Who Is Actually Responsible for Global Warming?

Today, global warming is one of the most serious environmental problems facing humanity. In recent years, the increase in Earth’s temperature, the rapid melting of glaciers, and the rise in natural disasters show how serious this problem has become. Many people are interested in what is causing global warming.

The main cause is human activity. Gases released from factories, power plants, and cars pollute the atmosphere. These gases are called greenhouse gases, and they trap heat from the Sun in the Earth’s atmosphere. As a result, the temperature of our planet continues to rise year by year.

Another important factor contributing to global warming is deforestation. Trees absorb carbon dioxide and help clean the air. However, as forests are cut down, the amount of harmful gases increases and the natural balance of the environment is disturbed.

In addition, the increase in waste, excessive use of plastic, and wasting energy also have a negative impact on the environment. People often do not think enough about the consequences of their actions.

In conclusion, the main cause of global warming is humans themselves. However, reducing this problem is also in human hands. If we protect nature, plant more trees, and use energy wisely, we can help prevent global warming. Every small action by each person can lead to big changes.

Yo’ldoshaliyeva Zinnura was born on June 17, 2011, in Rishton district of Fergana region. She is an 8th-grade student at the Fergana branch of the Specialized School named after Muhammad al-Khwarizmi and also serves as the leader of the “Talented” direction in the Rishton District Council of Leaders.

She has actively participated in various educational and intellectual projects, including “Anim Camp,” “Future Founders Online Forum,” “Young Reader” and the regional stage of STEM subjects. Her scientific article was published in the book “Feelings on Paper,” and another article of hers appeared in the “Synchronized Chaos” journal. In addition, she has taken part in many other projects and initiatives, demonstrating strong academic interest and leadership skills.

First of all, published poet and contributor Tao Yucheng is still hosting a poetry contest, open to all readers of Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

Synchronized Chaos Poetry Contest: We seek short, powerful, imaginative, and strange poetry. While we welcome all forms of free verse and subject matter, we prefer concise work that makes an impact.

Guidelines: Submit up to five poems per person to taoyucheng921129@proton.me. Each poem should not exceed one page (ideally half a page or less). All styles and themes welcome. Deadline for submissions will be in early March.

Prizes: First Place: $50 Second Place: $10, payable via online transfer. One Honorable Mention. Selected finalists will be published in Synchronized Chaos Magazine.

Also, past contributor Alexander Kabishev is seeking international poems of four lines each on the theme of friendship for a global anthology. The anthology, Hyperpoem, will be published by Ukiyoto Press and a presentation of the poem will take place in Dubai in August 2026.

Kabishev says the new vision of the project goes beyond commercial frameworks, aiming to become an international cultural and humanitarian movement, with the ambitious goal of reaching one million participants and a symbolic planned duration of one thousand years.

The focus is on promoting international friendship, respect for the identity of all peoples on Earth, and building bridges of understanding between cultures through poetry and its readers.

Please send poems to Alexander at aleksandar.kabishev@yandex.ru

This month’s issue asks the question, “Who Will We Become?” Submissions address introspection, spiritual searching, and moral and relational development and decision-making.

This issue was co-edited by Yucheng Tao.

Sajid Hussain’s metaphysical, ethereal poetry, rich with classical allusions, reminds us of the steady passage of time.

Jamal Garougar’s New Year reflection emphasizes ritual, spirituality, and the practices of patience and peace. Taylor Dibbert expresses his brief but cogent hope for 2026.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand’s spare poetry illustrates the dissolution of human identity. Bill Tope’s short story reflects on memory and grief through the protagonist’s recollection of his late school classmate. Turkan Ergor considers the depth of emotions that can lie within a person’s interior. Sayani Mukherjee’s poem on dreams lives in the space between waking thought and imaginative vision. Stephen Jarrell Williams offers up a series of childhood and adult dreamlike and poetic memories. Alan Catlin’s poem sequence renders dreams into procedural logic: how fear, guilt, memory, and culture behave when narrative supervision collapses. Priyanka Neogi explores silence itself as a creator and witness in her poetry. Duane Vorhees’ rigorous poetic work interrogates structure: individuality, myth, divinity, agency, culture. Tim Bryant analyzes the creative process and development of craft in Virginia Aronson’s poetic book of writerly biographies, Collateral Damage.

Nurbek Norchayev’s spiritual poetry, translated from English to Uzbek by Nodira Ibrahimova, expresses humility and gratitude to God. Timothee Bordenave’s intimate devotional poetry shares his connection to home and to his work and his feelings of gratitude.

Through corrosive imagery and fractured music, Sungrue Han’s poem rejects sacred authority and reclaims the body as a site of sound, resistance, and memory. Shawn Schooley’s poem operates through liturgical residue: what remains after belief has been rehearsed, delayed, or partially evacuated. Slobodan Durovic’s poem is a high-lyric, baroque lament, drawing from South Slavic oral-poetic density, Biblical rhetoric, and mythic self-abasement.

