallucinations were a new addition to her condition.  The tremors and the difficulty in standing and walking was one thing, but the delusions were something else again.  She couldn’t trust what she heard, what she saw.

Suddenly Hayley glanced at her cell, noted the time  “I’ve got to get going,” she murmured aloud.  “I’ve got a date, and that doesn’t happen every night!”  Indeed it didn’t.  Hayley hadn’t dated regularly in ten years, ever since her disease began worsening.  The half dozen dates she’d had over the last couple years or so didn’t count, she decided. They had all been unspeakable disasters, blind dates set up by friends or family.  They clearly hadn’t been expecting the cane or the hand tremors or the clumsiness.  Oh, they were nice enough guys, just not prepared for a woman with disabilities.  She sighed, shook her head at the disappointing memories.

This time, however, she had covered all the bases: she used a computer dating service that catered to clients with “special circumstances,” such as age or, in her own case, a disability.  She had listed Parkinson’s on her app and been contacted by a man about her age, who also had the disease.  The man–Roger–had had the condition, he said, for about nine years.  Not as long as she, but then, Parkinson’s progressed at different rates in different people; at any rate, he could at least relate to her situation, surely.  They’d settled on dinner, at a moderately-priced restaurant and they would go “Dutch.” That suited her right down to the ground; this last year, particularly, had been difficult. The lonleiness was often discomfiting, sometimes simply overwhelming.  Oh, Hayley had girl friends, but they couldn’t really relate to her situation; they were all married or dating in serious relationships.  They were always trying to set her up, but the few resultant dates had been unmitigated disasters.  She resolved to just hope for the best.  Roger had sounded nice on the telephone.

Two Hours Later

Hayley arrived at the restaurant a little early, so she wouldn’t make a spectacle of herself walking in and stumbling into a chair.  In spite of Roger’s similar affliction, she felt almost helplessly self-conscious around other people.  She shooed the waitress away, telling her she was waiting for someone.  Her date!  She felt curiously giddy.  Hayley watched the other patrons, all dressed fairly casually: sports jackets and blazars and off-the-rack outfits.  The men all looked handsome and the women were pretty as well.  It was a young crowd. They stood at the bar talking and sipping drinks, lurid concoctions with umbrellas for the women and shots of some amber liquid–whiskey?–for most of the men.  She noticed pointedly that as they all drew their drinks to their lips, not a hand shook.  Hayley placed her own hands in her lap, out of sight.

At length, Roger walked in, not self-conscious at all, thought Hayley.  He was standing straight, walking smoothly and as he got nearer she noticed that his hands didn’t shake at all.  What was his secret, she wondered.  He looked just as handsome as his computer image had been.  Blond hair, tall, around six one, nothing extra around his middle.  He was rather nattily attired, keeping with the unofficial dress code.  She met his eyes and smiled.  She really was very pretty, she told herself, and Roger seemed to pick up on that right away.  
“Hi, Hayley, how are you?”  He offered his hand.  She reluctantly pulled her own hand from her lap and clasped his hand in a firm grip.  
“I’m fine, Roger, how are you?”  He seated himself opposite her.  
“I’m good; it’s nice to finally meet you–in person, I mean,” he returned, then fixing his eyes on her glass, asked, “What are you drinking?”  
“Just water,” she answered, taking a sip.

“Well,” he said in a jolly voice “we’ll have to change that.”  He signaled for the waitress.  When she turned up, he said, “Scotch and water; Hayley?” he turned to her.  
“I’m fine,” she said.  
“Oh, c’mon, don’t make me drink alone,” he said persuasively.  
“Well, Seven-Up,” she said.  
“Make it a Seagram’s Seven,” he added.  

“No, Roger, I don’t want any alcohol.”  Turning to the bewildered waitress, she corrected, “Just a plain Seven-Up.”  The waitress hurried off.  Hayley looked up; Roger was staring at her blankly.  “My medication,” she explained.  “I can’t have any alcohol with my medicine.”  
“Oh,” he said, genuinely surprised.  “None at all?” he asked her, incredulous.  Silently she shook her head no.  The waitress returned with their drinks.

“Don’t you take any medication?”  It was her turn to be surprised.  
Roger took a heavy slug of his scotch before shaking his head and saying, “Nope. Nothing.”
“How do you manage that?” Hayley wanted to know.  “You seem so…normal. Look at that,” she indicated the hand holding his drink, which he was fast polishing off. “You don’t have a tremor at all!”  Roger raised a finger at the waitress, pointed at his now empty glass.  He waited until the waitress returned with his new drink before replying,

“Well, the truth, Hayley, is that I don’t have Parkinson’s Disease at all.”  He took another big gulp of his scotch.  
Hayley blinked, utterly surprised. “You mean…you mean you’re not sick at all?”  
Roger frowned.  “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing,” he complained.

