My Birthday Party
Birthday is a memorable day in one's life. This is the day when a person was born. Children around the world celebrate the day in different ways. My birthday is in March. Every year, I celebrate the with my friends. My parents ask my friends to come to our home and have a party. My parents decorate the house nicely. My father orders birthday cake. My mother usually buys me a new dress. In the afternoon my friends come. They bring gifts for me.
The cake is placed on a large table. Candles are placed on the cake. When the programme begins, my friends stand around the table. I blow the candles and cut the cake. My friends sing the birthday song and wish me. On this occasion, my mother 36, prepares delicious dishes. We enjoy the food. We have a lot of fun. My birthday is one of the memorable day for me.
Md. Rizwan Islam (Talha) is a student of grade six in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Echoes of Ravenswood
Part 2: The Descent
The friends landed with a thud, their flashlights flickering as they hit the ground. Groaning, they picked themselves up, realizing they had fallen through a trapdoor into a hidden basement. The air was damp and musty, the faint sound of dripping water echoing through the darkness.
"Is everyone okay?" Jake asked, his voice echoing slightly.
"Yeah, I think so," David replied, rubbing his sore shoulder. "Where are we?"
Emily shone her flashlight around, revealing a narrow corridor lined with old, rusted pipes and crumbling brick walls. The atmosphere was even more oppressive down here, the weight of the earth above them adding to their growing sense of dread.
"We need to find a way out of here," Sarah said, her voice trembling.
They began to move cautiously down the corridor, their footsteps echoing eerily. The whispering voices seemed to have followed them, growing louder and more insistent. It was as if the walls themselves were alive, watching and waiting.
As they turned a corner, they came upon a series of doors. Each was marked with strange symbols and covered in a thick layer of dust. The friends exchanged uneasy glances, the sense of foreboding growing stronger.
"Should we open one?" Emily asked hesitantly.
"Do we have a choice?" Jake replied. "We need to find a way out, and this might be our only option."
They chose a door at random, Jake turning the handle slowly. The door creaked open, revealing a small room filled with old, rotting furniture and stacks of yellowed papers. In the center of the room was a large, ornate mirror, its surface tarnished and cracked.
Emily approached the mirror, her curiosity getting the better of her. As she wiped away the grime, she gasped. The reflection showed not just their group, but also shadowy figures standing behind them, their faces twisted in expressions of agony.
"Guys, look at this," she whispered, her voice shaking.
The others gathered around, their faces pale as they saw the ghostly figures in the mirror. Suddenly, one of the figures moved, its hand reaching out towards Emily. She stumbled back, her heart racing.
"We need to get out of here, now," David said, his voice urgent.
They backed out of the room, closing the door behind them. The whispering voices grew louder, now accompanied by faint, ghostly laughter. Panic began to set in as they hurried down the corridor, desperate to find an exit.
After what felt like hours, they came upon a set of stairs leading upwards. Relief washed over them as they climbed the steps, hoping to find a way back to the surface. However, as they reached the top, they found themselves in a large, circular chamber.
The chamber was lined with ancient, decaying bookshelves, and in the center stood a stone altar covered in strange, ritualistic markings. The air was thick with the scent of old, damp paper and something else, something metallic.
"Where are we?" Sarah asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Before anyone could answer, the door behind them slammed shut, and the room was plunged into darkness. The friends huddled together, their flashlights casting eerie shadows on the walls.
Suddenly, the altar began to glow with a faint, otherworldly light. The markings seemed to come alive, writhing and shifting like living things. The ghostly laughter grew louder, echoing through the chamber.
"We need to destroy whatever this is," Jake said, his voice filled with determination.
They approached the altar, their flashlights flickering as if the very air was trying to extinguish them. David picked up a heavy book from one of the shelves, intending to use it to smash the altar. As he lifted it, the room seemed to pulse with energy.
Just as he was about to strike, a figure appeared before them. It was a woman, her face pale and her eyes filled with sorrow. She seemed to be made of mist, her form shifting and shimmering in the faint light.
"Please, help us," she whispered, her voice filled with despair.
The friends froze, unsure of what to do. The woman reached out a hand, and they could see the marks of chains on her wrists. She seemed to be pleading with them, her eyes filled with a desperate need.
"Who are you?" Emily asked, her voice trembling.
"We are the lost souls of the Blackburn Mansion," the woman replied. "We were trapped here by a curse, bound to this place for eternity. Only you can set us free."
"How?" Jake asked, his voice filled with a mix of fear and determination.
"Destroy the altar," the woman said. "It is the source of the curse. Break it, and we will be released."
