GAZA

Gaza, land of ancient olive trees,

its branches, arms that implore the sky,

its leaves, yellowish green tears,

under a scorching sun, a slow fire.

Its houses, boats stranded on the sand,

hit by waves of war and apathy,

its walls, stories engraved in stone,

of resistance and pain, an open wound.

Its children, flowers that grow among rubble,

with eyes that reflect an uncertain tomorrow,

full of the uncertainty of reconstruction.

its laughter, echoes that seek a tomorrow,

in a withered garden, with no spring nearby.

Its streets, rivers of tears and hope,

that flow among ruins, looking for a way out,

its people, stars that shine in the night,

despite the darkness, a light on.

Gaza, a poem written in blood and pain,

a song to life, which resists the clamor,

a cry of hope, which rises to the sky,

a call for peace, a new future.

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.

The Killings of Gaza

The blood flowing on the ground

The world takes its shape in a new mould

By the sound the birds flew away quickly to the safe

The sky became so gloomy

The shiny morning turned into smoky brown

The lightning in the darkness of night shattered down

The children, the women, the young and the old

The devastated area

Oh! Pathetic deaths for whom are you call us?

No reply without a long sigh

Wildfire is running in place of humanity

Sorrows, sufferings, torture and deaths happening in everyday life

It’s as if like the hereditary wealth

From the other side of the spot we see, hear and get scared

As the condition for the deer in the rush in front of a hungry tiger

Nothing to do without feeling hatred for the killers

On the other side sympathized with the people in Gaza

The storm is blowing, the world moving in the cyclone

‘To be or not to be – that is the question’  

We, all stand in the puzzling and haggling queue

But justice never goes injustice

Time will take us to face the judge

And the victims must enter into their mirthful goal

Though out of sight,

Every day in the sprouting green fields

Where fresh oxygen makes our veins flow clean

And in the twinkling sky

They are laughing and singing the songs of joy!

How sweet they dream in sleep!

How would they lead their lives tomorrow?

Can we imagine?

 Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

 27  January, 2025.

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.

Καλησπέρα σας
Παρακαλώ πολύ όπως δημοσιεύσετε τα ποιήματα

Taghrid Boumerhi
Poet
Translator
Journalist
Lebanon
Brasil




Θέμα: Poem Written Y translation by TAGHRID BOU MERHI

"BETWEEN SILENCE AND NOTHINGNESS" 
Poem in Arabic language written and translated into English, Italiano, Spanish, French and Portuguese by poet and Translator TAGHRID BOU MERHI 

بين الصمت والعدم

في البدءِ، كانتِ الكلماتُ تُخلقُ من الرماد، ثمَّ تتلاشى في الفراغِ كأنّها لم تكن.
كنتُ أحاولُ أن أسمعَ صوتَ الظلِّ وهوَ ينسحبُ من الجدار، لكنَّ الجدارَ لم يكنْ هناك.
كنتُ أبحثُ عن يدٍ تمسكُ بالزمنِ، فأمسكتُ بريحٍ خفيفةٍ تسرّبتْ من بينِ أصابعي.
ثمَّ أدركتُ أنَّ الفراغَ يزدادُ امتلاءً كلّما حاولتُ قياسَهُ،
وأنَّ العدمَ يُمسكُ بالعالمِ مثلَ قصيدةٍ لم تكتملْ.

تُرى، هل كانَ الإنسانُ فكرةً تأخّرتْ عن الوصول؟
هل كانَ ظلَّ احتمالٍ نسيَ أنْ يعودَ إلى جسده؟
كنتُ أراقبُ الوقتَ وهوَ يسيلُ على طاولةٍ من زجاج،
كانَ الزمنُ يذوبُ ببطءٍ، يتركُ أثرَهُ على الأصابعِ ثمَّ يختفي،
لكنَّ أحداً لم يلاحظْ أنَّ الطاولةَ كانتْ تصدأُ من الداخل.

في الخارجِ، كانَ الصمتُ يملأُ الأزقّةَ مثلَ دخانٍ باردٍ،
والأبوابُ تُفتحُ على نفسها دونَ أن يدخلَ أحدٌ أو يخرجَ.
الأرصفةُ تنتظرُ خطواتٍ لم تأتِ،
والأشجارُ تحاولُ أن تُقنعَ العابرينَ أنّها لا تزالُ تتنفّسُ.

