Heart
To my heart
they have hurt him
hundred times.
Treachery
tore it apart,
The deception
shook him.
disloyalty
made him bleed...
But nothing
he annihilated him.
With pain he beat
and again
but he did not succumb.
always
reborn
showing me
that exist
beautiful things
by which
it's worth living.
The ones that hurt
must be left behind
as experience
that I must not repeat.
Mirta Liliana Ramírez has been a poet and writer since she was 12 years old. She has been a Cultural Manager for more than 35 years. Creator and Director of the Groups of Writers and Artists: Together for the Letters, Artescritores, MultiArt, JPL world youth, Together for the letters Uzbekistan 1 and 2. She firmly defends that culture is the key to unite all the countries of the world. She works only with his own, free and integrating projects at a world cultural level. She has created the Cultural Movement with Rastrillaje Cultural and Forming the New Cultural Belts at the local level and also from Argentina to the world.
Vow
The world is a vow
To keep our promise to the Creator
We have our beauty of eyes
Inner and outer
The sight around
What teaches us?
To learn and obey the plan made for us
Our daily performance
Who is not charmed?
From the beginning of our birth
We have gradually felt a sense of love and to be loved
Love for the self and standing before the mirror
For the sky and the stars twinkling at night, my dear, a soft call
What a vow to each other and for all!
Cultivating in our hearts in the field of work
Though broken frequently, so what?
We have come here with a word so touching, Vow.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh,
12 January, 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 being published in an International Online Magazine - Synchronized Chaos from America for seven years.
Long live Azerbaijan!
Your circulation is moving,
Your flag is waving In its original place.
Long live Azerbaijan!
You are a savior, a hero,
You are this day of the past
In the hearts of our people.
Long live Azerbaijan!
His love, his love,
Nation, people,
When you carry it.
Long live Azerbaijan!
The world has sympathy,
To his just judgment,
There is fire in your coat of arms,
Long live Azerbaijan!
You have a geographical location,
Scandalous fate,
To the east of the aspects,
Long live Azerbaijan!
Thankfully, in the world,
There is - in addition to the state,
Within countries,
Long live Azerbaijan!
Elmaya Jabbarova was born in Azerbaijan. She is a poet, writer, reciter, and translator.
Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Shargin sesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for Africa», «Juntos por las Letras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.
UNSCRUPULOUS
Hope buried
Under the rubble of ignorance
Gray cries
Screams that make you laugh
Laughter that is scary
Values: discarded
The sky cries while the afternoon dies
At which bend in the road He lost her?
When did the magic leave him?
A trumpet sounds under a voice of command
Will fulfill your destiny as an opaque rite
Earth man
Fool man
Unscrupulous
Sneaky hail about a pink laugh
Man of trembling intelligence overshadowed by her folly
Apologize for nothing
And screams making only noise
She is a region of echoes
Plastered rose that is filled with pure air and is reborn, the next day
She can feel the elements and spin
With them
She can go from repose to dreams and from dreams to eternity
Yes she is poetry and a thousand times choose to be
She can lose herself in hers center without losing the essence of it,
Throbbing like her blood, wandering like a cloud
Earth man
Of false arguments of misunderstood philosophy
Stay in your loft of hypocrisy and miss what for the last time made him feel alive.
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 .UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is a commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.
I met a white-skinned Arab with Phoenician blood imprinted in his genes.
He wears a red cap with black fringes, it was the cap of my ancestors.
He was sitting on the floor on a carpet of rich colors,
And I recognized the Serbian Pirot pattern on them.
How can I say that he is my brother by blood,
When few people know that the Phoenician script is the same as the old Serbian script.
I saw a young woman of unprecedented beauty on the cheeks, chin and forehead
I saw Vinča letters, the letters of our great-grandfathers.
I took off my hat out of respect, smiled at my brother and sister, and went on my way.
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.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila, Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for truth in pursuit of equality and proper stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
From the Mists of the Moon
From the mists of the Moon I was born
Avalon remembered in a silky dawn
Riding side saddle out of the Sea of Tranquility
Soft, soft, pale silver light riding
Shimmering silent and still.
Oh, soul of the pale echoes
The forgotten dreams of waves,
Of motion, of eddies, the whirlpools
Of becoming will.
Carry me golden sea horse
Into the valley and over the hill
Galloping against the head wind, wayward
With wild hair flying,
Send me cascading downward
From bright rainbows mounted
Atop my bright majesty, dump me
Into the sluice of sunbeams
Rising to meet me
Careening homeward to Earth
In my quickening dreams.
From the mists of the moon I come
Riding the waves homeward
Alee of my dreams breaking shoreward
In the shadowy wake of morning.
Homeward, homeward in dreams
Of dawn and sunshine spreading
Like a mantle of gold
Worn only for best-day;
Adorned with ribbons of stars
All dripping of midnight
I stretch out to dry on the beach
Of high noon reality and breath.
From the mists of the moon I come
Giddy and girl-like, tiptoeing home
Long after midnight, dreamily disheveled
Hair tangled with the taste of night
And the songs of a lunar prom
Lingering on rose petal lips -
I enter the house of day
Pregnant with moonlight.
Annie Johnson
Annie Johnson is 84 years old. She is Shawnee Native American. She has published two, six hundred-page novels and six books of poetry. Annie has won several poetry awards from world poetry organizations including; World Union of Poets; she is a member of World Nations Writers Union; has received the World Institute for Peace award; the World Laureate of Literature from World Nations Writers Union and The William Shakespeare Poetry Award. She received a Certificate and Medal in recognition of the highest literature from International Literary Union for the year 2020, from Ayad Al Baldawi, President of the International Literary Union. She has three children, two grandchildren, and two sons-in-law. Annie played a flute in the Butler University Symphony. She still plays her flute.
