METAMORPHIC

My face : my soul : my gift : my fact

is nonetheless not less false than

my mask : my veil : my lifts : my act

Identitity is conditioned

by place ; by role : by circumstance

And yet : which we am I today?

Our sentinels : may be : rebels

and our surgeons : our assassins.

Whore : or Saint : may be in fashion,

the Hero : or The Disabled.

I will be one : or another

which my moment will discover.

SWASTIKAS? WHERE? WHICH ONES?

“I hide here in my private cellar

Ich bin der hellenkeller”

Banners flapping in he wind: my ears at half-mast,

ever banned from hearing the world’s sighs.

SWASTIKAS? WHERE? WHICH ONES?

“i hide here n my private cellar

Ich bin der hellenkeller.”

Banners flapping in the wind: my ears at hal-fast,

ever banned from hearing the world’s sighs,

they do make handy pegs though in this square boxed earth

To perch my lead spectacles upon

To keep all the winds off my eyes,

To keep out all the brightest lights,

To keep my fingers finallly free,

two fingers clutching my testicles,

Ywo fingers pinching my penis closed,

Right thumb a-plugging my anus,

Left hand chain-linked across my mouth, across nose

Too keep the breath of wind inside,

To keep from any reaching out

Of hands or brath or sound or mind

Into this our spectacle of hope or rage.

ROOTEDNESS

Some of us are rocket,

some are rock–

so how is stone decided?

by heat,

By pressure,

dissolution,

change.

How then re-assembled?ignited?launched?

By direction/determination? Or what?

Some of us are burden, some are bird:

Who imposes liberty?

Need we clothe our us in armor?

    ”      ”       ”         ”    ”   In chains?

Or disinvest safety altogether?

Do we judge pacifists

from their fists?

(Some would suggest a scalpel….

–our natures won’t alter even with chainsaws.)

But when clenched missiles powder the earth

and massy skies bring eagles down,

I see us: spots in the carnage:

O carnations.

WE WAKE AT DAWN

with flamingo and parakeet.

they pave the path with pink

and peach but pause their way

to sip the dew

(your eyes blink and flash in the dark,

a pair of stars lost in their ark, still waiting

for the sky to blue, to fill our desert with manna)

lured by the hue of banana and an excitement

for the new, the gibbon gentle golden ape

is first to make the grand escape through

the gates of the day’s black zoo (–and the timid

constellations retreat to tomorrow’s stations–)

and tiger torch in hot pursuit —

BAIKAL HAIKU

Your face is wrinkled,

my haven, my love, my lake,

but your soul is deep.

Once, practiced anglers,

burdened with tackle and bait,

surrendered their sleep.

Being fish-fingered,

they just foundered in your wake,

floundered on your beach.

I’m a star-drinker

who had no trophy to take

but was yours to keep.

The day you arrive

I awaited your arrival like a mother’s blood in her womb.

I throw away my broken shoes

I walk softly across the carpet of your heart.

My knees bow, caressing the absence of long days.

Take my hand and write the poetry of the stars, witnesses to the secret of a heartbeat and a breath.

Do you remember the rainbirds flying from the window at dawn?

They returned with the offering of happiness because they were lost in the orbits of the heavens, among the cosmic particles that resembled you.

They finally found your eyes, their salvation.

Now I feel the heartbeat in the center of the universe, I am drawn by the sound of bare feet.

Elisa Mascia – Italy – 16-9-2026

Love, Beauty, and Death
Mesfakus Salahin
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

Seek love in the sunlight !
Seek love in beauty !
Why do you not seek it in the grave?
One day, the grave shall be our bed.

Seek heaven in the light!
Seek love in heaven!
Why do you not seek it in the darkness?
One day, our final journey shall be into the dark.

Light a torch and seek ecstasy within the hearts of lovers!
Two souls find their reflection in the mirror. 

After the searing heat, only molten darkness remains,
Where a long-drawn sigh awaits.
Who shall open the door upon the path of darkness?
Who shall bathe the gloom in light?
Who shall rouse the slumber within the graveyard—
Where love itself is the ferryman of death?

The fires now dead were once light;
The graves once held a state of waiting; Darkness dwelt within the poet’s soul;
And love lay hidden.