With a determined nod, David brought the book down on the altar with all his strength. The room seemed to explode with light, the air filled with a deafening roar. The friends were thrown back, their flashlights clattering to the ground.
When the light finally faded and the roar subsided, the friends found themselves lying on the cold stone floor. They groaned and slowly sat up, their heads spinning. The room was now eerily silent, the oppressive atmosphere lifted.
"Is everyone okay?" Jake asked, helping Emily.
Nahyean Taronno is a student of grade eight in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Time
Time ticks on, a constant beat,
Days and nights in a rhythmic sweep.
Moments pass, both fast and slow,
As we watch our lives unfold and grow.
Seconds tick, hours run,
Life moves on, one by one.
In each breath, every rhyme,
We feel the touch of time.
Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Violin
When I was a child, I only wanted to be a doctor when I grew up and heal people.
Today, I was sitting in front of the window in desperation, I needed a doctor myself. My eyes are weak, I could not see the beauty of nature. I had only one dream in my heart – to heal people. At that moment I remembered that my father had a violin in an old chest. A few years ago, he taught me how to play the violin.
For some reason I never played it. As soon as I opened the window, the outside world was blowing cool. As I played the violin, the birds stopped chirping, the noise of the street was instantly silenced. My heart seemed to be filled with light.
Out of joy, I made it a habit to play the violin every day. The gentle melody that came out of it soothed the wounds of my heart. Every day, my violin lovers would gather in front of my window and listen to music. Then I realized that if we sincerely intend and strive for it, Allah will deliver everything.
Doctors can heal people, but God gave me the happiness of healing their hearts. Music heals and comforts the human soul. My father’s words: «Weakness should be turned into strength» came to mind today. I turned this weakness into strength and achieved my childhood dream. Now, every day, the audience called me the number one violinist.
Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntosporlasletras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korablznaniy» and «TalentyRossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global
coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «KayvaKishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina's «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.
Scarf
Do not be scared of me
I’m not an alien
Coming from space
Hiding its horrible sensors
Under its hood
I am not here to attack you
No
Don’t be scared
I am not a female spider
Hiding in her web
Trying to wrap your body with my silken thread
I am not a barbaric woman
Just dancing on the drums of death
I am a woman like you
Smiling like you
walking on my feet like you
crying, laughing, dreaming and singing like you
The difference between us is
in the war I lost so many…
It’s a scarf
My scarf
See it, touch it, feel it
Do not let it cover your mind
From seeing the real truth
Faleeha Hassan is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.
She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is a Pulitzer Prize Nominee for 2018, and a Pushcart Prize Nominee for 2019.
She's a member of the International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020, and the Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021). She served on the Women of Excellence selection committees for 2023, was a winner of a Women In The Arts award in 2023 and a Member of Who's Who in America 2023. She's on the Sahitto Award's judging panel for 2023 and a cultural ambassador between Iraq and the US.
For the face of Love
I gain the power to fly in the sky
The charm that always knits me
The glow of sunrise
Of threads in a space so sweet
Unconsciously where I go and come back
No hindrance or bar to cross the Red
Only its your face of love
Make me so powerful to win the race
You stand by me and I like a phoenix
revive
For a love bird I fight from my birth
I die and survive till the last sigh
The green always smiles over
On the seedlings of the paddy
I ride on the cart and reach my home
Sing out the song
‘Bohu diner pirit go bondhu
Ekey dine vengo na’.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
18 June, 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 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.
Letter to the mother
Mom, don’t wait for me,
Crying nightly, daily.
It rains here in the fields,
Screaming heart-rending.
Mom, don’t injure my soul
With eyes swollen from insomnia.
Sunrise each morning, I saw,
Bloody light sobbing.
How I would like to kiss,
Dry your bitter tears.
How can I live in peace,
If you yourself not despair?!
At the scope of the eagles, there,
In the farewell procession mountains.
Take off the black cover,
Straighten your shoulders, smile!
Look at that height right under sky,
Flag pulling hands to you.
I am your son, I am alive,
Leaving homeland to you.
Nigar Nurulla Khalilova, poet, novelist, translator from Azerbaijan, Baku city, currently in Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She is a member of Azerbaijan Writers Union. Nigar N. Khalilova graduated from Azerbaijan Medical university, holds a Ph.D degree. She has been published in the books, literary magazines, anthologies and newspapers in Azerbaijan, Russia, Saudi Arabia, USA over the years. Nigar N. Khalilova participated in poetry festivals and was published in the international poetry festivals anthologies. Conducted data in the Austin International Poetry Festival (AIPF), 2016-2017.