But…why did you say you did?  What was the point of that?”  While Hayley had been speaking, Roger had silently ordered yet another drink and was half-way through it already.  Hayley observed that Roger wasn’t nearly as attractive as he’d been when he first arrived.  Perhaps the alcohol was revealing his true self.  And he was thoroughly in his cups now, obviously something of a lightweight. “Answer me,” she said sharply, surprising even herself.

“Well,” he replied, slurring his words a little, “I figured I take one of them disabled chicks, I might get lucky, you know,” he grinned lecherously.  Hayley’s stomach roiled.  “I mean,” he said more expansively, his voice rising, you get a girl who’s got something wrong with her, that don’t get around much, maybe doesn’t get much action.”  He winked grotesquely, ordered still another drink.  How many drinks could he hold? wondered Hayley.   Already he seemed drunk.  Hayley was feeling a little ill herself now.

Their waitress appeared again, asked if they were ready to order.  “I…I’m not hungry,” said Hayley, waving her hand at the girl.  
“Well, I am,” insisted Roger, pushing away the menu.  “I want a big steak, rare, baked potato, sour cream, and asparagus!” he demanded.  The waitress turned back to Hayley.  
“Nothing for me,” she murmured.  The waitress withdrew.  

“One other thing, Hayley,” said Roger, slurring his words anew.  “Can you…you know,” he pointed at the table, made a circling motion with his finger.  “Take care of this?” She stared at him blankly.  “I’m a little short,” he explained.  
She regarded him coolly, then said, “I’m not interested in your sexual inadequacies.  But pay for your own meal; you drank it, you pay for it!”
And with that, she was on her feet, headed for the door. Roger, chagrinned, called after her, “I would have made it worth your while!”  
Hayley turned back only long enough to reply, “I doubt that; I really, really do.” She continued toward the exit, her cane accidentally knocking against a diner’s chair.  
“If I knew how bad you were, I never would have taken you out!” Roger shouted at her back.  She made her way through the exit, out to an available taxi, where a man was just getting in.  He halted, looked her way.  

“Hayley?” he said. She stopped, surprised.  It was Mr. Beasley, a man who lived in her building.  
“Hi, Mr. Beasley,” she managed, clearly upset.  
“Do you want to share a taxi?” he asked.
“Uh…sure. Thanks.”  They both climbed in.  Mr. Beasley gave the driver the address and they sped away.  She sat slumped in her seat.  
Beasley looked over and said, “Are you alright, Hayley?”  She shook her head no.  “You want to talk about it?”   She took a shuddering breath.  
“I just had the most awful date I’ve had…in years,” she exclaimed.  He nodded encouragingly.  “I met him online, at a dating service.  It was a site where if you have a disability, they hook you up with someone similar…you know, my Parkinson’s.  I have Parkinson’s.”
“Yes,” he said.  “I thought you did.”  They hadn’t talked much, he’d lived for years on the floor above her.  He was at least fifteen years older than Hayley and she hadn’t given much thought to him before.  She glanced at him, noticed that his hand shook a little and his head darted to the left, then to the right.  It wasn’t pronounced, but noticeable.

“You…you don’t have it too, do you, Mr. Beasley?” she asked hesitantly.  “Oh, you don’t have to answer me if you’d rather not,” she hurried on.  
“No, it’s alright.  No, my own cross to bear is Tourette’s Syndrome; you’ve heard of it?” he asked.  
“Oh, yes, of course.  I didn’t know you had it, though.”
“Usually it’s controlled by medication; this is one of my ‘unfortunate days,’ however.”  Hayley nodded.

“What happened inside?” Beasley asked.  She rolled her eyes.  
“My ‘date’ was some predator who pretended he was disabled, just to prey on women he thought would be easy.”  She went on to describe the scene inside the restaurant. “How about you?” she asked him.  
“Just on my way home from work,” he replied.   They rode in companionable silence for a few moments.  He’s not at all unattractive, she thought.  And she knew he lived alone.  Maybe he’s gay, she thought.  Not that that would make him a bad person, but as far as boyfriend material, it would be a little limiting.  Still, he had always seemed very nice.  “Well, did you at least get a decent meal out of it?” Beasley asked.  She frowned.  