هل ثمّةَ بابٌ للخروجِ من هذهِ الدائرة؟
ربّما البابُ ليسَ في الجدار،
ربّما البابُ ليسَ باباً، بل فكرةٌ تنزلقُ في الظلامِ ثمَّ تنحلُّ في الهواء.
لكن، كيفَ يخرجُ المرءُ من شيءٍ لا يدركُ حدوده؟
كيفَ يعبرُ إلى الضفّةِ الأخرى دونَ أنْ يعرفَ إنْ كانتْ هناكَ ضفّةٌ أخرى؟

كنتُ أفكّرُ في هذا حينَ سمعتُ صوتاً يسألني:
"من تكونُ؟"
بحثتُ عن إجابةٍ في جيبي، فلم أجدْ سوى حفنةِ غبارٍ قديمٍ
وبقايا أصواتٍ لم يعدْ أحدٌ يذكرُ أصحابَها.
فقلتُ للصوتِ:
"أنا ظِلٌّ يتذكّرُ أنه كانَ ضوءاً،
أنا صدى كلمةٍ نسيَتْ من قالَها،
أنا خطأٌ لم يجدْ مكاناً ليسقطَ فيه،
أنا اللاشيءُ، يسعى ليكونَ شيئاً."

ثمَّ نظرتُ إلى يدي،
فرأيتُ أنني لم أكنْ هناك.

Version Italian 

TRA IL SILENZIO E IL NULLA 

All'inizio, le parole nascevano dalla cenere,
poi svanivano nel vuoto come se non fossero mai esistite.
Cercavo di sentire il suono dell’ombra che si ritirava dal muro,
ma il muro non c’era.
Cercavo una mano che afferrasse il tempo,
ma ho preso solo un vento leggero, sfuggito tra le mie dita.
Poi ho capito che il vuoto si riempie quanto più si cerca di misurarlo,
e che il nulla trattiene il mondo come una poesia incompiuta.

Mi chiedo: l’uomo era forse un’idea arrivata in ritardo?
Era forse l’ombra di una possibilità
che ha dimenticato di tornare al suo corpo?
Osservavo il tempo scorrere su un tavolo di vetro,
si scioglieva lentamente, lasciando tracce sulle dita,
poi scompariva.
Ma nessuno si accorgeva che il tavolo arrugginiva dall’interno.

Fuori, il silenzio riempiva i vicoli come un fumo freddo,
le porte si aprivano su se stesse
senza che nessuno entrasse o uscisse.
I marciapiedi aspettavano passi che non arrivavano,
e gli alberi cercavano di convincere i passanti
che ancora respiravano.

C’è forse una porta per uscire da questo cerchio?
Forse la porta non è nel muro,
forse la porta non è una porta,
ma un’idea che scivola nell’oscurità e si dissolve nell’aria.
Ma come si esce da qualcosa di cui non si conoscono i confini?
Come si attraversa l’altra riva senza sapere se esiste davvero un’altra riva?

Stavo pensando a questo, quando ho sentito una voce chiedermi:
“Chi sei?”
Ho cercato una risposta nella mia tasca,
ma non ho trovato altro che una manciata di polvere antica
e resti di voci di cui nessuno ricordava più i proprietari.
Allora ho detto alla voce:

“Io sono un’ombra che ricorda di essere stata luce,
sono l’eco di una parola che ha dimenticato chi l’ha pronunciata,
sono un errore che non ha trovato un posto dove cadere,
sono il nulla che cerca di diventare qualcosa.”

Poi ho guardato le mie mani,
e ho visto che io non c’ero più.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBANO - BRASILE



English Version

BETWEEN SILENCE AND NOTHINGNESS

In the beginning, words were born from ashes,
then vanished into emptiness as if they had never been.
I tried to hear the sound of the shadow withdrawing from the wall,
but the wall was not there.
I searched for a hand to grasp time,
but I held only a light breeze slipping through my fingers.
Then I realized that emptiness grows fuller the more one tries to measure it,
and that nothingness holds the world like an unfinished poem.

I wonder: was humanity merely an idea that arrived too late?
Was it the shadow of a possibility
that forgot to return to its body?
I watched time flow across a glass table,
melting slowly, leaving its trace on my fingers,
then disappearing.
Yet no one noticed that the table was rusting from within.

Outside, silence filled the alleys like cold smoke,
doors opened onto themselves
without anyone entering or leaving.
Sidewalks awaited footsteps that never came,
and trees tried to convince passersby
that they were still breathing.

