Inside, Outside

The storm outside, flying the leaves

The branches of the tress are jerking too much

With the hearts in the room we live in

Suddenly the absented mind jumped to the sea

Once the sea birds while passing on the ship

I watched them flying rounding the feathers

Floating on the waves I thought of the sky

And the bounty of the flowing waters

I am getting lost in the far distance from the beach

Life turns it end at the moment of enjoying the beautiful nature

The storm is blowing inside

We hide from each other so quick

As the red crabs take shelter in the sand after sometimes the sun rises

Standing on the track we count our days like that fire smoking vanishes

Time is so hard but no matter

We live in sweet dreams

O sweet faces, awaken in my heart

Switched on the light to sleep in the lovely garden.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

20  December, 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 seven years.

***
gardens bloom without permission
but I think I should ask permission to love you

lonely space drowns in infinity
I dream of building a sand castle for you and me

water kills sand
I’m killing our loneliness

time grinds my dreams
after many years together we are still alone

***
the window
of autumn is burning
in my pupils

***
dot
tomb for text

***
expectation of victory
number 13 during lottery

***
how many faces
do people have
with their faces
torn off?

***
The mouse gnaws time
The train kisses silence

The night seems surprisingly calm
The siren of the air alarm has become a habit

***
pregnant with death
executioners with
the eyes of the night
give birth to silence

***
A gentle wind
Рlays with the leaves
Leaf has no choice

***
bird stuck in the clouds
feet drowned in puddles
time falls apart
in my eyes

***
the snow is back
the bird is looking for a home
among the old newspapers

***
spring thunder
in the belly of nature
nature is our mother

***
Unborn Jesus cries because
he will not be crucified

***
orange joy in the snow
small trees are shivering in the cold
small children die in a warm bed

***
he cut off his leg so that people would finally love him
but only field mice are capable of endless love (and then depending on the presence of the necessary hormones)

black cat plays with a dead mouse just for fun
a mouse’s half-eaten corpse is lying in the middle of the road

lipless pigeons kiss on a branch of a felled tree
anti-tank ditches devour the remains of legs

On Changing

I would like to thank you all for joining us here today as we "celebrate“ the life of that thing.

You said I never changed, but I have. I changed more than you ever could imagine in your ant-sized brain.

You said I never changed, but I have.
I changed in ways you never could, as your heart and brain are made of pumice, as they are volcanic, light, and worthless. You said I never changed, but I have. I changed in important ways, in ways you never could, as you are a cold, unchanging, hypocritical, Asshole.

You said I never changed but I have, I've grown more than you ever could, or ever did. Or ever would want to.

I HAVE changed, and I'm sick and fucking tired of you having said that I haven't.

This poem is part of Corey Cook’s recently released chapbook heads held low, which is available here.

My Sunset

You are the sun that sets my sunset on fire,

Painting the sky with fire and passion;

A fiery red, a satin orange,

Where your kisses, sweet honey, merge in my song.

Your voice, the breeze that whispers softly,

Among the leaves of my heart;

A warm whisper, a scent that bewitches me,

Like the jasmine that blooms in the afternoon, without ceasing.

Your gaze, the sea that calms my wave,

A deep blue, an endless mystery;

Its waves, gentle caresses on my soul,

That cradle my fears and make me smile.

You are the moon that guides my night,

With its silver light, full of peace;

A soft glow, a silver halo,

That lights up my path and turns my face away.

My sunset is beautiful, tinged with gold,

Because in your love I find my dawn;

The perfume of your skin, the fragrance of the dew,

An eternal dawn, a sweet and warm comfort.

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

In a vision I had a hat and a coat, warm pants and boots. But nothing was at all for what people think of as style or fashion. Everything was functional only, and it was in the days before trouble and such. Happy. I was between two hills, in a clearing, behind my house then. I know exactly where I was.

