Short story from Kozimjonova Saidaxon Alisher qizi

THE SHADOW

It was late autumn.

On the outskirts of the city lay an old park, covered not with people, but with fallen leaves. The wind carried them gently from one place to another, as if each leaf were wandering in search of the place where it truly belonged. At the far end of the park stood an old wooden bench, worn smooth by the passing years. Every single day, an old man sat there. No one knew who he was. He was neither a beggar nor a merchant, nor did he look like an ordinary retiree. His clothes were always neat, his hair snow-white, and his eyes remained fixed on some distant point beyond the trees. Beside him rested the same old leather bag every day. People walked past him. No one paid him much attention. Except for one boy.

Ozod, an eight- or nine-year-old schoolboy, passed through the park every afternoon on his way home. For reasons he could not explain, he found himself drawn to the old man.

One day, he finally approached him.

“Sir, why do you come here every day?” The old man smiled.

“I’m waiting.”

“For whom?”

“Perhaps for someone… perhaps for the chance to be forgiven…”

The boy did not understand his answer. Even so, he began sitting beside him every day after school. Weeks passed. They did not talk much. Sometimes they would sit together for an entire hour without saying a single word. Silence, somehow, became their conversation.

Eventually, winter arrived. Snow began to cover the park. One afternoon, Ozod ran to the bench as usual. It was empty. Two days passed. Then three. A week. The old man never returned. Unable to bear his curiosity, Ozod asked the elderly groundskeeper who was sweeping the paths.

“Where is the old man who always sat here?” The groundskeeper let out a quiet sigh.

“He won’t be coming back, son.”

“Why?”

“His time came.”

The boy lowered his head. For reasons he could not explain, it felt as though something inside him had quietly broken.

“Who was he?” The old man gazed into the distance before answering.

“Twenty years ago, there was a terrible car accident right here in this park. A drunk driver struck a young family. The parents died instantly. Only their little daughter survived. The driver was imprisoned. When he was finally released, he searched everywhere for that little girl. He wanted to ask for forgiveness, but he never found her. So every day… he came back to this bench. Day after day, he held on to the hope that she would one day appear.”

“That she would look into his eyes and simply say…”

“I forgive you.”

“But she never came.”

Years passed. Ozod grew up. He graduated from university and began building his own life. Life, however, tested him in ways he had never expected. One evening, while returning from a business trip, he became involved in a traffic accident through a moment of carelessness. Fortunately, no one was seriously injured. But the owner of the other car stormed toward him in anger. Ozod apologized repeatedly. Nothing seemed to calm the man’s fury. Then, suddenly, the image of the snow-covered bench flashed before his eyes. The old man’s quiet voice echoed in his memory:

“Perhaps for someone… perhaps for the chance to be forgiven…”

Without another word, Ozod took out a piece of paper and wrote down his phone number. “I will pay for every bit of the damage,” he said quietly. “And even if you cannot forgive me today, I understand. But I hope that someday you’ll remember there was once a stranger who was truly sorry.”

The fury in the man’s eyes slowly melted away. Neither of them spoke again. Sometimes sincerity speaks louder than words ever can.

Many years later, on another autumn afternoon, Ozod returned to the same park, this time holding his grandson’s hand. The old wooden bench was still there. Only now, it stood empty. His grandson looked up at him.

“Grandpa… why are you staring at that bench?” Ozod smiled faintly.

“A person’s shadow disappears when the sun sets, but the shadow of their deeds remains in the lives of others forever.”

The child looked at him without understanding. Ozod turned his eyes toward the falling leaves. The wind lifted them gently into the air. This time, they no longer looked lost. They seemed to know exactly where they belonged. And for the first time in many years, the empty bench no longer looked lonely.

My name is Kozimjonova Saidaxon Alisher qizi. I was born on November 27, 2007, in Asaka District, Andijan Region, Uzbekistan. I am currently a third-year student majoring in Economics at the Faculty of Economics and Management, Andijan State Technical Institute.

