Poetry from Ashraful Kabir

South Asian man in a brown top with designs down the middle and short brown hair standing in front of a bookshelf.

Evolution

Despite a lot of searching, no road can be seen today.

The only way is to go wrong,

Wandering in the wrong direction;

I lost consciousness on my troubled feet, 

Just behind the illuminated light in an imaginary way.

This is not an intoxication at all

As with any other branches of thought;

Surrounds me like a narcotic.

Question-arrows are thrown at the shadowy time of evening

Hieroglyphic is diagnosed during the trip;

Flying unknowingly, I get indifferent and disappointed, 

Just sit across from the thought behind the conversation.

Yet the same path is often repeated;

I wish I could float a Sampan-boat,

I anchor somewhere near the new lake,

And deliberately change the radar – to the North-south-east-west

Being Amundsen, get involved in searching a new path

Only a difficult vow remains inside the pole of mind.

The pathways are all colourful today. 

The algae and wild high-grasses have sprouted 

Got leaned and worn out. 

Day goes by, night goes by and while waiting for eternity –            

The exhausted path of discovery only turns into an amphibian.

Ashraful Kabir is an essayist & literary critic from East Rampura, Dhaka, Bangladesh. He can be reached at raselasraful@gmail.com


Federico Wardal interviews Dr. Ahmed Elsersawy

Older middle-aged Middle Eastern man, seated at a table with pen and paper, balding, with a black coat and red tie. Green screen background.

A new thought from the land of the Pyramids

PhD Ahmed Elsersawy: A Political Writer passionate about Culture like a Bridge among Nations  

PhD Ahmed Elsersawy, born in Egypt in the mid-1960s, has spent much of his life traveling across continents as a war correspondent. Though he studied economics at university, his professional career has been deeply immersed in arts and culture, which he has always seen as a bridge—one of the shortest and fastest ways to connect people, regardless of their differences.  

This “secret blend” of journalism, war coverage, economics, and culture reflects his belief in diversity, acceptance, and humanity’s ability to simply act in their authenticity as human beings and individual uniqueness. 

He emphasizes, as he often says, that what matters is where a person ends up, not where they began. 

When I asked him to elaborate, he explained that we, as humans, are not responsible for where we are born, our names, or the cultural heritage we carry. However, we are entirely responsible for our beliefs, ideas, and intellect once we mature. This is where the importance of culture and arts lies; they guide a person toward their authentic path and goals, drawing them toward becoming a good human being in the sense defined by the “philosophy of beauty.”  

So tells us the Egyptian journalist Ahmed Elsersawy , who works for one of Egypt’s most prestigious and widely circulated media institutions, “Akhbar Al-Youm.” This comes in light of his launch of a new initiative that has resonated widely in Egypt and abroad: “Bridges of the Sea and the Ocean.” The initiative aims to create cultural and artistic bridges connecting the peoples of the Mediterranean (the Sea) with the peoples of the Americas (the Ocean), spanning the Atlantic and Pacific.

To this purpose he has identified the new SF Mayor Daniel Lurie and Hon. Angela Alioto, a Californian of Italian origin as agents for the  plan “Bridges of the Sea and the Ocean” creating a strong cultural, artistic and social cooperation and twinning between SF and its ethnic groups as Asians, Latinos , Italians etc., Rome as  center of the Mediterranean and Cairo, the door to the East. 

Image of the pyramids of Egypt in the desert with clouds and the sun's rays behind them.

Elsersawy intends to officially invite the SF Mayor Daniel Lurie and Hon. Angela Alioto to Egypt to create solid synergies with Californian universities and strengthen the cinematographic bridge between the Arab world and California, highlighting the documentary aspect to promote cultural exchanges.

And we come to religious dialogue, which is fundamental to achieving goals of peace. 

To this end, not only is special attention given to the Franciscans in Egypt and to the city of SF founded by the Franciscan missions, but a recent Arabic-to-Italian and English translation of one of his most significant works, a book about Pope Shenouda III (1923–2012), the Coptic Orthodox Patriarch of Egypt, is in preparation. Pope Shenouda III is considered one of the greatest patriarchs in the nearly 2,000-year history of the Coptic Orthodox Church. 

