The World's Agencies
The world is divided into different agencies
In these areas there happen so many incidents, accidents
Planned or unplanned
The cat's-paw tinges bloodying with the sharp nails
The staffers think staring -----
How the role-play of a cinema's villain!
I am the sufferer who is snatched away
Threatening with the arms all the way
And the passers-by only watch
Having nothing to say nor a step for protection
We are living in such an unsafe zone
We are here, where we think over --------!
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
14 March, 2023The Sea Cafe
Hello, let's have our snacks altogether
The unknown has invited us
Let's shook hands and enjoy the coffee break
Now the time is to rise in the midst of the sun and the moon
We have already reached our long pathway goal to our journey
Holding tight the hands not to leave each other
Live together, walk together, work together and sleep together
Forgotten!
Let's make a dancing stage ---
We all get lost among ourselves in the world of forgetfulness- The Sea Cafe.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
17 March, 2023
CONSTANCY
Hey, the voice of a thousand sighs/
return your light to me
Turn your eyes, before it is left, all dark,
In blind fog/
I'm not just your work
Your masterful craft.
I am also your part, a thousandth of an effort
Something that flaunts in the trade.
My participation is in finiteness/
An irreversible dam, that tried to reverse,
The massive balance of the heavens.
I am your nostalgia, there is no doubt.
I am your way of having wanted to be time.
I am your total constancy.
Graciela Noemi Villaverde
Argentine poet writer based in Buenos Aires
She has a degree in letters, author of seven books in the poetry genre. She has been awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Public Relations of the Hispano-Mundial Union of Writers UHE and World Honorary President of the same institution.
YOU WHO CREATE UNREST!
You who are the servant of darkness,
hide behind wealth, power, and lies
but I'm immune to it.
You can't take away my right to freedom,
my life belongs to God,
you can't ruin my poem,
woven from prayerful thoughts
sung in praise of all poets
which breathe in the rhythm of peace for the whole planet.
We are poets like flowers,
we sprout from tiny seeds, carried by the wind, rooted in the ground.
Watered with water from rainy clouds sun-breastfeed.
Our common strength is
in the beauty of thought,
about equality
about satiety
in the absence of war.
We build heavenly gardens from letters
and send clear messages to everyone.
Do not be afraid people, let the peace of God reign!
You, who are hidden, will not stop causing people unrest
and various diseases, but I will not stop, I will defeat you with a poem.
Verses have the power to melt all hard hearts, to forget what evil is,
when in the prayer song for forgiveness, they find their peace.
LOVE
Insects are attracted to the street light at night, so the heart that is open to the love of this world, the closer to the source of the street light dies because of the desire to unite with something that is doomed to die.
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," is circulating through the blood.
That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them.
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 she also is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.
Borders
The mother leans against the sad wet strings
We last a long time-holding time in a transparent suitcase
For handles that pierce the skin, bones, blood flow and go away all at the same time
I am not good at this designing at all
I speak to the body I'm dragging along the blank paper
The body they call my mother
A quiet black dress filled with the burst of distant stars
I can't do anything in creative expression classes
As a representative figure of absolute human evil
I draw wires around my mother, around me, around the house
Around the tongue that can't help me anymore
To make something out of swallowed pain
I will never be able to bring back the dead, nor measure your graves
Where does your grave end and mine begin?
Behind the camp there is still an endless field of wires
Hands that outgrow it are just a myth
Souls are always in love with floating
How many times have you tried to teach her to speak?
They will ask the mother, and I will wait
Drawing line by line
Begging her to hug me
Begging her to go back home
SAN GIUSTO
Trieste, march 2019.
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me through the small door to Bottega del Nonno
- La Veglia di Finnegan, se ne hai una?
Then we walked along one of the narrow streets towards the castle of San Giusto.
He was holding a book in his right hand all the time, his veins were swollen,
And he would hold my forearm with his left when we were climbing.
I felt so safe, as if the Lord had placed all the power in his hands.
(Actually, this could be a poem about his hands.
How I loved his hands!)
"I am forever trapped, walking along the river, always returning to the castle..." – he quoted.
- That life until now was a sketch drawn with a graphite pencil, the fragments of which we will
be able to erase, and what is inside us are colors. Let's start painting!
I looked for a moment at the sidewalks where the weeds had grown, and then at his big eyes where
the darkness had grown.
The wind opened around us,
The guards fell asleep long ago,
The walls grew like giants,
Distant history played with our depths,
And it seemed insignificant to us
Compared to this one that is just starting.
Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia.
Winner of several international awards for poetry, including:
Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,
„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020.
Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021.
„Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022.
She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.
Mercy
One day a boy named Sam was going door to door,
Because he was very poor.
He was selling his goods to continue his study,
Doing this he became thirsty.
He planned to get a house at last,
Seeing a beautiful woman from a house he afraid fast.
For this he told to bring a glass of water instead of food,
Seeing the facial expression, the women brought as she could.
She brought a glass of milk instead of water,
For this sympathy to him, he thanked her.
After a few years, the woman was too sick,
No native doctor could treat.
She was referred to a reputed hospital,
Dr. Sam Kaily found her unnatural.
He recognized her at a glance,
He determined to recover her at any way
Dr.Sam Kaily said the receptionist to give the bill-sheet,
Writing something at one side and send it.
Being afraid, the woman opened the bill,
She seemed it could be heavy like a hill.
But there was one word,
I am the little Sam, Mercy of Lord.
Don't afraid about your bill,
It is only a glass of milk.
Robiul Awal Esa is a 1st year student of Diploma in Nursing Science & Midwifery Course in Government Nursing Institue, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Love of Family
A family is a sacred bond,
A love that always strong.
In a moment of joy and sorrow,
They will be there for you.
A place to feel safe and secure,
A love that always endures.
A bond that will never break,
A love that will always be great.
Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
