TO MY FRIEND

Speak big, but take a bigger bite of bread,  
For things don’t always go as planned ahead.  
Be eager to grow, don’t envy the rest,  
Luck won’t come just when you request.  

This world is wrapped in trials and strife,  
Sometimes you’ll stumble through the depths of life.  
Your stance, once tall, might bend in the breeze,  
And you’ll wonder when you fell to your knees.  

Tears may flow as regrets fill your chest,  
But time, once lost, won’t give you its rest.  
You can’t erase mistakes of the past,  
Life’s law is clear, they’re meant to last.  

Learn to rise when you stumble and fall,  
Set your goal high, let that be all.  
When faced with hurdles, fight and strive,  
Your foes will never arrive as friends.  

Action, action, don’t ever cease,  
Stand strong, my friend, never release.  
In this world, everyone has their fight,  
Never let them bend your might.  

Study and learn with all that’s provided,  
Your teachers guide you, always reminded.  
Defeat is the lesson, a gift in disguise,  
May God light your path toward the skies!

Saydinqulova Elenora Olimovna was born on June 24, 2008, in Kattakurgan district, Samarkand region. She is a 10th-grade student at the 66th General Education School in Kattakurgan district. In 2022, she took 3rd place in the district stage of the “Young Reader” competition. In 2022, she also secured 2nd place in the district stage of the “Zulfiyaxonim’s Daughters” contest and 2nd place in the district stage of the intellectual game “Zakovat,” becoming a participant in the regional stage. Her creative works have been published in the “Kattakurgan: Yesterday and Today” newspaper. She is a participant in international competitions and festivals. Her poems are regularly published in newspapers and magazines across the country.

I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL

The wound in my heart,  
When will it heal, I don’t know,  
No cure exists for this pain,  
No doctor’s found it, though.  

My enemies wait for me to break,  
They open the door to betrayal’s wake.  
Maybe now, it’s finally enough,  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL.  

You fear not God’s wrath above,  
Even poison you’d gladly shove.  
Tell me, when will you turn to grace?  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL!  

In front, you stand as if you’re strong,  
Behind, you stab—like you’ve all along.  
On my path, you scatter thorns,  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL!!  

I’m the bad one, go ahead and claim,  
Keep saying you’re the victor of the game.  
Gossip about me, add to my blame,  
I’M TRULY TIRED OF YOU ALL.  

Murodillayeva Mohinur is a 10th-grade student at the 44th General Secondary School of G’uzor district, Qashqadaryo region.

My dear sister Madina,  
In the sky’s clear embrace today,  
A melody echoes in a long, soft way.  
Thank you, dear teacher, for all that you gave,  
For sharing your knowledge, so wise and so brave.  

This world is flawed without you, my guide,  
In subjects so needed, you walked by my side.  
Because of you, I’ve come this far,  
Turning the pages of books full of stars.  

You showed me myself, took me by the hand,  
Even when I strayed, you’d patiently stand.  
For me, you’ve given your everything whole,  
Enduring the burdens, like my mother’s soul.  

My teacher, my father, so grand in your grace,  
I sing out your praises, with rhythm I chase.  
Madina, my teacher, you’re the best there could be,  
My spring in full bloom, you’re the summer to me.  

With you here, I smile and live without fear,  
One day, I’ll be just like you, that is clear.  
The world will look on, admiring us both,  
I’ll pave the ground with flowers, to show you my oath.  

In my heart, you’ll stay cherished forever,  
From you, I’ll take lessons, growing more clever.  
My being and soul are alive by your grace,  
Each time I see you, my heart starts to race.  

Grateful am I for you, my dear guide,  
Let my voice soar to the heavens, far and wide.  
Your name, I’ll make into a tale of my own,  
Each time I see you, joy brightly is shown.  

Madina, my world, you light up my skies,  
Like the lovely basil by the water lies,  
With you, every moment of life is so sweet,  
Stay well, dear teacher, my heart skips a beat.

I am Sobirjonova Rayhona, a 10th-grade student at the 8th General Secondary School in Vobkent district, Bukhara region. I was born in December 2008 in Chorikalon village, Vobkent district, into an educated family.

METHODS OF SOCIAL WORK WITH CITIZENS RELEASED FROM PLACES OF DEPRIVATION OF LIBERTY

ANNOTATION: This article discusses the methods necessary for the rehabilitation and reintegration of individuals who, having committed crimes and been deprived of liberty, need to return to a healthy life and be provided with employment opportunities.

KEYWORDS: Social life, rehabilitation, employment, non-governmental organizations, adaptation.