Is there a door to escape this circle?
Perhaps the door is not in the wall,
perhaps the door is not a door at all,
but an idea slipping into darkness, dissolving into the air.
But how does one leave something whose boundaries are unknown?
How does one cross to the other shore without knowing if there is another shore?

I was thinking about this when I heard a voice ask me:
"Who are you?"
I searched my pocket for an answer,
but found only a handful of ancient dust
and the remnants of voices whose owners had long been forgotten.
So I said to the voice:

"I am a shadow that remembers being light,
I am the echo of a word that has forgotten who spoke it,
I am a mistake that never found a place to fall,
I am nothingness striving to become something."

Then I looked at my hands,
and saw that I was no longer there.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LEBANON - BRAZIL 



Spanich Version 

ENTRE EL SILENCIO Y LA NADA

Al principio, las palabras nacían de las cenizas,
luego desaparecían en el vacío como si nunca hubieran existido.
Intenté escuchar el sonido de la sombra retirándose de la pared,
pero la pared no estaba allí.
Busqué una mano que sostuviera el tiempo,
pero solo atrapé una brisa ligera que se escapaba entre mis dedos.
Entonces comprendí que el vacío se llena más cuanto más intentamos medirlo,
y que la nada sostiene al mundo como un poema inacabado.

Me pregunto: ¿fue la humanidad solo una idea que llegó tarde?
¿Fue la sombra de una posibilidad
que olvidó regresar a su cuerpo?
Observé el tiempo deslizándose sobre una mesa de cristal,
derritiéndose lentamente, dejando su rastro en mis dedos,
para luego desvanecerse.
Pero nadie notó que la mesa se oxidaba por dentro.

Afuera, el silencio llenaba los callejones como un humo frío,
las puertas se abrían sobre sí mismas
sin que nadie entrara o saliera.
Las aceras esperaban pasos que nunca llegaron,
y los árboles intentaban convencer a los transeúntes
de que aún respiraban.

¿Existe una puerta para salir de este círculo?
Tal vez la puerta no está en la pared,
tal vez la puerta no es una puerta,
sino una idea que se desliza en la oscuridad y se disuelve en el aire.
Pero, ¿cómo se escapa de algo cuyos límites son desconocidos?
¿Cómo se cruza a la otra orilla sin saber si hay otra orilla?

Pensaba en esto cuando escuché una voz preguntarme:
"¿Quién eres?"
Busqué en mi bolsillo una respuesta,
pero solo encontré un puñado de polvo antiguo
y los restos de voces cuyos dueños habían sido olvidados.
Entonces le respondí a la voz:

"Soy una sombra que recuerda haber sido luz,
soy el eco de una palabra que olvidó quién la pronunció,
soy un error que nunca encontró dónde caer,
soy la nada intentando convertirse en algo."

Luego miré mis manos,
y vi que ya no estaba allí.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LÍBANO - BRASIL


-----


Version French 

ENTRE LE SILENCE ET LE NÉANT

Au commencement, les mots naissaient des cendres, puis s’évanouissaient dans le vide comme s’ils n’avaient jamais existé.
J’essayais d’entendre la voix de l’ombre qui se retirait du mur, mais le mur n’était pas là.
Je cherchais une main pour saisir le temps, mais j’ai attrapé une brise légère qui s’est échappée entre mes doigts.
Puis j’ai compris que le vide se remplissait à mesure que j’essayais de le mesurer,
et que le néant tenait le monde comme un poème inachevé.

Se pourrait-il que l’homme soit une idée arrivée en retard ?
Était-il l’ombre d’une possibilité qui avait oublié de retourner à son corps ?
Je regardais le temps couler sur une table en verre,
le temps fondait lentement, laissait sa trace sur les doigts puis disparaissait,
mais personne ne remarquait que la table rouillait de l’intérieur.

Dehors, le silence emplissait les ruelles comme une fumée froide,
et les portes s’ouvraient sur elles-mêmes sans que personne n’entre ni ne sorte.
Les trottoirs attendaient des pas qui ne venaient pas,
et les arbres tentaient de convaincre les passants qu’ils respiraient encore.