There was a wail within the womb of darkness;
A plea resonated in the ghostly, droning hum; 

Love letters lay lightless for a thousand years; 

The darkness was devoid of beauty.
Yet today, this darkness is radiant;
Today, this very death is desired;
Graveyards are bathed in moonlight; Monstrous insects gnaw at the darkness, illuminating it;
Some humans pick at and devour the beloved corpses—
Alas, what cruelty!

Everyone desires the fragrance of a withered rose;
Even a pebble suffers the agony of death’s sorrow.
No one seeks the beauty of death in the rays of the setting sun,
Yet the starving, waiting at the royal gate, find beauty there;
Amidst poverty, the pure rose stands tall with head held high.
All grievances gather within the paralysis of the realm;
A magical touch drifts forth from the royal mausoleum—
Impure consciousness is cleansed within the bloodless frame.
The sky of an anguished mind becomes clouded with vexation;
Beauty remains trapped in a leaking prison, 

While a grotesque future tolls in silence,

Destructive death effortlessly embraces
The dormant span of life within our souls,
As the funeral procession stretches ever longer.

(Exile Hymns for a Drunken Man)

— The Hymn of Intoxication —

(1)

The wine is drunk,

And the light’s voice is dim,

And words are extinguished,

And nothing remains but a white dove

In her hand, a peace offering…

Two wine glasses and two roses,

And a bed of ages, and there are “two lovers”

So when will the scent of mint waft

From the heart of words?

And today there is no language

Nor any meaning to the journey of the daisy!

…

The wine is drunk,

And meaning is addicted;

 Every poem comes to you with dizzying letters…

The poetry isn’t yours,

Nor do the rhymes stir you when they arrive…

Distribute your worries and lean on silence.

For time is wounded by place…

…

The wine is drunk,

And the harbor chants its essence,

And the sea searches for its lecture,

And the wave recounts the oar’s tale

In the chaos of wreckage…

And seagulls on the horizon

Playing without your awareness,

And the water purifies you, exiled one

In the marble islands…

…….

—The Hymn of Exile—

(2)

On the Ground Floor

From the sorrow of slander and gossip…

What do the rumor-mongers say?

Ninety twists and turns and wretched corridors,

And pregnant homelands,

And a courtesan sleeps…

From which lamp

—Here on the Ground Floor—

Will the light come? From which window does the sun shine?

From which daisy?

Fear comes, then goes,

Then it comes,

Then the place commits suicide…

On the ground floor

They tremble with fear

And break from the recklessness of darkness…

Are the spiders’ webs at the entrance to the corridor stronger,

Or are the doves their dwellings?!

Or am I a stone that has made the summit of exile its pillow

To forget that it sleeps at the bottom of the world?!

… What do the alarmists say?

And the wind comes!

And the white horses come!

And the doves?

And I lie with the navel of exile

And embrace the wine…

Hani Al-Fahham of Yemen

Detaching To Become Whole

There’s no (Magical) ‘Elixir’

… fix yourself,

with much patience.

Create compassion,

and eat your own fill first.

Recognise any unfairness

directed at you,

in a detached way,

whilst also realising

your part in the proceedings

… continuing to interact

with mean, selfish people

(I’m being polite here)

after discovering their truth,

is foolishly accepting 

a future ‘Energy Exchange’.

The best lessons 

are learnt through 

‘Trial and Error’

… accept yourself,

and acknowledge 

each tree ring of growth…

as you gradually become

a (Self-Sufficient) ‘Universe’. 

Reflections on Charred Landscape, 1960

I wasn’t cheating; I was lost all afternoon

in Lee Krasner’s ‘Umber Paintings’

… I’ve become a different person now.

I’ve witnessed friends 

taper ‘romance’ into ‘comedy’ eventually

… and I can’t quite forgive them for it.

I blame ‘Agape Love’

for turning glorious, burning sunsets

into ordinary things

… no God’s watching as we lose Glory.

Kafka’s nervous mental fidgeting

is more ‘Common’ than you’d imagine

… I see where your curious footsteps

are leading you… and I care too much

to watch your ‘Bright Colours’… Darken.