Currently, many people commit crimes due to a lack of knowledge or because they have lived in an unfavorable environment, unable to properly direct their views. This can cause significant harm not only to the present of Uzbekistan but also to its future. Social work with citizens released from places of deprivation of liberty is a crucial process. This process helps them readjust to society and return to social life. The main goals of this process are as follows:

Psychological support and counseling: Returning to society is often stressful and complicated for individuals who have been deprived of liberty. Therefore, it is important to provide psychological support, personal counseling, and services to assist them.

Social adaptation and support: After being released, individuals may face difficulties adjusting to a new life. Social workers help them reintegrate into social life, restore relationships with family and the community. Employment and economic independence are vital for individuals returning to society. In this regard, vocational training courses and job creation are key factors in helping them regain independence.

Rehabilitation and development of social skills: In this process, social workers teach individuals various social skills and help them actively participate in society.

Protection of rights: When individuals return to society, it is essential to ensure their legal rights are protected. This includes making sure they know their rights, receive legal assistance, and are accepted by society.

Social work with individuals released from places of deprivation of liberty creates the conditions necessary for their full reintegration into society and for leading a positive life. In this process, support from government organizations, non-governmental organizations, and society is crucial.

Guiding individuals released from prison toward the right path is important for the stability and security of society. The application of effective methods and support measures in this process helps individuals adjust to social life and prevents recidivism. Below are several methods and recommendations for guiding individuals released from prison onto the right path:

Rehabilitation programs: These programs focus on providing psychological assistance, vocational training, and the development of life skills.
   – In psychological assistance, working with qualified psychologists to address mental health issues or alleviate stress helps individuals understand themselves and make positive changes in their lives.
   – Supporting individuals released from prison to attend educational courses to acquire new professions.
   – Many government and non-governmental organizations provide opportunities for higher education or specialized secondary education.
   – Employment, i.e., helping organizations and rehabilitation centers provide job placement for individuals who have been deprived of liberty. Cooperation with local entrepreneurs and government agencies can create job opportunities.
   – Individuals who are active in society can offer advice and help those who have been released adapt to a new environment.

Hilola Abdullayeva was born on May 8, 2004, in house number 19, Do‘stlik neighborhood, Beruni district, Republic of Karakalpakstan.

She is currently a second-year student at the Faculty of Social and Economic Sciences at Urgench State University, specializing in “Social Work with Families and Children.”

The Birds at the Destination

We know that the eagle is admired worldwide for its bravery, courage, and strong will. It teaches its young to fly with extreme rigor. When the time comes, it throws its offspring out of the nest to prevent them from lazily returning to the “warm home” again, even going so far as to destroy the nest. The eagle is a bird unafraid of flying in rainy weather; in fact, such conditions stir its spirit, and it can use the pressure of the air to its advantage. Additionally, it brings benefits to agriculture by preying on rodents.

These characteristics of the eagle can be compared to those of teachers. For it is through our parents and teachers that we come to know the world, understand it, and achieve something. When we first come to school, our dreams are as high as the sky. We dream of changing the world. We debate with our peers about which professions are valuable and which are not, aspiring to become doctors, businessmen, or lawyers. It is the teacher who instills in us the understanding that achieving these dreams requires education. They dedicate their time, patience, and life to teach us, showing us how to distinguish between right and wrong. They teach us that life is not smooth, and that to achieve something, we must make an effort. If we face failure, they encourage us to try again, reminding us that for us, everything is just beginning.

Just as no two fingers are alike, people also have different goals and characters in life. Some may attempt to mislead those on the right path out of jealousy or for monetary gain. The teacher, however, teaches their students how to rid society of such “parasites.”

To the teacher, a student is like their own child. If the student makes a mistake, the teacher helps to correct it. Where the student spends their time and with whom, what they do—these things matter to the teacher.

A teacher is someone who has spent years studying and researching, climbing to the peak of their own success. Now, they are a noble professional, striving to ensure their students reach that same destination.

Otayeva Dinora Urinboy qizi was born on May 31, 2004, in the Khorezm region. She is currently a 3rd-year student at Urgench State Pedagogical Institute. As a creative student, she has participated in several competitions, including the regional stage of the Zomin Seminar.

dollar store kimono clown me a second jeff

—

anonymous rice a little bird’s elbow

—

the chef won’t cook it faint green glass

—

bio/graf

J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.