“No.  I was so mad that I walked out without even eating.”  
“Well, you know, I’m pretty hungry right now myself.” She looked across the seat at him.  “And I’m a pretty good cook,” he continued with a smile.  She smiled back at him.  “And call me Ron, won’t you Hayley?”  

People always think of food when they hear about fish. They imagine the splendor and magnificence of the ocean or that sweet film about a coming of age story in Finding Nemo. This is a story for the ages, concerning land development meeting natural resources and the bounty and abundance of Mother Nature.

The writing in this story is a masterful blend of the lyrical, fantastical and the dire realities of climate change and the extreme changes to the environment due to human interference when it concerns the delicate balance of the ecosystem of a lake. It is filled in the beginning with the wonderment of the animal world and even can be quite magical at times.

Life in a pond can be tricky to navigate at the best of times but life is good for the catfish Xi and his friend Joe in the tranquil waters of his lake. Xi turns a telescopic eye to a penetrating view of the environment. In the beginning there is a tolerant understanding of the outside world. Xi, a catfish, lives in the watery depths of a pond with his friend Joe.

This story stimulates interest around the subject matter of grief for a life lived without difficulties and challenges, and loss, how dangerous human intervention is when it comes to matters in the animal kingdom. It’s a sad story filled with the violence and brutality of man in the natural world.

Humanity soon comes to the lake and the lake soon becomes a tourist hotspot. A hospital for Covid-19 is built at the edge of the lake and a maritime museum. In the process, animal life is killed by pollutants and removed from the lake as well. Life as Xi knows it is coming to an end. There’s an imbalance that occurs at the lake as modern life creeps up upon the animals at the lake.

Xi begins traveling to Florida and hopes to make it his new home but undergoes a violent and jarring meeting with a ferocious and curious dog. Xi is rescued and taken care of by its owner. The owner, Fred, then travels to Florida to their lab where animals of all kinds undergo the horrific experiences of experimentation at the hands of human beings.

After every traumatic experience Xi undergoes he braces himself for what will happen to him next. The researchers and Fred have no qualms about eating hot fin soup in front of Xi. The Florida researchers win the Nobel Prize but it comes at a terrible cost. The fragility of plant life and the animal kingdom that co-exists interdependently in the lake is not taken into account and it is not understood by human life. Humanity fails to intervene to save nature and the environment.

They are eager to kill, maim, mutilate and destroy in the name of science, research and experimentation. The human beings in this story have no respect for the natural world. They think their research will lead them to getting acclaim, international prizes and that they are doing it for the glory of mankind. They think nothing of how valuable the life inside the lake is.

Here are a few quotes from this fascinating yet tragic story that reveals man’s greed and his need for power, control and total domination over the natural world.

“It was a lake – clear, serene and old as earth.”

“The lake was surrounded by big trees that attracted especially the migratory birds. In winter, it would become a meeting zone for numerous birds – from the bigger ones like geese, waders and storks to the tiny ones like warbles, wagtails and pipits.”

“Without protozoa, there was nothing left for zooplankton to eat; and while zooplankton couldn’t grow there, invertebrates had to starve and die. As there were no invertebrates, fishes were not required to make an effort to look for a prey.”

“Despite some caring masters having such concern for their finned subjects, Joe would feel rather offended that the catfish community was being disdained. No doubt, they could collect food from any level but were bottom feeders as well. Now, as the doctor suggested to the farmer to remain careful about throwing peas into the pond, the catfishes began to harbor a deep resentment against him.”

“Whether they ever reached Florida is another matter.”

“They saw objects resembling hooks containing delicious food, tied to lines coming down from above. All the fishes thought it to be a great feast offered by someone in the sky so they happily scrambled to swallow the hooks, only to get the hook points pierced into and anchored inside their mouths, gullets or gills.”

“Some investor decided to construct a 4-star hotel on the lake to attract even more tourists from home and abroad. For this purpose, pneumatic caissons were utilized, and an underground tunnel was built using the same technology. To implement the plans at minimum cost, the lake was drained, and the mud and silt thus collected were used to elevate the banks. An artificial island was made in the shape of a palm frond, upon which a multi-storied building was erected.”

“It had a height of five to six feet, two legs, two eyes, fingers and so on, but no tail, fins or gills. Since Xi had previously heard about the human physique from his dearest pal Joe, he could easily recognize that it must be a human.”

Here are a few words about the author.

Born in the village of Majkhuria in Bangladesh, Rehanul Hoque started by writing poems at an early age. Falling ‘upon the thorns of life,’ Rehanul takes refuge in the lap of nature. He also seeks pleasure in playing with words. He believes beauty is religion and literature can build a habitable earth by promoting harmony and truth together through the appreciation of beauty. He dreams of a future ruled only by love.