Yes, That Was Clever… But 14 Dominoes Along Is Where Things Get Sticky

Apparently, Alec Guinness enjoyed partaking

in teasing and gossiping…

I’d rather go straight for the throat! 

Your ‘Talking Tough’,

but behind the posturing

your essence (what little there is)

reeks of musty old man’s corduroy breeches.

Some ‘Dodgem Car’, while others ‘Ballet’

their way through the haphazard day…

both ‘Knife-Edge’ and ‘Country Walk’

are relevant and needed… to keen and slick

our continuous rotations

along and through the ridiculous ‘Circles’

that help us progress up to Levels 

which the comfortable never end up reaching.

More Hand-Me-Downs, Please

She explained, matter-of-factly

… read Jung and Nietzsche,

and all of those other 

heavy hitters, by all means.

But, hand in hand…

I would suggest listening

to ‘Old People’, last lap

and backwards looking.

Not about their successes

and achievements, loves

and travels, moments of pride.

No-no: their regrets, missed

chances, wrong turnings,

the times when they 

foolishly painted themselves 

into frustrating corners…

with doubt, hesitation,

nonchalance and arrogance.

Then, how they learned to live

… and carry on, filling once 

empty hands, and smiling again.

No-No… I’ve Got This

Becoming a Mountain to the Storm

takes TIME…

from leaf, to bough, to tree,

you must shake, bend, and bre/ak.

Keeping the furnace 

hidden yet aglow 

deep within your Heart…

adapt, and face the external World

exactly as it is, without blinkers on.

This will HURT…

your Soul will stretch upon the rack

of incomprehension, disgust,

and dismay… until it AGES.

The Transformation

must ROOT…

from within; no ‘masks’ will do…

your ‘Strength’ must grow

Independent of everything 

but your own ‘Logic’ and ‘Intuition’.

Until There Is No Breathing Room Outside Of Your Craft 

Massive, like Johanna Van Gogh-Bonger’s 

‘To-Do List’… Talent is a gift

but Master Artists are built

over an entire lifetime of slog and grind

… crawling through nightmares,

rejections, addiction, violence,

imprisonment, abandonment,

insanity, poverty, defeat, exile

and every other layer of hell imaginable…

just to grasp the fragile POWER

of being able to alchemise 

‘moth wing powder’… smudged…

along the decaying corpse-lips

of a long-dead ‘Love’… through

the sherbet-kisses of a new Summer

Romance… and out into the tight-walk

of an Autumnal Partnership… augmenting.

Wrong Poem For Adrenaline

Spiritual ‘Retributive Justice’ is not a sentence

… (Karma is running concurrently,

just as always)… but like Embarrassment,

it’s a momentary Punishment

meant to trigger an inner awareness…

that, besides certain behaviours

being wrong/criminal/abhorrent

… there are Internal ‘Consequences’ also.

‘Lingering’ is damaging and futile…

Ego has no place in ‘Lesson Learning’,

The Trial is over… and your character

can not only heal, but also grow…

from that unsettling and unpleasant experience.

DIFFERENTLY – ABOUT SPIRITUALITY AND POETRY

Dear readers, I have the seemingly difficult task of trying to explain the connection between Spirituality and Poetry in a new plane – that of the new discoveries of quantum and torsional* (information) physics.

About Spirituality. 

Many people use the word “spirituality” to express that inexplicable touch on human emotion that challenges them to be better and more understanding of themselves and people. Therefore, in dictionaries, this word exists as an abstract concept – “quality of the spiritual, the presence of spiritual life, spiritual activity.” We do not stop there because it is not clear what exactly the concept itself covers, except that it is about life and activity. Let’s check what “spiritual” means – which refers to the human spirit, to the mental and emotional activity of man. Here we are much closer to the essence of the concept in its most modern interpretation. Which refers to the human spirit. Although again it is an “abstract” concept. Or not. More than 110 years ago, French scientist Louis Cartan discovered that physics had not yet described and studied the field created by “angular torque” (fr. – torsion). A scientific “trifle” that much later revealed to the world the existence of a fine physical field, which contains the plans for EVERYTHING that was, is and is possible to be. The field of the Spirit. This changes the physical picture of Genesis according to physics from four “floors” to “six”. And now the picture of the world has changed dramatically. In addition to the known 4 levels: solid, liquid, gaseous and plasma, scientists are also studying the properties of vacuum and primary vacuum. Physics calls them respectively: primary information field and vacuum. And according to church dogma, the 6th level – the primary information field, is called the Holy Spirit. You’ve probably heard of the “superstring” theory. It studies the constant interactions between these six levels of reality. And he is trying, so far without much success, to penetrate the seventh level – the Creator of Everything. But what is the connection with spirituality and poetry?