BALLATA DEGLI INESISTENTI

Potrei tentare di narrarvi

al suono della mia tastiera

come Baasima morì di lebbra

senza mai raggiunger la frontiera,

o come l’armeno Méroujan

sotto uno sventolio di mezzelune

sentì svanire l’aria dai suoi occhi

buttati via in una fossa comune;

Charlee, che travasata a Brisbane

in cerca di un mondo migliore,

concluse il viaggio

dentro le fauci di un alligatore,

o Aurélio, chiamato Bruna

che dopo otto mesi d’ospedale

morì di aidiesse contratto

a battere su una tangenziale.

Nessuno si ricorderà di Yehoudith,

delle sue labbra rosse carminio,

finite a bere veleni tossici

in un campo di sterminio,

o di Eerikki, dalla barba rossa, che,

sconfitto dalla smania di navigare,

dorme, raschiato dalle orche,

sui fondi d’un qualche mare;

la testa di Sandrine, duchessa

di Borgogna, udì rumor di festa

cadendo dalla lama d’una ghigliottina

in una cesta,

e Daisuke, moderno samurai,

del motore d’un aereo contava i giri

trasumanando un gesto da kamikaze

in harakiri.

Potrei starvi a raccontare

nell’afa d’una notte d’estate

come Iris ed Anthia, bimbe spartane

dacché deformi furono abbandonate,

o come Deendayal schiattò di stenti

imputabile dell’unico reato

di vivere una vita da intoccabile

senza mai essersi ribellato;

Ituha, ragazza indiana,

che, minacciata da un coltello,

finì a danzare con Manitou

nelle anticamere di un bordello,

e Luther, nato nel Lancashire,

che, liberato dal mestiere d’accattone,

fu messo a morire da sua maestà britannica

nelle miniere di carbone.

Chi si ricorderà di Itzayana,

e della sua famiglia massacrata

in un villaggio ai margini del Messico

dall’esercito di Carranza in ritirata,

e chi di Idris, africano ribelle,

tramortito dallo shock e dalle ustioni

mentre, indomito al dominio coloniale,

cercava di rubare un camion di munizioni;

Shahdi, volò alta nel cielo

sulle aste della verde rivoluzione,

atterrando a Teheran, le ali dilaniate

da un colpo di cannone,

e Tikhomir, muratore ceceno,

che rovinò tra i volti indifferenti

a terra dal tetto del Mausoleo

di Lenin, senza commenti.

Questi miei oggetti di racconto 

fratti a frammenti di inesistenza

trasmettano suoni distanti

di resistenza.

BALLAD OF THE NON-EXISTENT

I could try to tell you

with the sound of my keyboard

how Baasima died of leprosy

without ever reaching the border,

or how the Armenian Meroujan

under a flutter of half-moons

felt the air in his eyes vanish

thrown into a mass grave;

Charlee, who moved to Brisbane

in search of a better world,

ends the journey

in the mouth of an alligator,

or Aurelio, named Bruna

who, after eight months in hospital

died of AIDS contracted

to hit a ring road.

Nobody will remember Yehoudith,

her lips carmine red,

erased by drinking toxic poisons

in an extermination camp,

or Eerikki, with his red beard, 

defeated by the turbulence of the waves,

who sleeps, scoured by orcas,

on the bottom of some sea;

the head of Sandrine, Duchess

of Burgundy heard the rumour of the feast

as it fell from the blade of a guillotine

into a basket

and Daisuke, modern samurai,

counted the revolutions of a plane’s engine 

transhumanizing a kamikaze gesture into harakiri.

I could go on and on

in the stifling heat of a summer night

how Iris and Anthia, deformed Spartan children

were abandoned,

or how Deendayal died of deprivation

attributable to the single crime

of living the life of an outcast

without ever having rebelled;

Ituha, an Indian girl,

threatened with a knife,

who ends up dancing with Manitou

in the anteroom of a brothel

and Luther, born in Lancashire

freed from the profession of beggar

and forced to die by His Britannic Majesty

in the coal mines.

Who will remember Itzayana

and her family massacred

in a village on the outskirts of Mexico

by Carranza’s retreating army,

and what of Idris, the African rebel,

stunned by shocks and burns

while untamed by colonial domination,

he tried to steal an ammunition truck;

Shahdi flew high into the sky

above the flagpoles of the Green Revolution,

landing in Tehran with his wings torn apart

by a cannon shot,

and Tikhomir, a Chechen bricklayer,

that fell among the indifferent faces

to the ground from the roof of Lenin’s Mausoleum,

without comment.

From objects of narrative

fractured into fragments of non-existence

transmits distant sounds

of resistance.