Melita Mely Ratkovic evokes a mystical union between people, the earth, and the cosmos. Jacques Fleury’s work is rich in sensory detail and conveys a profound yearning for freedom and renewal. The author’s use of imagery—“fall leaf,” “morning dew,” “unfurl my wings”—evokes a vivid sense of life’s beauty and the desire to fully experience it. James Tian speaks to care without possession, love through distance and observation. Mesfakus Salahin’s poem evokes a one-sided love that is somewhat tragic, yet as eternal as the formation of the universe, as Mahbub Alam describes a love struggling to exist in a complicated and wounded world. Kristy Ann Raines sings of a long-term, steady, and gallant love.

Lan Xin evokes and links a personal love with collective care for all of humanity. Ri Hossain expresses his hope for a gentler world by imagining changed fairy tales. Critic Kujtim Hajdari points out the gentle, humane sensibility of Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s poetry. Brian Barbeito’s lyric, understated travel essay passes through a variety of places and memories. Anna Keiko’s short poem shares her wish for a simple life close to nature. Christina Chin revels in nature through sensual, textured haikus.

Doniyorov Shakhzod describes the need for healthy and humane raising of livestock animals. g emil reutter hits us on the nose with cold weather and frigid social attitudes towards the suffering of the poor and working classes. Patricia Doyne lampoons authoritarian tendencies in the American government. Eva Petropoulou Lianou reminds us that we cannot truly enjoy freedom without a moral, peaceful, and just society. Sarvinoz Giyosova brings these types of choices down to a personal level through an allegory about different parts of one person’s psychology.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand critiques societal mores that have shifted to permit hypocrisy and the pursuit of appearances and wealth at all costs. Inomova Kamola Rasuljon qizi highlights the social and medical effects and implications of influenza and its prevention. Sandip Saha’s work provides a mixture of direct critique of policies that exploit people and the environment and more personal narratives of life experiences and kindness. Gustavo Gac-Artigas pays tribute to Renee Nicole Good, recently murdered by law enforcement officers in the USA.

Dr. Ahmed Al-Qaysi expresses his deep and poetic love for a small child. Abduqahhorova Gulhayo shares her tender love for her dedicated and caring father. Qurolboyeva Shoxista Olimboy qizi highlights the connection between strong families and a strong public and national Uzbek culture. Ismoilova Jasmina Shavkatjon qizi’s essay offers a clear, balanced meditation on women in Uzbekistan and elsewhere as both moral architects and active agents of social progress, grounding its argument in universal human values rather than abstraction.

Dilafruz Muhammadjonova and Hilola Khudoyberdiyeva outline the contributions of Bekhbudiy and other Uzbek Jadids, historical leaders who advocated for greater democracy and education. Soibjonova Mohinsa melds the poetic and the academic voices with her essay about the role of love of homeland in Uzbek cultural consciousness. Dildora Xojyazova outlines and showcases historical and tourist sites in Uzbekistan. Zinnura Yuldoshaliyeva explicates the value of studying and understanding history. Rakhmanaliyeva Marjona Bakhodirjon qizi’s essay suggests interactive and playful approaches to primary school education. Uzbek student Ostanaqulov Xojiakba outlines his academic and professional accomplishments.

Aziza Joʻrayeva’s essay discusses the strengths and recent improvements in Uzbekistan’s educational system. Saminjon Khakimov reminds us of the importance of curiosity and continued learning. Uzoqova Gulzoda discusses the importance of literature and continuing education to aspiring professionals. Toychiyeva Madinaxon Sherquzi qizi highlights the value of independent, student-directed educational methods in motivating people to learn. Erkinova Shahrizoda Lazizovna discusses the diverse and complex impacts of social media on young adults.

Alex S. Johnson highlights the creative energy and independence of musician Tairrie B. Murphy. Greg Wallace’s surrealist poetry assembles itself as a bricolage of crafts and objects. Noah Berlatsky’s piece operates almost entirely through phonetic abrasion and semantic sabotage, resisting formal logic and evoking weedy growth. Fiza Amir’s short story highlights the level of history and love a creative artist can have for their materials. Mark Blickley sends up the trailer to his drama Paleo: The Fat-Free Musical. Mark Young’s work is a triptych of linguistic play, consumer absurdity, and newsfeed dread, unified by an intelligence that distrusts nostalgia, coherence, and scale. J.J. Campbell’s poetry’s power comes from the refusal to dress things up, from humor as insulation against pain. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Taghrid Bou Merhi’s essay offers a lucid, philosophically grounded meditation on laughter as both a humane force and a disruptive instrument, tracing its power to critique, heal, and reform across cultures and histories. Mutaliyeva Umriniso’s story highlights how both anguish and laughter can exist within the same person.