Y avait-il une porte pour sortir de ce cercle ?
Peut-être que la porte n’était pas dans le mur,
peut-être que la porte n’était pas une porte, mais une idée qui glissait dans l’obscurité avant de se dissoudre dans l’air.
Mais comment sortir de quelque chose dont on ne perçoit pas les limites ?
Comment traverser vers l’autre rive sans savoir s’il y a une autre rive ?

Je réfléchissais à cela quand j’ai entendu une voix me demander :
"Qui es-tu ?"
J’ai cherché une réponse dans ma poche, mais je n’y ai trouvé qu’une poignée de poussière ancienne
et des restes de voix dont plus personne ne se souvenait.
Alors, j’ai dit à la voix :
"Je suis une ombre qui se souvient d’avoir été lumière,
je suis l’écho d’un mot qui a oublié qui l’avait prononcé,
je suis une erreur qui n’a pas trouvé d’endroit où tomber,
je suis le néant, cherchant à devenir quelque chose."

Puis j’ai regardé ma main,
et j’ai vu que je n’étais plus là.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBAN - BRÉSIL 

---

Version Portuguese

ENTRE O SILÊNCIO E O NADA 

No começo, as palavras nasciam das cinzas, depois se dissipavam no vazio como se nunca tivessem existido.
Eu tentava ouvir a voz da sombra se afastando da parede, mas a parede não estava lá.
Eu procurava uma mão que segurasse o tempo, mas agarrei uma brisa leve que escapou entre meus dedos.
Então percebi que o vazio se tornava mais cheio sempre que eu tentava medi-lo,
e que o nada segurava o mundo como um poema inacabado.

Será que o ser humano era uma ideia que chegou tarde demais?
Seria ele a sombra de uma possibilidade que esqueceu de voltar ao seu corpo?
Eu observava o tempo escorrendo sobre uma mesa de vidro,
o tempo derretia lentamente, deixava sua marca nos dedos e depois desaparecia,
mas ninguém percebia que a mesa enferrujava por dentro.

Lá fora, o silêncio enchia as vielas como uma fumaça fria,
e as portas se abriam para si mesmas sem que ninguém entrasse ou saísse.
As calçadas esperavam passos que nunca vinham,
e as árvores tentavam convencer os transeuntes de que ainda respiravam.

Haveria uma porta para sair desse círculo?
Talvez a porta não estivesse na parede,
talvez a porta não fosse uma porta, mas uma ideia que escorregava na escuridão antes de se dissolver no ar.
Mas como se sai de algo cujos limites não se percebem?
Como atravessar para a outra margem sem saber se existe uma outra margem?

Eu pensava nisso quando ouvi uma voz me perguntar:
"Quem é você?"
Procurei uma resposta no bolso, mas só encontrei um punhado de poeira antiga
e restos de vozes cujos donos ninguém mais lembrava.
Então, disse à voz:
"Sou uma sombra que se lembra de ter sido luz,
sou o eco de uma palavra que esqueceu quem a disse,
sou um erro que não encontrou onde cair,
sou o nada, tentando ser alguma coisa."

Então olhei para minha mão,
e vi que eu já não estava lá.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBANO - BRAZIL 

Unforgettable Moments of Our Final Year

Time flies at an incredible speed. It feels like just yesterday we stepped into university as curious, playful freshmen, struggling to navigate the academic system. And now, before we even realized it, we are in our final year—some of us already married, some even parents, all of us grown into mature individuals. Over the past four years, we have experienced countless challenges and milestones, but today, I want to share the most memorable part of this journey—our final-year internship.

At our university, we are privileged to learn from some of the finest professors, and this extends to our practical training as well. We were fortunate to be mentored by outstanding experts, particularly during our internship at the historical Registan complex. Under the guidance of our supervisor, G. Sirocheva, an experienced and knowledgeable tour guide, we gained invaluable insights into the art of guiding tourists. She spared no effort in sharing her expertise, encouraging us to develop our translation and guiding skills through hands-on practice with both local and foreign visitors.

Samarqand, a city with a rich historical legacy, continues to mesmerize the world with its stunning architectural wonders and centuries-old monuments. Studying its cultural heritage is not only fascinating but also a great responsibility. As aspiring translators and guides, sharing this wealth of knowledge with visitors brings us immense pride.

For any guest visiting Samarqand, exploring its ancient landmarks is very pleased. The city’s blue-domed minarets, the grandeur of the Timurid era, and its well-preserved historical essence create an atmosphere that transports visitors to another time. Registan Square, once the heart of the city’s bustling marketplace, remains the primary attraction for tourists. Stepping onto this historic site, one cannot help but feel the lingering presence of the Timur era’s splendor.