The book is planned to be presented at the Egyptian Academy of Rome, directed by Dr. Rania Yahya and in SF and LA . 

Among Elsersawy’s six published works, this particular book stands out for reflecting his unique vision and strong enthusiasm for diversity, embracing differences, and accepting the “other.” A Muslim writer documenting the “genius of the 117th Patriarch in the history of the Egyptian Coptic Orthodox Church,” Elsersawy approached Pope Shenouda not as a clergyman but as a leader who witnessed Egypt’s societal, political, security, and economic changes over eight decades. He tells the story of the Pope’s life through the lens of these transformations and their impact.  

In addition to this fascinating book, Al-Sarsawi is currently working on a Ph.D. in International Media. He has also authored a book about Egypt’s war in October 1973, a short story collection published in Beirut, and a memoir about his work as a military correspondent, covering wars in Kosovo (1999), Ethiopia and Eritrea (2000), and several Middle Eastern conflicts from 2005 to the present.  

Moreover, Elsersawy is a former press advisor to the Egyptian government, a screenwriter, and a documentary filmmaker. Influenced by prominent Egyptian writers like the Nobel Prize Naguib Mahfouz, Ihsan Abdel Quddous, and Abbas Al-Akkad, Elsersawy is currently training aspiring documentary filmmakers in the Gulf and North Africa to prepare a new generation capable of competing at international festivals.

Poetry from Gabriela Peinado Bertalmio

Light-skinned woman with brown eyes and light blonde hair, earrings, lipstick, and a necklace with a large heart pendant. She's got a black top and coat.

MOTHER UNDERSTAND ME

It is said that those who have the gift of procreation are granted

the divine right to be a mother.

It is said that he is a being who gives everything

To concepts where love is circular

To wakefulness, tears, joys

and with greater audacity of great courage and courage to contain

To maintain

Want unconditionally, stripping time to deposit it in you.

It is said that it comes from the Latin mater

and this becomes a significant meaning

Matrix matter, origin of life

Creation

Evolution

To endless history perpetuating the species,

Infinite energy mamma amma nutricia…

so many definitions and interpretations

and in the facts… near or far are these concepts…

Mother

Understand

That from my location of receiving desire

fervently keep yourself for yourself,

collect from life and your progeny the laughter

and this ups and downs in fruits, sweets, flowers and loves

That you offer yourself to life,

fulfill expectations and

with a rainbow of multiple colors

fly with your dreams and concrete projects

You emit sparkles, sparkles in your beautiful eyes

That you have come to spend

and introject so many lessons learning

and personal value,

limit to so much commitment and responsibility

I tell her

To the good mother

To the one that provides containment, shelter and advice,

which denotes imperfection, chaos and recomposition,

The one who deigns well to love herself,

take care of herself and protect herself

For example, model is what I want

As a mirror to frame, adore

May your days be more than a special day!

Melt into hugs, kisses

and spaces of pure rest to so much effort

Mother present,

In the sky or wherever you are

Understand me:

That I want you free

You to me

Me to you

GABRIELA PEINADO BERTALMÍO – Dr. Honoris Causa (3 doctorates) in Culture, Peace and Health. Issued by outstanding universities. •Degree in Psychology from the University of the Republic O. Of Uruguay (UdelaR) .Post-degree Cognitive Behavioral A.LA.MO.C (Latin American Association of Behavior Modification), various specializations. •Professional Coach University of Barcelona CIECC, with all specializations: labor, educational, sports, business. •Educator in Human Values, gender and labor insertion (Ministry of Education and Culture) •President for South America in Physical Culture and Sports of UNAcccc United Nations. • President for Uruguay of the Federation of International Leadership and Open Intelligence. •Member of the board of directors of the Mil Mentes International cloister. •Poet, writer, designer of national and international renown with hundreds of recognitions.