LA BALLATA DI PEGGY E PEDRO

La ballata di Peggy e Pedro è latrata dai punkabbestia

di Ponte Garibaldi, con un misto d’odio e disperazione,

insegnandoci, intimi nessi tra geometria ed amore,

ad amare come fossimo matematici circondati da cani randagi.

Peggy eri ubriaca, stato d’animo normale,

nelle baraccopoli lungo l’alveo del Tevere,

e l’alcool, nelle sere d’Agosto, non riscalda,

obnubilando ogni senso in sogni annichilenti,

trasformando ogni frase biascicata in fucilate nella schiena

contro corazze disciolte dalla calura estiva.

Sdraiata sui bordi del muraglione del ponte,

tra i drop out della Roma città aperta,

apristi il tuo cuore all’insulto gratuito di Pedro,

tuo amante, e, basculandoti, cadesti nel vuoto,

disegnando traiettorie gravitazionali dal cielo al cemento.

Pedro, non eri ubriaco, ad un giorno di distanza,

non eri ubriaco, stato d’animo anormale,

nelle baraccopoli lungo l’alveo del Tevere,

o nelle serate vuote della movida milanese,

essendo intento a spiegare a cani e barboni

una curiosa lezione di geometria non euclidea.

Salito sui bordi del muraglione del ponte,

nell’indifferenza abulica dei tuoi scolari distratti,

saltasti, in cerca della stessa traiettoria d’amore,

dello stesso tragitto fatale alla tua Peggy,

atterrando, sul cemento, nello stesso istante.

I punkabbestia di Ponte Garibaldi, sgomberati dall’autorità locale,

diffonderanno in ogni baraccopoli del mondo la lezione surreale

imperniata sulla sbalorditiva idea

che l’amore sia un affare di geometria non euclidea.

THE BALLAD OF PEGGY AND PEDRO

The ballad of Peggy and Pedro barked out by the punkbestials

of the Garibaldi Bridge, with a mixture of hatred and despair,

teaches us the intimate relationship between geometry and love,

to love as if we were maths surrounded by stray dogs.

Peggy you were drunk, normal mood,

in the slums along the bed of the Tiber

and alcohol, on August evenings, doesn’t warm you up,

clouding every sense in annihilating dreams,

transforming every chewed-up sentence into a gunfight in the back

on armour dissolved by the summer heat.

Lying on the edges of the bridge’s ledges,

among the drop-outs of the Rome open city,

you opened your heart to the gratuitous insult of Pedro,

your lover, and toppled over, falling into the void,

drawing gravitational trajectories from the sky to the cement.

Pedro wasn’t drunk, a day’s journey away,

you weren’t drunk, abnormal state of mind,

in the slums along the bed of the Tiber,

or in the empty parties of Milan’s movida,

with the intention of explaining to dogs and tramps

a curious lesson of non-Euclidean geometry.

Mounted on the edge of the bridge,

in the apathetic indifference of your distracted pupils,

you jumped, in the same trajectory of love,

along the same fatal path as your Peggy,

landing on the cement at the same instant.

The punkbestials of the Garibaldi Bridge, cleared by the local authority,

will spread a surreal lesson to every slum in the world

centred on the astonishing idea

that love is a matter of non-Euclidean geometry.

NON RIESCO AD INTEGRARMI

Non riesco a integrarmi, ho un disturbo borderline

distribuisco gomitate tipo Greg “The Hammer” Valentine,

nemmeno se mi impegno riuscirò a aspirare al Nobel

deutoplasma irriducibile tra vacche nere d’Hegel.

Non riesco a integrarmi, ho un delirio schizofrenico

rifuggo dalle masse e intingo biro nell’arsenico,

canto, fuori dal coro, come un mitomane a X Factor

disinnescando bombe, spaccio col metal-detector.

Non riesco a integrarmi, ho attitudini da killer,

deambulo tra zombie, stile King of Pop in Thriller,

volando a bassa quota quoto quote di quozienti,

costretto a impacchettare sottotitoli per non-utenti.

Non riesco a integrarmi, ho ogni sorta di fobia

in coda appetisco il verde, come un virtuoso in dendrofilia,

mettendo a fuoco il mondo e sfuocati i tempi con lo zoom,

mi arrendo alla desuetudine della consecutio temporum.

I DON’T FIT IN

I don’t fit in, I have a borderline personality disorder

I give out elbows like Greg ‘The Hammer’ Valentine,

if I don’t apply myself I’ll never be able to aspire to the Nobel Prize

irreducible deutoplasma among Hegel’s black cows.

