The smell of victory comes from the footsteps of the Turk
Listen, talent grows from every word of the Turk
One nation, two states are crying out with your breath,
Burn and destroy those who fought against your homeland,
Türkoğlu! For thirty years, Karabakh has been groaning underfoot,
Our heart is in ruins, our land is in ruins, it cries for help,
Lands full of martyr blood look shorter than you,
Ildirim, go to your troubles,
Turkoglu! Say thank you to the land and give your blood to the land
He who puts on his homeland’s clothes and gives his life to his homeland, Rising willingly to the summit of martyrdom,
Get into the enemy’s chest, indelible mountain,
Türkoğlu! God shared his unshakable power,
You declared your bravery and courage to the world,
Fight for summer history with your blood
Tax the flag to the victory summit,
Türkoğlu! He stands straight like a lion, a Turk’s head does not bend.
It fights to destroy its oil, it knows no fear,
Know that the country is indivisible, know that martyrs do not die
Feel sorry for the court of justice, Türkoğlu!
Poet-publisher, author of five books. AYB and AJB, Iraq Turkmen Writers Union, Central Asia, Yeni Avaz, Historians and Writers Member of the union, from 2018 to 2022, editor of the “Azad qələm” newspaper, from 2023 to 2023 “Literary pearls” journal from the province installer and chief editor. 2020-ci year KĪVIHÍ’s Rəyasət Committee “Poet of the Year” media award by decision, In the 2021 year, Central Asia, Yeni Avaz, Writers and Historians Union’s Əmir-Teymur fund The “Turan Unity” medal he established, In the year 2023, she was awarded the “Heydar Summit” honorary diploma and many other honorary diplomas.
Let me dream with you, let me talk with silk wires.
Your thread is thin from my wire,
If you never fall from my tongue.
I can’t give you away from my hand,
Let me be your silk-wired voice.
If you are good, by all means, difficult things will be resolved quickly.
I come from Shirvan, from Shaki, I am silk wired.
Everyone who is a stranger to our history does not know their worth.
If you don’t want a memory, let me speak with silk wires.
Come, I will cover you with my head,
Give your secret to your confidant.
I’m looking forward to being a hundred years old,
I’m going to have silky hair.
In 1962, she was born from the Sadanağac-Guney family of the Basarkeçer district of the Goycha district of Azerbaijan. Five books of the poetess have come to light so far. Over time, she worked as a branch manager in several newspapers and journals in the press. Its operation continues today. At the same time, her poems have been translated into many languages and appeared in Almanaxes, which is a member of the Azerbaijan Journalists Union and operates specially in the field of Medicine. She is the co-vice president of the Women’s Council of the Social Union “The Development of Relationships among Turkish Women”. She is the owner of many awards for her activities.
An echo in the silence, a whisper of wind that whispers secrets like a lament in the night, a shadow that fades,
a scent of wet earth and broken dreams,
like a bouquet of withered flowers.
A soul in the shadows,
a spirit without flight,
like a candle that goes out in the storm,
a heart in ruins, waiting for oblivion,
waiting for the end,
like a rose petal that falls to the ground.
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.
I took you to the flower garden loving from the core of my heart
You passed away in the palm of water
You received death by your own hand
I became the witness of your love forever and ever
Days pass away, your absence chases me too much
Like a tiger behind a deer
Sometimes it seems that
Tiger reflects so sweet.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
26 November, 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 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.
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.
The daughter of Abdusamiyeva Iroda Sherzod was born on May 15, 2009 in Sherabad district of Surkhandarya region. In 2016 she went to study in the 1st grade of general education school No. 67 in Sherabad district of Surkhandarya region. Currently, she is a 9th grade student of this school. She started writing poems in the 5th grade and has written about 20 poems. His poems were published in magazines such as “Bekajon+”, “Sherabod Life”, “Bilimdon” and prestigious German magazines. Her poems were also published on Google Networks. She works as a coordinator and volunteer in Sherabad district. She wants to become a journalist in the future. She intends to become a mature person who will serve the country.
Experiment to Determine the Extent of my Country’s Infertility
[Aim]: To demonstrate that my country is blessed with the fecundity of a twice castrated eunuch.
[Apparatus]: Specimens A-C, a concentrated acid, a stethoscope, a blindfold, three tins, a passport, a scanner
[Test #1]
Specimen A is a loyal patriot. A highly concentrated acid was splashed on him & he was left undisturbed for some moments. No visible reaction was observed.
[Inference]: What is dead can never die again. Every patriotic citizen in my country is now a sepulchre that temples the withering bones of the dreams of a lofty country they once cradled.
[Test #2]
Specimen B is a young man. A thick blindfold was used on him until his eyes morphed into a bat’s. Three tins were placed in front of him, but only one of them had a passport. Seven times the tins were juggled around, but each time he picked the one with the passport.
[Inference]: My country is said to be one of the largest in the continent, still nearly every young man & woman wants to jàpà.
[Test #3]
Specimen C is a regular national. A scanner was used to screen her neck & wrists, but nothing was found. When used on her waist, however, a special bead was detected.
[Inference]: You’ll either find a crucifix or some prayer beads dangling from my countrymen’s necks or good luck charms as wristbands or some other apotropaic hung as scarecrow on other parts of the body. It’s not their fault; the country has devised a thousand ways of devouring them– if they don’t end up like chicks on a kite’s firm grip with their only ticket to salvation being the amount their kinsmen can rally as ransom, you’ll find their corpses decorated with bullets, or still they’d end up being remembered as part of a figure, say the number of casualties of yet another crisis.
Jàpà: Nigerian slang meaning emigration
In Breaking My Creative Block
today the muse came, her presence musicing itself into the direful world of my
heart’s silence. i first heard her whisper, a gentle feather of a sound, teasing the
labyrinths of my ear with its enigmatic fragility. her warm touch on the nape of
my neck ripples down my spine & culminates at my groin as the tender
beginnings of an arousal. it’s just a drizzle but a desert will worship the only
water it has seen in a long time. i’ve played this game for a long time, so I know
better than to scare her off. i do not take her under me immediately, but to the open
fields of my mouth. there’s a mixing, a thorough blending until my taste buds
become branded with her signature. my tongue knows the taste of her essence now,
the fragrance of it diffusing into all the corners of my cerebrum. she is at home in me
& i know this because of the wetness soaking all the way from her into me. the desert
in me is gradually dissolving into a forest. my hands take the cue, pushing their way
into the suppleness of her body, my fingers thawing at the icy rigidity of her flesh, so
that more wetness will break into my arid grounds. her body obeys the commands of
my fingers, softening at their lubricating grace. her heart can no more contain the
melody, spilling it into the streams of her mouth. her mouth, too, cannot stand the
pressure & she moans the secrets that soon grow into echoes, reverberating in the
void silence of my head. my head is full now, full of the secrets, full of her. the
borders of my mind are completely tumescent. let the union begin.