•Referent in pioneering treatment in the world PIITRASS (Translational Integral Research Psychology) with the inclusion of therapeutic laser or photo bio laser modulation. •Member of the GPW Global Peace Women International directory •Director of the Psychological Clinical Center DAARCE (Attentional Diversity in Autonomies for Behavioral Recovery and Estimate) •President for Uruguay of the Federation of Feathers and Letters of Curumaní. Participation in numerous national and international poetic anthologies. •Athlete, Ultra Marathoner of national and international renown and current. •Captain of the Sports Team Actitud Celeste. • Referent in the incorporation of psychological space in sports, • Psychologist of the Group of Athletes of Uruguay. Member of the Sports Psychology Commission of the Athletic Confederation of Uruguay (C.A.U) •Six annual podiums given in the Group of Athletes of Uruguay (A.A.U). •More than 30 podiums in national and international races. • Founding member of International Management Competence. •Director for Uruguay of CONLEAM. (Confederation of Artists and Writers of America) •Member of the ERATO Group (Uruguayan poets) •15 years in political order acting as Coordinator of technicians and emission of Edu sports projects. ~Teaching exercised: CIECC, Escuela F. Delano Roosevet, Ministry of Social Development, Ministry of Education and Culture ~Receips of international recognitions: Victoria Awards, Phoenix Awards, 2 Award the Best legislatura de Bs.As. Props, Silver Seagull, etc. 50 memorable Latin American women Querétaro Mexico Nov. 2023.

Recently, Nelson Mandela recognized the quality of World Giants in the projection of Peace and comprehensiveness, given to 12 world personalities and representing the country. Rome Antonianum University. Nov. 2024. _In overcoming and growth, we move forward together. _

Poetry from Linette Rabsatt

A Day Out

A day out

Is not complete

Without

A place to rest my feet

Some floss for my teeth

After eating nice treats

Which I should pack in the bag

Along with some rags

To wipe the sweat

Because this heat

Is not one easily beat

And even with the largest water bottle

You can’t compete

But we need to have water

Or the day out will be a disaster

and I can’t forget the comfy shoes

so that way I don’t get bruised

if I fall on my face

because no day out should end in disgrace

or course, I can’t forget my keys and IDs

and any tickets to gain entry

because a day out is a time out

for me to relax and shout out

that I’m not working today

and my day will go by what I say

and I say it’s great to be away

to enjoy something new

Pack Mentality

you’d never tickle a prickle

or be rude to an obstinacy

you’ll shiver if you see a quiver

remove the blockade for the parade

who does transactions with a business

or asks a cry to cackle

who’d throw albumen at a yoke

or be too haughty to hunt with the pride

bet you wouldn’t dance with a rhumba

or take your illness to a fever

could you walk up the hill with a descent

or be lazy unlike a labor

willing to fly with a kettle

or wear black with a stand

maybe tether the leash

or ask the tower to lay down

you can’t quiet the sounder

or be brave with the cowardice

don’t play with the shadows

the garden hates the clouds

you can’t be blind to the gaze

or get dragged by the string

we may do better with the richness

in the parliament of fowls

Poetry from Fayowole Benjamin

  1. AFTERMATH ECHOES OF DEVASTATION

& today I want to write about war.

Of a country. So, I pick a book to write.

& in this book, I saw another book trying to become a book.

a history. & this book birth six pages of beautiful calligraphy

filled with scars from the aftermath of a war—

A testament of time and memory.

1.

A baby drank the blood of his parents

when he saw a bullet pass through them.

2.

Our village men bare their chest

in boldness, handling a metal they never knew

& fell like autumn leaves. One..

Two. Three. More.

3.

 Fire rained from the sky

and thousand dropped into the ground.

4.

A boy was crying in the middle of a burnt village

that his father went to the farm,

&  his mother went to the market,

& not one of them came back home.

5.

The village chief went to the

empty field, then to the marketplace,

& to the riverside,

& the only treasure he found

is the ashes of his peoples.

6.

Every day, we blend war into our skin,

and chew its aftermath like a bitter kola.

But we never learn how to let it go

off the memory of love.

  1. BROKEN PRAYERS.

It is the late hour of the moon.

Cookoo- roo-koo, a rooster crowed and

We bent our knees and watched it kiss the ground.

we knot our hands and let it it beat our hearts upward.

we shiver, the rain splash, we grit our teeth

& say words broken between lines

that thunders the earth,

& lighten  the sky.

Darkness threatened to overcome light

& we say, more words like fragment

of a broken water caged in our hearts.

Before the tattered altar,

Our soul withered away like the wind.

Away to the top of a lonely mountain,

where we bury ourselves in God’s memory.

