Note on this poem’s process, from poet AG Davis:
Gathering info/data then intuitively applying to matrices that intertwine and reconfigure yet relate on multiple levels of dimensionality. however, these matrices can be read linearly, or reinforced in any manner the reader chooses: my theory is that there should be at the very least resonance/or purely mental vibrance with the words themselves; that although not direct sometimes in apparent semantic content, there is still some para-semantic content, or ur-semantic content that will ‘stick” to make a ”meaning” ”ravel”. 

Poem

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-light

THIRTY-ONE LIGHTS: THE VIRTUOUS WOMAN OF STRENGTH AND GRACE 

Author: H.E. Prof. Amb. Rev. Dr. Jitender Singh, India

She walks in dignity, her character shining bright,

More precious than jewels, a treasure of living light.

Trust rests upon her wherever she may stand,

Truth and sincerity gently guide her hand.

With skillful hands she labors, faithful in every way,

Through patience and wisdom she brightens each day.

She guards her duties with thoughtful care,

Planting seeds of goodness everywhere.

Strength and health uphold the path she takes,

Joy in her labor a brighter future makes.

Alert in spirit, with insight deep and clear,

Her wisdom removes confusion and fear.

Her kindness reaches the helpless and poor,

Compassion becomes an ever-open door.

Brave in her spirit with vision that sees afar,

Grace in simplicity shines like a star.

Her values and culture bring honor and respect,

A life of virtue the world reflects.

Through diligence and honesty her works arise,

Integrity shining before many eyes.

Hope fills her spirit through darkness and light,

Discernment guiding the path that is right.

Gentle in speech yet steadfast in stand,

Understanding life with a compassionate hand.

Energetic in service, devoted and wise,

A faithful mother whose love never dies.

Her household rises with gratitude and praise,

For love and wisdom crown her days.

She reveres the Creator with humble delight,

Walking by faith and living in light.

Success follows virtue wherever she goes,

Her deeds speak louder than anyone knows.

And when history remembers the pillars of grace,

Her courage and kindness will hold their place.

For the world moves forward on quiet unseen art—

The strength of a woman, the light of her heart.

Let nations remember, let generations see:

Where women rise with honor, humanity walks free.

© 2026 H.E. Prof. Amb. Rev. Dr. Jitender Singh, India

All Rights Reserved

Written on the Occasion of International Women’s Day – March 8

Delirium of Love – Words of a Woman

Learn to read feelings before reading anything else,

for letters belong to everyone,

but feelings are understood only by those who possess a little sensitivity.

What still frightens me is that I continue to feel that I belong nowhere;

not to a place,

not to a person,

not to a pair of eyes,

nor to a shoulder to lean on.

The wild loneliness still accompanies me,

even sometimes upon my pillow.

Yet I find comfort in this self-sufficiency,

in distancing myself from everything that resembles me,

and in living my state with the one who lives within me.

But I always say to him:

I miss you with a longing that steals my breath

and ignites in my heart a fire that never fades.

Your absence hurts me,

and your memory fills every moment of my life.

I love you to the point of pain,

and I wait for you as if my life begins when I meet you.

O man,

for feelings to be sincere,

distance cannot defeat them.

True relationships do not need constant meetings,

and the bond between us is love,

and what ties this love together is eternal sincerity.

Do you know

that between you and me there is a conversation without sound?

Between us there is a soul that hovers around you like an angel with two wings.

Between us there is a heart that beats only for you,

as if you were created to live inside me forever,

an eternity without end.

I am a woman:

half of me is a butterfly,

and the other half is a flower.

And you…

half of you is a vintage perfume whose fragrance spreads in the air,

half of you is human,

and the other half is an angel.

Half of you is a song,

and the rest of you is a beautiful melody woven from the charms of your being.

O soul,

go to him,

embrace him without my veins knowing.

Quench the thirst of your breath in his presence,

place a kiss upon his forehead,

and whisper softly to him

that I am dying of longing for him,

that he never leaves my thoughts,

and that he is the flame of my feelings.

She asked me once:

What is love to you?

I told her:

Love is a bright and beautiful garment carried by a woman.

She walks with it until she meets her other half,

then she lays it upon him,

and suddenly he appears the most handsome of men.

She believes he is the one whose image she saw in the openings of dreams

and in the folds of wishes.

And it is also a lamp in the hand of a man,

guiding him to the first woman he meets.

He sees her face shining among women whose faces do not shine,

and he believes she was created from light.

Yet he does not realize

that it was he who illuminated her face

with the lamp of his love.

It is one of life’s subtle tricks,

hidden from all lovers

since the time of Adam

until this very day.

This is the truth of love…

so do not listen too much

to the delirium of the mad lover

.

Written by / Dr. Ahmed Al-Qaisi

Nuraini Mohammad Usman, popularly known as Prof Nurain, is a Nigerian poet, storyteller, photographer, essayist, creeping artist, and proud feminist. His artistry blends words, images, and emotions to tell meaningful stories. Born into the Muyawa family in Kano State and raised in Minna, Niger State, his diverse background shapes his creative voice. Nuraini began his education at Dayamas Model School, continued at Better Treasure International School, Al-Fawzu Azeem Academy, and Legend International School. He is currently a 100-level Software Engineering student at Maryam Abacha American University of Niger (MAAUN), Maradi, where he bridges creativity with technology while pursuing his dream of becoming a lecturer