Man contains all levels of reality. Including the 7th. The Divine. His visible physical body and the rest of his invisible bodies interact constantly and are “informed” of every thought, word, or action that a person takes. I.e. man is a walking information field, which is a compact sum of all levels of reality. What scientists have found is that all people – humanity – are interconnected through their invisible bodies in a common information field. This was also said by Carl Jung.

Let us return to the definition of “spiritual”: which refers to the human spirit. This means that the spiritual, the immeasurable before, is in fact the connection and interaction of each person and all humanity with the Holy Spirit. Man expresses himself through his life and activity. Yes it is. But everything that is not seen and “heard” by society – its intentions, its motives and its life goals – also define it as a spiritual being. I.e. our overall pursuit of the Spirit is the determinant of our true spirituality.

The discoveries of scientists do not diminish the sacred understanding of human values, of his earthly morality. Quite the opposite – Science rises and joins these values, studying them in the name of humanity and divine providence.

What is our connection with the field of the Spirit? With the Holy of Holies?

Through the human soul. Yes, she does exist. It is already proven. As an indestructible unit of every human spirit. Until Atlantis, people have a direct connection to the 6th level of reality. After it sank, they lost it. To understand how human interaction with the primary information field takes place, we need to be aware of what it is and what are the basic laws that scientists have studied for this field. It consists of pairs of inseparable information spirals* in unimaginably low negative values, which transfer information and not energy. They have no mass. Information about each action or observed object is transmitted instantaneously throughout the Universe. As long as she has “ears” to hear her. One can process very little of this information. Around 5 %. There are no barriers to information. None. Besides the lack of senses to perceive or process it. Today, a person can perceive information to a higher degree only if his own information channels are clean. This means purity of thoughts, actions, words. In everything. Developed, ie. man’s pure information channels are today known by the public name of the “sixth sense.”

It is very important to know publicly that in the 4th-6th level of reality the Law of Attraction, of resonance, works unfailingly. The positive is attracted by the positive and the negative by the negative. In other words, with the wisdom of the Bulgarian people – whatever called, the same replied. It has been studied that Man was originally created as a positive information object. In his true nature he is part of the Holy Spirit. The human soul is a witness to this. Of course, and the numerous experiments (hundreds of thousands) conducted by scientists around the world.

Man interacts with other people and with the whole world both through his senses and through the models that society has adopted at a given time in Evolution. Evolution is a basic law of Being. These ideas and statements have been practically proven and studied by many famous and unknown scientists, physicists, mathematicians, psychologists, chemists and others. and more recently linguists. Mathematical research in this area alone is over 40,000 before the beginning of the 21st century.

We can now try to determine the Spirituality of Man.

Spirituality is a real collective information field, an invisible monolithic matrix **, in which the interactions between Man and Spirit take place in every art and every human striving for purity, goodness, integrity, compassion, beauty and harmony, caused by man and supported by the Spirit. 

Poetry is one of the tools of Spirituality.

Poetry is, like every object in the Universe, an information field, a unit, a matrix that encompasses every image written or received, a thought that comes to one or more poets as a fine physical field. It contains Universal Wisdom and Harmony. This is real “food” for our subtle bodies. The same that science is called to supply with other human tools. Human logic and human word. Ie Poetry can also be called the Science of the Soul, which has an instantaneous effect on the subtle bodies of man and, possibly, on his logic. 

POETRY IS NOT A REFLECTION OF REALITY, BUT CORRECTOR. Through the words that come from the 6th level of reality. It is a science not only for the human soul, but also for all information objects on Earth. Landed, remains in the aura *** of the Earth. Of course, some ideas that are vital to humanity can be repeated in different versions by poets living in different geographical locations and at different times. This is because some of the poets actually connect not with the higher realms of reality, but with the invisible bodies of the Earth, and draw ideas and images already “taken down from above”. This does not belittle today the verses that contain the idea of ​​Love and the unity of humanity as the main engine of our time. On the contrary – life-saving words, feelings, ideas and images for all mankind are affirmed!