  1. PARADES OF UNSUNG THRENODIES.

Let me begin this poem like this;

A heartless song surfaces in love’s lust,

& its sour melody strikes the string of a old

zither killing the silence of  night.

Outside my window pane, under the purple light,

a lonely bird sits on a grass of reeds

& sings a song of loss; it builds a castle of grief,

A friend wrote; Life is such a greasely wound.

Let me begin this poem again.

A heartless song surface in love’s lust,

& In fields where we once played football,

like the dried leaves from a tree, many souls fell.

Some are children that got lost on their mothers back

& some are children that got lost with love’s intoxication.

A god once passed by this field, and played

a sonorous tune to the voices in the unknown.

Essay from Gulsora Mulikboyeva

Central Asian woman in a knit winter hat and brown coat with white fur at the shoulders. Younger middle-aged.

Beautiful Writing

When I recall my distant school days, one event never leaves my memory. Our school primarily focused on subjects such as mathematics and physics, as there were more teachers for those subjects. Due to a lack of teachers for native language, literature, and history, teachers from the fields of mathematics or biology would often teach these subjects instead. Often, lessons of native language and literature were replaced with physics and mathematics classes.

One day, a native language and literature teacher arrived from a faraway village to our dear school. Although no one had seen the new teacher yet, the whole village was buzzing with talk about her. There were rumors circulating that she was “very strict,” that she would “kick any student out of class who didn’t participate,” or that she would “keep us in class until the evening.” Finally, the much-anticipated moment arrived. A teacher, who seemed to be in her early twenties or mid-twenties, entered our classroom, accompanied by the director. She had a pleasant demeanor, a good posture, and a smile on her face. The director introduced the teacher, wishing us success in the new academic year before leaving the class.

All twenty students in the class couldn’t take their eyes off the teacher. Our native language and literature teacher, with great kindness, read our names from the class journal and went through each one of us, introducing herself. Thus, our first lesson became an introductory session. Our new teacher made an effort to conduct lessons in a simpler and more engaging manner. We, the model students, believed that the subjects of native language and literature were not particularly difficult.

Soon, the lesson processes began. One day, our favorite teacher assigned us to write an essay about our favorite character. We all completed the assignment and submitted it to the teacher. During the next lesson, our teacher reviewed the essays, corrected them, and returned them to us. Almost all of us received very low grades. Our notebooks were marked with red ink, indicating that grammatical mistakes had been corrected. For some reason, many of us wrote poorly and unclearly. Whispers and noisy expressions of surprise began in the classroom. Even the top students in the class received bad grades.

One classmate, despite his poor handwriting, insisted on the importance of writing without mistakes, while others argued that the minor punctuation errors did not count as significant mistakes. Sensing the wave of discussions rising in the class, our teacher finally spoke up, as always in a calm but serious tone, “Dear students! Writing without mistakes reflects one’s literacy. Beautiful handwriting demonstrates valuable moral qualities. Writing poorly, with spelling mistakes, does not suit you. Such shortcomings must be addressed.” We all sat in silence. The lesson ended in that manner.

After the lessons, the upper-grade students scattered to their respective homes. Some were searching for something in books late at night, pondering how to write without mistakes. Others tried to emulate the elegant letters they saw in books to improve their handwriting. Meanwhile, some of us, as if pretending to be bankrupt business people or bosses who had made mistakes somewhere, watched television. Others, disregarding it, felt that this issue was not a matter of life and death. Deep down, they were agitated and embarrassed. Each of us wrestled with the question of “How could I have made so many mistakes in my writing?” It troubled our conscience to be in high school yet make so many errors. Everyone hoped that this process would pass more quickly.

Gulsora Mulikboyeva, 4th-year student of the “Life Safety in Activities” program at Samarkand State University of Architecture and Construction.

Poetry from Sodiqova Adolatxon

RAIN


When rain fell before, we’d sing with delight,
But now when it rains, we feel lost in the night.
The streets turn to mud, and we stay inside,
Bored through the day, with nowhere to hide.
Oh, rain in your shower, please cease your parade,
Let joy return back, let the sun’s warmth invade. 

Sodiqova Adolatxon

Hamid Olimjon and Zulfiya Creative school