I don’t fit in, i have a schizophrenic delusion

i hate the people and dip my pen in arsenic,

i sing, outside the choir, like an X Factor mythomaniac

defusing bombs and dealing with a metal detector.

I don’t fit in, i’ve got a killer’s disposition,

i wander between the zombies, style King of Pop in Thriller,

flying at low altitude I quote quotes of quotients,

forced to pack subtitles for non-users.

I don’t fit in, i have all sorts of phobias,

in the queue i crave the green, like a virtuous dendrophile,

setting the world on fire, blurring time with the zoom,

i surrender myself to the obsolescence of consecutio temporum.

Ivan Pozzoni è nato a Monza nel 1976. Ha introdotto in Italia la materia della Law and Literature. Ha diffuso saggi su filosofi italiani e su etica e teoria del diritto del mondo antico; ha collaborato con con numerose riviste italiane e internazionali. Tra 2007 e 2018 sono uscite varie sue raccolte di versi: Underground e Riserva Indiana, con A&B Editrice, Versi Introversi, Mostri, Galata morente, Carmina non dant damen, Scarti di magazzino, Qui gli austriaci sono più severi dei Borboni, Cherchez la troika e La malattia invettiva con Limina Mentis, Lame da rasoi, con Joker, Il Guastatore, con Cleup, Patroclo non deve morire, con deComporre Edizioni. È stato fondatore e direttore della rivista letteraria Il Guastatore – Quaderni «neon»-avanguardisti; è stato fondatore e direttore della rivista letteraria L’Arrivista; è stato direttore esecutivo della rivista filosofica internazionale Información Filosófica; è, o è stato, direttore delle collane Esprit (Limina Mentis), Nidaba (Gilgamesh Edizioni) e Fuzzy (deComporre). Ha fondato una quindicina di case editrici socialiste autogestite. Ha scritto/curato 150 volumi, scritto 1000 saggi, fondato un movimento d’avanguardia (NeoN-avanguardismo, approvato da Zygmunt Bauman), con mille movimentisti, e steso un Anti-Manifesto NeoN-Avanguardista, È menzionato nei maggiori manuali universitari di storia della letteratura, storiografia filosofica e nei maggiori volumi di critica letteraria.Il suo volume La malattia invettiva vince Raduga, menzione della critica al Montano e allo Strega. Viene inserito nell’Atlante dei poeti italiani contemporanei dell’Università di Bologna ed è inserito molteplici volte nella maggiore rivista internazionale di letteratura, Gradiva.I suoi versi sono tradotti in francese, inglese e spagnolo. Nel 2024, dopo sei anni di ritiro totale allo studio accademico, rientra nel mondo artistico italiano e fonda il collettivo NSEAE (Nuova socio/etno/antropologia estetica).

Ivan Pozzoni was born in Monza in 1976. He introduced Law and Literature in Italy and the publication of essays on Italian philosophers and on the ethics and juridical theory of the ancient world; He collaborated with several Italian and international magazines. Between 2007 and 2018, different versions of the books were published: Underground and Riserva Indiana, with A&B Editrice, Versi Introversi, Mostri, Galata morente, Carmina non dant damen, Scarti di magazzino, Here the Austrians are more severe than the Bourbons, Cherchez the troika. et The Invective Disease with Limina Mentis,Lame da rasoi, with Joker, Il Guastatore, with Cleup, Patroclo non deve morire, with deComporre Edizioni. He was the founder and director of the literary magazine Il Guastatore – «neon»-avant-garde notebooks; he was the founder and director of the literary magazine L’Arrivista; he is the editor and chef of the international philosophical magazine Información Filosófica; he is, or has been, creator of the series Esprit (Limina Mentis), Nidaba (Gilgamesh Edizioni) and Fuzzy (deComporre). It contains a fortnight of autogérées socialistes edition houses. He wrote 150 volumes, wrote 1000 essays, founded an avant-garde movement (NéoN-avant-gardisme, approved by Zygmunt Bauman), with a millier of movements, and wrote an Anti-manifesto NéoN-Avant-gardiste. This is mentioned in the main university manuals of literature history, philosophical history and in the main volumes of literary criticism. His book La malattia invettiva wins Raduga, mention of the critique of Montano et Strega. He is included in the Atlas of contemporary Italian poets of the University of Bologne and figures à plusieurs reprized in the great international literature review of Gradiva. His verses are translated into French, English and Spanish. In 2024, after six years of total retrait of academic studies, he return to the Italian artistic world and melts the NSEAE Kolektivne (New socio/ethno/aesthetic anthropology).