ALEXANDER ARKADYEVICH FEINBERG 

He who has no tongue has no rights,

We’ve poisoned the oceans’ embrace.

Dolphins leap and land upon the shore,

Dying without a single word to say.

Trees are silent, forests are felled.

The mountain’s peak, locators subdue.

In the desert sky, a nuclear fire blazes,

Burning voiceless grass and herbs away.

Water offers no retort, nor does stone,

A lion will leap into flames, bowing his head to the blow.

Birds of flight perish as bullets take aim.

Since creation, this ancient world

We are indifferent. We haven’t died of shame.

Why did you give language to man, O God?!

Translation by Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy

The Answer?

(1)

Everything said

can’t keep it all in

spilling coke and peanuts

leaking ink

all over the state

night birds singing

why are we here?

(2)

Taking it

easy

slow poison

train whistling

way back there vacant corner

before the downhill grade

steam simple?

(3)

At the station now

loitering

others running

from themselves

she finds you

a ticket

tattoo

on her belly?

(4)

Hunger pains

driving you

hazy sleep

her head

in your lap

rollercoaster ride

hiccups high

for another

clap of hands?

(5)

Spitting bird seed

she keeps herself

hollow light

ring ready

complete opposite

maybe for you

somewhere in the middle

the answer?

From happiness

I thought that poems would end with happiness,

It’s candlelight, it’s dark.

I couldn’t write poems because of happiness,

The candle burned in vain.

I thought that poems would end with happiness,

Every word is from love.

I write poetry, I have not broken my promise

But from the hatred that I have in my heart. 

I thought that poems would end with happiness,

Like Layla,

My prince is even stranger than Majnun,

I don’t know why I am happy.

My life is a simple tale,

Not ordinary, not even a fairy tale 

I have pain, grave heart,

Poetry is my comfort.

I’m patient as a poet,

I burn, I get tired, I don’t die.

The world is now on fire.

I will answer as a candle.

Orinbayeva Dildara was born on March 10, 2008 in Tortkol district of the Republic of Karakalpakstan.  9th grade student of school No. 24 of Tortkol district.  He reads with excellent grades and is the captain of the Youth Union of the Republic of Uzbekistan. He has organized many events.  She is a talented writer whose poems have been published.  The poem “Loyalty” was published in the “Korparcha Collection”.  The article “INTERESTING INFORMATION ABOUT BIOLOGY.” was published in the International Anthology of Blue Sky Stars. The poem “Rain” was published and indexed on Google sites.  The poem “Ozligim Anglab” was published in “Future Scholars Creative Collection” and “Book, Certificate, Diploma.”  He became the owner.  Holder of international certificates.

ALEXANDER ARKADYEVICH FEINBERG 

If you wander lost in the darkest night,

Do not despair at the cruel and bitter weather.

For darkness never lasts as your sole companion,

There’s a fire burning, flickering in the distance.

This fire, as you roam, lost and weary,

Will give you warmth and kindness, freely offered.

Your hope and faith will surely return,

For fortune never turns its back forever.

If the biting wind extinguishes the flame,

And you suddenly find yourself back in the dark,

The last resort is a simple act –

Stop, and kindle a bonfire without delay.

Carefully strike a match in your hand,

Prepare to light a fire, drawing on your tobacco.

In the pathless wilderness, ignite a bonfire, start a blaze,

Become a fire yourself for someone in need.

Translation by Shukurilloyeva Lazzatoy

spin the attraction


I believed it when you said: 
“Stay away from Okies.” 
“Stay away from swabbies busting bottles off the rail.” 
“Don’t bug Carlos.”  

Tonight the perseids will glitter for an hour, 
sputter. disappear.

I believed it when you said 
you’d find a job tomorrow. 





everybody’s falling 


Sure, my palms were sweating. The way she smiled at you, the way she took your hand and placed it on her hip. The way you drifted from the orbit of relationship. This is how it works, right? One stacked in the warp and reeling. The other standing still. 

Kathleen Hellen is the recipient of prizes from the H.O.W. Journal and Washington Square Review. Her debut collection Umberto’s Night won the poetry prize from Washington Writers’ Publishing House. Featured on Poetry Daily and Verse Daily, Hellen’s work has been nominated multiple times for Best of the Net, the Pushcart and recently Best American Short Stories. She is the author of The Only Country Was the Color of My Skin, Meet Me at the Bottom, and two chapbooks.She lives in Baltimore.