As translation and interpretation students, our internship was structured to balance both practical fieldwork and academic translation exercises. We spent three days a week at historical sites, honing our guiding skills, while the remaining days were dedicated to translating various texts, including official documents and literary works.

One of the most exciting projects assigned to our group was preparing English subtitles for the Uzbek film O‘tgan Kunlar (Bygone Days). Under the guidance of our mentor, F. Bakiyev, we delved deep into the complexities of literary translation. We explored techniques for adapting idiomatic expressions, proverbs, and figurative language while ensuring cultural and linguistic accuracy. Additionally, we learned about modern subtitling platforms and tools, further expanding our skill set in audiovisual translation.

Looking back, this year has been one of the most enriching experiences of our academic journey. It rovided us with invaluable opportunities to apply our theoretical knowledge in real-world settings and take a significant step forward in our professional development. The dedication of our professors, the time and effort invested in our education, and the doors being opened for us as young professionals all serve as a reminder that we must continue striving for excellence.

As we stand on the brink of graduation, we are more determined than ever to make the most of the opportunities ahead, honoring the hard work of our mentors and making a meaningful contribution to our field.

2123 group of final-year students,

Faculty of English Philology and Translation Studies

Samarkand State Institute of Foreign Languages

We are broken from previous years

We are broken and weak

Do not come with gifts and close mind

We cannot believe words

Because was never said

We are broken

With several wounds

We try to fix ourselves

Love

Is a word

That nobody understad same way

Love

Give

Protect

Understand

Respect

Heal

Rebirth

We are broken

Not ready to move

In this life 

Don’t play with Humans hearts….