The good husband

The good husband

stands vertically in the

kitchen, flat on his back

He washes the dishes

even when he is tired

The good husband

is my sweet father

He sweeps the floor

He listens to me

He is the only one who does

He babysits his granddaughter

He sits in the hot garden

next to his gambling son

who smokes a joint

and drinks whiskey alone

in the study. My father,

he doesn’t know what to do

about his depression,

about his cancer,

about his wife who doesn’t

love him, and he wishes to

marry another, he wishes

to change his religion

He eats my food, my rice,

my fish and cold potatoes

and says it tastes good

Dad’s lips are pink, he sips water

He is a good man, a beautiful tree

I rest under the pale shade of that tree

I am one of his branches

He is a wounded man, his mood is a particle,

a vein, some fruit

He has been a good husband

We are Kafka, dad and me

We are gazelle, light-footed

dad and me, it has always been dad and me

I don’t dedicate poems anymore to people

I’m through with love

He says that I’m a good woman

I’ll find someone one day

I tell him he doesn’t have to say that

I open the curtains

The sun falls into my lap

My mother locks me

back in the attic

They put my father

in the sitting room

He writes on paper in pencil

saying he has found a cure

for all social ills

Saying he has found a cure

for bladder cancer

Saying he has found a cure

for me too

They let me out

when I’m good

Only when I’m good

No more fruit on the trees

A man steps out of his shower

and a bomb falls out of the sky

On the other side of the world

a woman walks into IKEA

as a bomb falls out of the sky

There is nothing left for us to do

but to get out of this hell hole

There is nothing left for us to do

but to get out of this place

There is nothing left for us to do

but to go to paradise 

and live there

There are no settlers in paradise

There is, in other words, 

no settler occupation in paradise

When we die, we must go to paradise

Does this make sense to you?

This bomb

This invasion

This war

This genocide

This total annihilation

It is not making sense to me 

But I forgive

If I don’t, I’ll go insane

Little Flower

The sun fades away 

into a key in the palm of my hand

A significant other 

disappeared into the snow,

into the field

You were the white-hot sand

that I walked upon,

that shouted beneath my feet

Bombs fell into the mountains

Into the all-girls school

Into the hospital

There is rubble that is a day old

There is rubble that is ancient

Ancient and wise

There is no longer 

any fruit on these trees

The ancient and wise 

fruit are long gone

The Impact of Social Media on the Lives of Young People

    Nowadays, not only young people but almost everyone has become attached to social media. Many people even think that it is difficult to imagine life without social networks. Of course, modern life requires the use of the internet and social media. However, it is important to be careful when using them and to be able to distinguish useful information from unnecessary information. In particular, people should be able to analyze various unverified or fake news.Social media also has many advantages. For example, we can find almost any information we are looking for on the internet. It is also possible to keep up with daily news and follow events happening in different countries. In addition, there are many useful videos and lessons on social media for learning languages. Therefore, many young people have the opportunity to learn new knowledge and skills independently. However, the negative aspects of social media are also very serious. For instance, watching various short videos such as “shorts” can narrow people’s thinking ability, weaken speech fluency, cause them to waste time, reduce sleeping time, and even lead to memory decline. Moreover, the family environment may also be affected: instead of spending time with their families, many young people spend their time on social media. As a result, they may become unaware of feelings such as respect for parents and the importance of spending time together and having conversations with family members.

It is true that phones and the platforms or programs on them are created by humans and designed to function in a certain way. However, nowadays it seems that phones are controlling people. This is because many people easily become dependent on them. There are many young people who spend five to six hours or even more on their phones every day, wasting their time without any meaningful purpose. However, this does not mean that everyone is like that. There are also many young people who use social media properly and meaningfully. They have dreams and goals for their future and work hard to achieve them. Instead of wasting time, they use platforms such as Instagram, YouTube, and TikTok in a productive way and organize their daily activities according to a schedule to continue their studies. In my opinion, young people who spend their days on social media in a useless way have become detached from reality and dependent on their virtual lives. Time passes very quickly, and I believe that wasting it inefficiently is wrong. In addition, such people may cast a shadow or darkness over their own bright and promising future.

Bekturdiyeva Nargizabonu was born on December 7, 2007, in Khiva city of Khorezm region. She won first place at the regional stage and participated in the national Olympiad. In 2025, she graduated from school with a gold medal.

Currently, she is a first-year student in the Geography program at Urgench State University. She has three journalistic articles and is the holder of a DGU certificate.

Her articles have been published in the famous “Synchronized Chaos” journal in the USA and in the “Ijodkorlar” journal in Uzbekistan, and she has also participated in an anthology. She is also a member of the Argentine international organization “Juntos por las Letras.”

Moon-aphor		

Wait, the moon is a big pizza pie
in the sky? I don’t think so. Man 
in the Moon, I never quite saw it.
A dinner plate, a saucer, a heavenly
body. (I’d like one of those.) 

Mistaken for a lamppost
on a drunken stumble home. 
That’s more like it.
An orb. A cue ball. 

At times a mere crescent,
a meniscus, the Dreamworks logo
of the boy fishing off its edge.
The cutout in an outhouse door.

A half moon doesn’t know
which way it’s headed,
it’s useless in guiding me.

The moon aligns with nothing.
Planets can at least do that
from our perspective on Earth.

Let’s face it, the moon is a symbol.
Maybe a cymbal. That’s it.

The moon is our soul.

Stephen Schwei is a Pushcart-nominated Houston poet with Wisconsin roots, published in Wax Poetry & Art, RFD Magazine, GetOutMag.com, Hidden Constellation, Borfski Press, and Table//Feast and is the winner of the 2023 Kenan Ince Memorial Prize in Poetry. He has published one volume of poetry, Bluebonnet Whispers and a collaboration, Catch Me at the Carnival. A gay man with three grown children and four wonderful grandchildren, who worked in Information Technology most of his life, he can be a mass of contradictions. Poetry helps to sort all of this out.  www.stephenschwei.com @steveschwei