Paul Tristram traces various moods of a creative artist, from elation to irritation, reminding us to follow our own paths. Esonova Malika Zohid qizi’s piece compares e-sports with physical athletics in unadorned writing where convictions emerge with steady confidence. Dr. Perwaiz Shaharyar’s poetry presents simple, defiant lyrics that affirm poetry as an indestructible form of being, embracing joy, exclusion, and madness without apology.

Ozodbek Yarashov urges readers to take action to change and improve their lives. Aziza Xazamova writes to encourage those facing transitions in life. Fazilat Khudoyberdiyeva’s poem asserts that even an ordinary girl can write thoughtful and worthy words.

Botirxonov Faxriyor highlights the value of hard work, even above talent. Taro Hokkyo portrays a woman finding her career and purpose in life.

We hope that this issue assists you, dear readers, in your quest for meaning and purpose.

Nothing Changes Until You Change

Nothing is changed until you are changed. Many people spend their lives waiting for tomorrow, believing that time itself will improve their situation. They think that one day everything will become better without taking any real action. However, time alone does not create change; only personal effort does.

Imagine that you do nothing except sit in your chair for one hour. What has changed? Almost nothing. You may feel relaxed, but your life remains the same. Now imagine sitting in the same chair for two hours or even longer. Instead of improvement, your body becomes tired, and you may struggle just to stand up. This simple example shows an important truth: doing nothing does not move us forward. In fact, it can slowly harm us. Progress requires action, even if that action is small.

Real change begins when a person decides to act. Every small step taken today shapes the future. Waiting for the “right time” often becomes an excuse for fear or laziness. Time helps only those who move with it, not those who wait for it to pass. If someone wants a different result, they must become a different version of themselves through discipline, effort, and consistency.

In conclusion, life should be lived in the present, not postponed to tomorrow. Understanding that today is the only moment we truly control is the key to success and happiness. Change your actions, and your life will change with them.

Chatgpt also helped me. 

I am Ozodbek Yarashov and I live in republic of Karakalpakistan, Turtkul district. I am a young curious person and I am interested in English (in fact, my English is almost C1), and math. In the future, I am going to be a developer, not just a developer, but a developer who changes the world! I always believe in myself. I recommend to everyone, change your thoughts, change yourself!

And jasmine remains white,

no matter how treacherous the seasons may be.

Like the heart of a child is your heart,

and like your presence in my life — a secret of eternity,

planting in my heart roses that never wither,

no matter how many years pass over them.

You are a melody that never loses its glow,

no matter how tired the fingers grow,

a pulse that never fades, even in the fiercest storms,

O child of my heart.

When you draw near, words fall silent

out of reverence for your presence,

time becomes perfumed with your gentle scent,

and I feel as though I breathe another life

within your heart.

Like rain after a long thirst,

in you I find the meaning of purity

when purity is lost in this world.

You are warmth when winter betrays me,

a refuge for gentle souls when the dark winter night frightens them,

and the heart’s reassurance

when souls tremble.

Your love remains pure in my heart,

no matter how fierce the storms may be.

You are my homeland and my light

when the path is lost.

The song of my heart,

and the song of the soul when silence fails it.

In your eyes, I find both safety and wonder.

My wish, my little one —

in the warmth of your hands

I discover that time can stop

in reverence for a sincere moment.

O purer than all the verses poets have written,

secret of dew and whiteness of dawn,

you are the branch leaning over

the balconies of Damascene shanashil,

over ancient windows and doors,

O fragrance of jasmine.

Your presence with me

turns all seasons into an endless spring.

And jasmine remains white,

no matter how treacherous the seasons may be.

NESUČELNI SUĐENICI

Nerazvejan na repove konjma 

po predelu šupljem ko sačma

kad jezgrom otvori crno oko

pa belim usijanjem se raspe

tako te ljubljena polulud iskah

dok cela vaseljena mi se ruši –

zgromljen iznutra od groma

ko nepokajnik pred Zidom plača

pod zemlju ukopan, a skokom

hoće nimbus tvoje čari da naspe

iz studenca, između dva vriska

mog i tvog neodaziva u tmuši –

Okrenula si se plamteća kometo

a nisi Euridika, čežnja da te mori

niti ja Orfej no hiljadita žica

na harfi, izbledela od haba

neukog carića što je svračka

podražaj slušao mesto slavuja –

pa ko propali muzikant svetom

glavinja, osrednjak koji se bori

da njegovo naličje vide s lica

i po trbuhu lupa se, ko dabar

a svi zvižde jalova da se tačka

što prije okonča, ta bujad –

Koja divne cvetiće bi da potre

i grmuše s lati što se glasi:

jedino si me ti slušala revno

uhlebljem bila što me hlebi

ko kad se od žbuke umeša cigla

koju su prokleli zidatri, vrgli –

ko najurenog trubača sa smotre

što više nigde da se skrasi

ne može – svud za prekorednog

drže ga, premda svija se tebi

zmijom ne bi li ga zmajem digla

iz tame adske božanskoj kugli –

UNFRIENDLY JUDGES

Unswayed on horse tails
through the hollow landscape like a shot
when the core opens a black eye
then crucifies with white heat
so I, your beloved, half-mad, have cried out
while the whole universe is collapsing to me –
crushed from within by thunder
like an unrepentant man crying before the Wall
buried underground, and with a leap
the nimbus of your charms wants to rise
from the well, between the two screams
of mine and your unresponsiveness in the gloom –

You turned, a flaming comet
and you are not Eurydice, longing to torment you
nor am I Orpheus but the thousandth string
on the harp, faded from wear
of the ignorant little emperor who listened to the shrew
as a stimulus instead of a nightingale –
and like a failed musician in the world
a hub, a mediocre one who struggles
to see his reverse side from the face
and beats his belly, like a beaver
and everyone whistles in vain so that the period
can end as soon as possible, that bujad –

Which beautiful flowers would you like to chase
and bushes with a lati which reads:
only you listened to me zealously
you were the bread that breaded me
like when a brick is mixed from mortar
which the masons cursed, threw –
like the most decorated trumpeter from the parade
who can no longer settle down
-everywhere for an outcast
he is considered, although he curls up to you
like a snake in order to lift him
like a dragon
from the darkness of hell to the divine sphere –

Everything is Dead

‎Even in a city where there is no clock, time walks

‎The sun melts and night falls in the womb of time

‎Time learned to walk, long before the clock was born

‎You were born before it

‎And I was born before you

‎Our love was born even earlier.

‎

‎I wanted to touch the language of your fingers

‎Billions of years ago, waiting for my fingers

‎The limit of distance was infinite determination

‎I haven’t touched you yet

‎I’m running like a cloud

‎I’ve written so many poems by borrowing the blood of the sun

‎I have written miles upon miles of poetry in your eyes

‎My gaze is not tired

‎Everything is dead in the house of the dead

‎Not a single poem has found the address of your heart.

‎

An adventurer, at home.

The soft, suave scent, of these burnt lavenders,

Dwells my mind, whilst I quietly write this poem,

In my living room, books and paintings, masks and gems,

Just keep still… All around the silence reigns over.

Blessed be, o Lord ! Thy peace, granted to a poor boy,

Came with the faculty to work, and learn your books…

I can pray now Thy love, in this shrine full of joy,

Rich refuge for my life, which I am glad none took.

There are the jewelry, tailored clothes, lithographs,

Sea shells and silver lamps, ivories, or gold rings…

All reminding of past battles. – My humble being.

Then I will read the Psalms, the Gospels and some Saints !

Before writing a stance, a try, until I faint…

To express gratitude ! As for an epitaph.

*****

A Christian poem.

When I pray Thee o Lord, my voice, humble but proud,

Raise inner, for Thou knows everything of me,

Then I try to write down, speak up, but never loud,

No for we are not much. Before Thy great army.

We are children to Thee, though. Salt grains for the Earth…

We are friends to the birds, colorful like flowers…

We can be good workers, until the last hour,

We can be good servants if we know what we’re worth.

The paradise immense, where will live forever,

Those amongst us who choose to be His believers,

Is like the treasure a peasant finds in a field…

Soon this field acquired, then the riches revealed,

Everyone will think this person has been wise.

Be pious, be gentle, love, hope… – Jesus advises.

*****

The poet plans for work.

You see me now, well quiet, at my library desk !

Director here. Further, I hear cars passing by,

Further, I see grey clouds… The silence is at stake,

Calm, as I read Plato : moments some wish could buy.

Then I take my pen on : I will write for Roma,

For the woman I love, her lips, their aroma…

I will write for Paris, for London, for Madrid,

For a farm in the snow, then for my youth in need.

I want to write again ! For a trip to Jersey, 

On a boat, whilst a storm was raging the Channel,

I want to write about hiking, and this tunnel…

In Geneva when I questioned my survival.

I will write about my past girlfriends – when opals,

Drizzled from their glances on our soft Odyssey !

*****

Timothee Bordenave is a French author, a poet, novelist and essayist. He has published many books both in French and English. A part of his writings has been translated to various languages and published internationally.

He is also a visual artist as a photographer and a painter, whose works have also been widely shown, in France like in many other countries around the world.

Born in Paris, France, in 1984, he still lives in France today, partaking his days between the capital town and countryside properties. He first worked as a library director, before shifting to be a fulltime author and artist. 

His interest to culture and creativity has brought him to be very active in the local French art community, involving himself notably in the organization of art events for his friends.