Rehanul’s works have appeared in different journals, magazines and anthologies like The Wagon Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, The Penwood Review, The Pangolin Review, Tipton Poetry Journal, The Piker Press, Cacti Fur, LUMMOX 9, Literary Yard, NAT SCAMMACCA CULTURAL MAGAZINE, AZAHAR REVISTA POETICA, Asian Signature, North Dakota Quarterly, The Cyclone will End, and Love in Summer.

A promotional video for “The Immigrant Catfish”:

This review was previously published on the website Modern Diplomacy on September 2, 2024.

For the children

I am Bra Mzi Mahola

I am Nana Walter Chakela

I am Yehuda Amichai

I am Refaat Alareer

I am Ian Fleming

I am Patricia Highsmith

I am Brad Pitt

I am Coco Chanel

I am Rilke

I am Nietzsche

I am Freud

I am Jung

I am Lou Andreas Salome

I am Malcolm X

I am George Botha

I am Steve Biko

I  am Bessie Head

I am Ingrid Jonker

I am Sylvia Plath,

Anne Sexton

I am America,

I am Israel,

I am Palestine,

China, Russia, Australia,

Derek Walcott’s West India

I am Mufti Menk

I am Azania

I am everywhere

I am a child of God,

standing with a

a ripple of hope in my hands

I am freedom.

Thirty Beats

‎Oh, the pleasant moon hanging on the lips of the beloved

‎Don’t suck the light in greed anymore

‎Don’t walk in the arms of my beloved

‎Waiting for me on her radiant face

‎Don’t touch her tender heart

‎Where my dreams are drawn

‎Don’t look for the map of her eyes

‎There my happiness is tied

‎Don’t keep your breath in the bonds of her arms

‎There my nerves are touched

‎Don’t touch the sound of her feet.

‎Listen to the rhythm of my love with your ears.

‎

‎Tell the city, the garden and the orchard

‎The butterfly has touched the sky’s eyes

‎All the locks of the stars have opened

‎In this luminous light of love.

‎The spark of neurons covered in magnetic passion

‎Love’s rays pave the way like a river

‎The sweetest journey breaks the pride with a twinkle

‎The still nebula peeks out from the rosebud

‎A thousand roses stand in a row

‎With our honey moon in hand

‎Where darkness will never write a letter

‎All light will be purified in the water of the fountain

‎

‎Oh, the open air of spring,

‎Sing no more in a lonely tune

‎Wrap the neck of the afternoon of Chaitra

‎With the garland of red spring

‎Paint the flower of love on her forehead

‎Decorate her feet

‎With pearls from the oyster

‎Tell the birds

‎That in this kingdom, poetry will awaken

‎With their united voices

‎People will forget all differences.

‎The flag of love will fly on the desert.

‎

‎Oh, lonely river waves,

‎Don’t shed tears on the chest of the night

‎Don’t spread your sorrowful face

‎Don’t cry and sigh

‎On the flute of our union

‎Look, the flowers have learned to smile

‎The seeds of a vocal dream have sprouted in the chest of the bumblebee

‎The joy of happiness has blossomed in the bud of sorrow

‎I am coming on horseback

‎Tell the royal court

‎All the stones of the kingdom will become flowers

‎The fragrance of time will sing the song of union in thirty beats.

Food 

Speaking for food

Bombs are coming in my left

Bombs are coming in my right

The smell of a coffee becomes a dream

People are targeted

Suffering

Starvation

Hypocrisy the cry for freedom

Governments they are counting their money

Over the bodies of dead children

Do you want this life

How much Human you feel today

We are all victims in the mind of narcissist

men with power

Peace

Unknown word

……..

Hate

War

Words that has bring people to the chaos

The absolute chaos 

Who’s supporting this evil??

We are

With our silence 

With our selfiness 

With our personal issues 

With our blindness 

Because man is the greatest monster of everyone 

Open your eyes 

Open your heart 

Open your hands to sky 

Start praying 

…………..

I am a woman 

Speaking loud about peace 

I am a woman 

A mother 

A daughter 

A Goddess

A bird

I am a justice lover 

I am woman who has long hair 

So i can hide my tears and 

Keep my body strong enough for your evil eyes 

I am woman who 

Glorifies 

God in every step…..

Eva Petropoulou Lianou is the founder of Poetry Unites People and has spent more than 10 years creating bridges for peace and poetry.