蓝星低语

蛛丝牵着落羽

我写深处的青须

他指着那里

投向田地的渺粒

雀鸟在找你

大风里还未说完的言语

被桑叶裹着传递

我也去寻你

慎重脚步覆下的黄泥

将荆棘一点点埋去

和红果长眠在土地

黑鹳从荷叶的波折里弹起

飞出万物的高地

穿进白杨林里消失

慢慢地从寺庙开始

都融为远影

融为不及的高地

这都是蓝星与白陨的低语

Whispers of Earth

Gossamer dances with falling plumes

I inscribe emerald tendrils from depths

He gestures toward that distant realm

Where scattered seeds embrace earthen home

Little birds seek your ethereal trace

Words unspoken in tempest’s embrace

Carried forth in mulberry’s gentle fold

I too embark on this searching grace

Each careful step in clay below

Slowly buries thorns of yesterday’s woe

Red berries sleep in Earth’s sweet embrace

Black storks rise from lotus waves aglow

Soaring beyond creation’s highest peaks

Vanishing into the poplar forest

Slowly, beginning from the temple

All melts into distant shadows

Dissolving into unreachable heights

Whispers between Earth and white meteors

年代

老胶卷被虫蛀之后

我们都会明白

低谷不是八零年代的事情

成长不是九零年代的事情

成功也不只在本世纪初

年代是一个浪

是我们不同年龄的组成

有人只奔赴在浪前

被无情驳回

有人要洄击于浪中

被隐藏波澜

有人有幸抓住浪尾

或许被打向高岸

水波千层无穷路

浪里未知沉浮

我们覆过前人的大礁

各自沉落在未知的小礁

我们冲击前人的暗谷

各自停留在莫名的高度

年代是一个浪

一个周期演绎的浪

Era

After moths have eaten through old film reels

We all come to understand

Valleys weren’t just about the eighties

Growing up wasn’t just about the nineties

Success wasn’t limited to the new century’s dawn

An era is a wave

Composed of our different ages

Some rush only at the wave’s front

Mercilessly rejected

Some struggle within the surge

Hidden by turbulent waters

Some fortunate ones catch the wave’s tail

Perhaps thrown toward higher shores

Countless paths in thousand-layered waters

Unknown rises and falls within waves

We pass over our predecessors’ great reefs

Each sinking at unknown smaller reefs

We crash against our forebears’ dark valleys

Each pausing at inexplicable heights

An era is a wave

A wave performing its cyclical tale

鸟鸣

如果斑驳是河流集聚的轮廓

树阴是平地承印的纸模

鸟鸣是星星点点的自然之刻

人间流排的每一帧都留下花印

可归为鸟鸣的杰作

麻绳用力拉紧遮阳网

围栏用力缚紧麻绳

只有鸟儿在松惬地荡漾

是杂乱里的安逸

将围栏的锈斑抹迹

将麻绳的裂声隐匿

是明世里的孤僻

我不知道他们身处何里

一切鸣叫如水藻盘旋大地

如果我有画笔

我画劲挺的兰与织杂的草

我画不知名的青树

仅此，折射出鸟鸣的淀染

Birdsong

If dappled light forms the contours of gathered rivers

Tree shadows are paper molds pressed into flat earth

Birdsong is nature’s scattered engravings

Each frame of crowd leaves floral prints

Attribution to birdsong masterpiece

Hemp ropes pull taut the sunshades

Fences bind tight the hemp ropes

Only birds sway in carefree leisure

Finding peace within chaos

Erasing rust marks from fences

Concealing the cracking sounds of hemp rope

A solitude within the bright world

I know not where they dwell

Their calls spiral like water weeds

If I had a brush

I’d paint vigorous orchids and woven grass

I’d paint nameless green trees

Reflecting birdsong lingering hues

影子

我们将要远离

从我学会高飞

我的一片实羽穿过光地

你用虚体叼起

我们将要远离

从我意识身技

我的一隆叱呜掠起芦髻

你用波纹抚藉

伏羽绿湖，我与你最近的距离

跨过门梯，我与你在同一世界隐蔽

炎阳下你是人们察觉我的痕迹

月光下我是人们分析你的证据

你是我在光明里的印记

我是你在黑夜里的暗喻

当我们在高窗的檐廊相聚

谁都能穿透时空

留在世里

Shadow

We shall part ways

From when I learned to soar high

My solid feather pierces through light-bound fields

You grasp it with your ethereal beak

We shall part ways

From when I became aware of bodily skill

My resonant cry sweeps past reed tassels

You soothe with rippling waves

Floating feathers on green lake, our closest distance

Crossing thresholds, we hide in the same world

Under scorching sun you’re the trace by which people notice me

Under moonlight I’m the evidence by which they analyze you

You are my imprint in brightness

I am your metaphor in darkness

When we meet at high window eaves

Anyone can traverse time and space

To remain in this world

雨声

其实的雨声

是梧桐叶由内到外的震动

其实的雨声

是后窗栏参差受礼的回应

雨声是方位里的回响

与永远提前的行踪

我在模糊里找波澜

摸触尽头的源泉

雨声是从划破云层开始

雨声是从撞到叶瓦开始

雨声还是洼地的激起和同躯的牵依

哪怕没有风雷与乌地

此声此生用生命定义

雨用撞击证示着自己的游历

Symphony of Rain

True whispers of the rain

Are leaves trembling from soul to skin

True echoes of the rain

Are latticed windows bowing in gentle din

Rain’s sound is an echo from each corner

With footsteps forever ahead in time

I search for ripples in the haze

Touching springs at journey’s end

Rain’s voice begins with clouds torn asunder

Rain’s voice begins with leaves and tiles struck tender

Rain’s voice remains in puddles’ splash and kindred souls’ embrace

Even without thunder or darkened earth below

This voice and life by life itself is vowed

Rain proves its journey through each pearled collide

Su Yun , Whose real name is Chen Ruizhe, he is a 17-year-old poet. He is the member of the Chinese Poetry Society. His works have been published in more than ten countries, including the poetry collections “Spreading All Things” and “Wise Language Philosophy” in China, and the poetry collection “WITH ECSTASY OF MUSING IN TRANQUILITY” in India. He won the 2024 Guido Gozzano Apple Orchard Award in Italy.    

Story of Mystery

Here are your hairs.

They tell the story of mystery. 

They fly like a dream of a stranger.

They walk along my heartbeat. 

I touch the hairs and feel you.

Here are your eyes.

They are deep and deep.

Rainbow seeps from them.

They see the passage of my heart.

I catch the eyes and see everything. 

Here are your lips.

They are artistic.

Stream starts from them.

They draw the map of Infinity. 

I want to be a follower of your lips.

Here is your silence.

It is a vast sea to a sailor.

It is an epic.

lt preserves your existence. 

I read it in every moment.

Here is your heart.

It is the largest heart in the universe.

Love started from it.

Here is my heart.

Take it and keep it in your heart.