How comes poetry?

Poetry is a Word clothed in words, emotions and INFORMATION from the 6th level of reality. The mechanism of speech is connected with all the laws of reality, starting with the basic law – Evolution. But I would rather dwell, because of the need today, on the Law of Resonance. Whatever called, the same replied. You rejoice – you shout Joy. You cry – you called crying. You say bright words – you call Joy, Harmony, Beauty.  You use words with negative information – you call them, dressed in the props of visible reality. Not only for yourself, Poet, but for all of Humanity, starting with your family, your loved ones, your people. You remember that we are together. Whatever is happening affects everyone. That is why in Plovdiv we organize a poetry festival, which has accepted Joy as Poetic credo.

Poetry expresses itself through the human word **** And it acts through the language of a people, nation, group of people. No language selected. Every human language is important and created from above. Unique. The Divine String of Understanding and Sharing Life is embedded in it. Language is alive as long as those who use it follow the path of Evolution. Poetry is called to preserve life in every language given to the people. And poets help their people honor God and themselves. With the words that pull life forward. To go his own way, predestined and illuminated. 

POETIC WORDS CAN WORK MIRACLES IF WORDS ARE ABOUT MIRACLES.

Words are living beings sent to help a person cope with communication not only with others but also with himself. These are subtle energies that shape our invisible bodies in their own image and likeness. And if we take good words as an example, they shape us with a good and bright dense aura. She protects and defends us. The conclusion, I think, is self-evident – Poetry, as a powerful instrument of human and divine spirituality, is the magic carpet of Aladdin, which points us and suggests that the miracles we seek in dream and waking are in us.

*   right-spinning and left-spinning pairs, respectively – positive and negative

** matrix is a basic physical concept of an indestructible energy-information field

*** aura – energy-information field of Earth 

**** the human word differs from the divine word, but it also has great creative power

Dr Rozalia Aleksandrova,

Bulgaria

As a Thinking Creature 

We share a country with 

Himalayan Snow, 

Some of us celebrate cremation rituals

And burn like dust, 

Some of us are buried in the graveyard

And lie close to Mother Earth. 

Different religion, 

Different death rituals, 

Death, an inevitable force. 

I caught a glimpse 

Of your god, 

You knew why I worship. 

We share the country. 

A mother does not wish 

Her son to be out on the street 

In a protest. 

Why this rage 

Among the brothers? 

The chair is shaky 

In the capital, 

It is not good too. 

We keep shaking the chair 

And look for capable ones. 

Let religion not be a crime 

Of our weakness 

As a thinking creature. 

We should bring a new dawn 

No next option 

Is as natural as it is. 

Bio: Sushant Thapa is a Nepalese poet and fiction writer from Biratnagar-13, Nepal, with ten books of poems to his credit and two books of short stories. The books of poems are: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Authorspress, New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (impspired, UK, 2021), Minutes of Merit (Haoajan Publishers, Kolkata, 2021), Love’s Cradle (World Inkers Printing and Publishing, New York, New York, Dakar, Senegal, 2023), Spontaneity: A New Name of Rhyme (Ambar Publication House, New Delhi, 2023), Chorus of Simplicity and Other New Poems (Ukiyoto Publishing, Philippines, India, USA, 2024), Finding My Soul in Kathmandu (Ukiyoto Publishing, Philippines, India, USA, 2024),  My Grandfather Had Been a Cowboy (Ukiyoto Publishing, Philippines, India, USA, 2025), The Walking Rebel (Transcendent Zero Press, Houston, Texas, USA, 2025) and When I Desire and Other Poems (Ukiyoto Publishing, Philippines, India, USA, 2026).

His first collection of flash fiction and short stories is titled “The One Rupee Taker and Other Stories from Nepal” published by Ukiyoto Publishing in 2024. His second collection of short stories is titled “The White Dot and Other Stories” published by Transcendent Zero Press based in Houston, Texas, USA in 2026.