On one side, where I came from, were large homes, while on the other side were sullen grey brick buildings, seemingly with no joy. It was snowing thick and fast and it wasn’t too windy. My eyes were closed and sometimes opened and I looked up and tried to let the snow land in my eyes. I would sense when it did and it didn’t bother me. I was with my spirit and with the spirit and the nature world and air and snow was also a spirit. Spirit spirit spirit spirit spirit. I was alone. All alone, world-wise. I turned sometimes like a whirling dervish. I didn’t really have a focal point like ballerinas use I just rather saw everything and became dizzy and fell over.

The ground was softened by snow. There was nothing gold at all, but later, I thought of it as a golden place for it somehow felt golden. I was innocent. I had always been innocent. That was how I felt the gold. I turned from my side which I had landed on, to my back and stared around. Everything looked different and from that perspective one spot was not good and one spot was not bad. There were just things. The buildings and their balconies, the high brown framed rooftop. Trees to the side. The fence where the ravine began. Grey.

My own wooden fence that sat atop a series of railway ties that made a retaining wall. How was I there? And why? I heard a bird, and didn’t see anything, but then thought I saw something fly through the winter air out of the corner of my eye. The neighbour’s yard, completely different, with no fence or walls or anything at all. Which is ironic or something because the owner was a skilled and successful engineer.

His youngest son adopted me as a younger brother to him, in real life. Though from eight siblings, he had nobody after him. He taught me how to tie my shoelaces. Later, how to fight. And he taught me well because I could win against a few of the older kids. And how to skateboard. I wonder whatever happened to him. The ravine things like trees just grew there also. A manicured cultivated world in parts, and a feral earth in others. Nobody went past. I could hear no soul. I thought I heard angels singing but they were distant, in the inside somewhere in another world. It was nice. I was warm but then began to feel cold. I stood up. I was still okay but my head hurt a little bit. The sun had been somewhere and now it was getting dark, given to a sudden dusk. I felt a bit nervous for some reason. Cleaning the snow off myself, and adjusting my hat, I began to make steps towards home. 

FAREWELL 

I've got to say "farewell"
For now, I'm happy to tell.
This is my ultimate goodbye.
Not a single drop of tear to cry.

Farewell to you, the old "me!"
Elated like winning a prix.
Call of a grandeur awakening,
To a better self, I am becoming.

Life of anxieties and melancholy,
Recreated into joy and serenity.
Life of fear and loneliness,
Now filled with love and happiness.

Drowned into the waters of desperation,
Now facing the beauty with sheer admiration.
It is my time to shine and rejoice
For in my life, this is my best choice!

Farewell to the self of my yesterdays,
Know the new me without overlays.
See the most beautiful transformation,
Richly deserving great felicitation.

Leaving behind cynicism, be shunned
As the days roll by and quickly spun
It's a day to wear my heart on my sleeve,
I am at my best, trust and believe!

Writing is the tool of emotional healing”. Meet Abeera Mirza, an English literature gold medalist, teacher and gifted poet. She won numerous awards for her passion for words. Her poem “Sorry” has inspired readers to heal. It started with poetry and progressed to prose. Abeera has contributed to more than 200 anthologies and many international magazines such as Raven Cage (Germany), Barcelona Magazine (Spain), Pencraft Literary Magazine (Bangladesh), International Literature Language Journal (USA), Alessandra Today, (Italy) Cultural Reverence WordPress, (India) Orfeu. Al, (Albania), Fatehpur Resolution Blogspot (India) and Poetic Essence Publications (India). Her interview has been published on The Mount Kenya Times and Poetic Essence Publications (India). She has won many titles such as Miss Literary Critic by her university. (University of Lahore, Pakistan). Her inner peace is ignited by reading and traveling. She is serving as a jury member for Maverick Writing Community, India where she helps emerging writers to grow. Her perspective is expanded by diverse poetic exploration. Her passion for learning is endless. She is always looking to learn more beyond boundaries. Abeera’s writing style has touched countless lives. It gives a deep understanding of words and their ability to bring change. She is renowned for healing hearts. May her words help in healing.

Email: abeera.quotes@gmail.com 
Facebook|Instagram: @abeera_quotes