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.
A tireless professional, you give yourself completely,
sowing seeds of passion and discipline.
Your dedication is a priceless gift,
a treasure we cherish in every class.
You dance with your soul, Noe,
and invite us to fly with you.
In every movement, a lesson,
in every smile, an inspiration.
Thank you for being our guide and companion,
for illuminating our path with your art.
Your mark will endure in our hearts,
like an eternal melody.
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.
It’s a journey running at a stretch or stopping at some places
As I can see through the window of a train
The blooming earth
Spreading green paddy field velvet
The sight mixes at the horizon
With the morning shine
The world smiles with a charm
Overwhelming but not to be expressed in words
You are sitting before me
And raising a storm of the last days stories
Over a cup of tea
Nobody stands by me but someone whispers
I lost my senses
And kept on beholding the green paddy fields
What a wonder!
O life! You are running so deep in speed
The spreading beauty on the earth sometimes stops
Sometimes stops us in no reason
On the other hand, it seems a great reason behind there
Sometimes with you for a cup of tea
How wonderful the life led by!
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
08 October, 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.
a groaning mid-afternoon loss of Thou
beginning to suspect he's not the target audience
before expulsion
a bit
of the Pater Noster
'don't write that down...you're the only one
who doesn't know it'
discovering another Jovian moon in the ice cream truck's jingle
when children are eating the wild grasses
scent of crushed sage off the bare shoulders of a stranger
above the skeevy gas-station urinal
a tally-ho senryu
when the lime-green hummingbird thrummed in the air between us
before Les Mots
I could play Wipe Out
on the surface of the sun
Milarepa...
when she says
'rebuild over there'
It’s one of the oldest metaphors and it should be, since the job is never done in either case. After six years of formal study in philosophy, which followed more than a decade of religious indoctrination, I always wrongly believed I understood what it meant to “know thyself.” I probably did. But one must account for denial. No is often an overlooked necessity. I learned that when one joins a Buddhist monastery the first thing they hand you is not a manuscript of the Dhammapada, or any other scroll full of teachings. It’s a broom. I believed I had it figured out.
I took a week off, and the first few days were working; spent; spent working. I cleaned the toilets, but I failed, because I needed cleansers. I cleaned the tiles in the bathrooms, but this necessitated a new need. More failure. But things were cleaner. I vacuumed. I needed the machine for that; more needs: more failure. But things were cleaner. Dishes. Laundry. Folded clothes. Swept the hardwood floors. Wiped down the counters. Dusted the shelves. Brought out the window cleaner and did the windows. I wiped clean the framed pictures in the office, the place where poetry does not begin, but the place it passes through, on its way from wherever it once was, to wherever I was, and onto wherever a reader was reading it. I have pictures of others, for inspiration, perhaps, or just for the pure aesthetics of it, on the walls of that office. After some blue spray and some wiping, Charles Bukowski never looked better. Ezra Pound was never more clear. I did the sheets, and wished one could do the same with the sheets in the printer: just wash it all away and start over, leave new stains, with more beautiful patterns, patterns more indicative of life-making or love-making, and less indicative of waste.
It all looked very good as I walked about the place, though realizing it is never done, but realizing the joy and peace I experienced in just doing it. For 48 hours I held my metaphorical broom, and had found my place in my monastery.
Something felt incomplete still the same; something felt still; something felt the same. After cleaning off the glass that housed the framed images and art I moved on to the windows. And then I looked in the mirror. And I realized, my work here is not only unfinished, but that I had hardly begun.
It was a very dirty mirror, it still needed cleaning, but only when I looked into it. The surface was fine.