From an early age, I have been passionate about numbers, analytical thinking, and economics. To me, economics is more than just an academic discipline—it is a vital field that helps us understand the development of society and improve people’s lives. For this reason, conducting research and pursuing lifelong learning have become an integral part of my life.

To date, I have published more than 30 scientific articles in national and international publications. I have also presented my research at six scientific and practical conferences. During my academic journey, I became the regional winner of the Economics Statistics and Data Analysis Olympiad and later represented my region at the national stage. In addition, I won first place in the institute stage of the “Zukko Kitobxon” (Intelligent Reader) competition, participated in the national “Munozara” (Debate) tournament, and have been an active participant and winner in numerous academic and intellectual competitions.

After entering university, my interests expanded beyond academic research to include creative writing. Reading books, participating in literary events, and creating stories that touch people’s hearts have become an important part of my life. The Shadow, the story you are about to read, is my first work of fiction. I believe that every story I write should encourage readers to reflect, inspire kindness, and promote universal human values.

I am also actively involved in community service. I participate in volunteer initiatives and am the founder of a volunteer-focused startup initiative under Ko’ngilli.uz. To me, contributing to society is more valuable than any personal achievement.

Reading is one of my greatest passions. So far, I have read more than 50 books, each of which has broadened my knowledge, enriched my perspective, and inspired me to pursue greater goals.

My guiding principle is: “Seek knowledge from the cradle to the grave, acquire it, and share it with others.” I firmly believe that knowledge elevates individuals, while education has the power to transform society.

My greatest ambition is to become one of the leading specialists in the field of economics, further develop my academic career, and use my knowledge and experience to benefit others. If my writing or my work can make a positive difference in even one person’s life, I will consider that my greatest achievement.

Poetry from Mesfakus Salahin

South Asian man with reading glasses and red shoulder length hair. He's got a red collared shirt on.
Mesfakus Salahin

The Other Eye

Mesfakus Salahin
Assistant Professor of English
Namoshankor Batti College
Chapainawabganj
Bangladesh

In one eye of yours dwells a silvery moon,
In the other, an eternally youthful sun.
It is that other eye I prefer the most;
Touching the moon feels like walking, holding the fingers of the night.
I deeply love that crimson fire— In the sun-bellows,
I melt day after day,
Becoming mountain and river at the port of toil;
The sun is my fiery bliss.

The mud-streaked sun of dawn eventually turns into a fiery red glow;

Drenched in the hues of dreams, the mountain stones become exquisite art.
The sun’s fragrance, caught in the hem of autumn’s robe,
Gradually finds its way into the braid of your hair.
Beloved,
Let your secret mysteries rest upon the mountains of the moon;
But grant me the river of the sun—
I shall float or sink in its waters for eternity.
Do not ask for an accounting—
Of who loved whom and to what extent; Termites have made a home in my heart
Had I stopped to calculate, I would not have loved
Touch the veil of existence, hold fast to time—

 I, too, am like the living sun.

Poetry from Ri Hossain

Do Not Spoil the Evening
— Ri Hossain

In your restive, waiting evening
Experience tells you,
Do not spoil the evening;
sip your coffee, and ponder something—

Is everything so wretched?
The light is dim, framing the dustbin outside.
Such a nuisance—the little girl in nothing at all!
Even the intersection is unhinged, rushing with red eyes,
opening green eyes only to go blind.

No, not these.
Do not waste a thought on such things.
A man of your worth doesn’t bother with them;

please, do not ruin your evening.
Ask yourself instead: why is there no Starbucks here?
Is the coffee cloyingly sweet?
Thinkers like you crave a bitter brew.

Ponder your new lover’s swelling breasts instead—
the finest creation of beauty in the world is a woman’s breast.
Your fountain pen, engraved with the Madonna,
sheds its clothes as it writes—
compare the two pairs of breasts, while within your skull
a war breaks out between rival miracles.

Do not dare think of the beauty of the vagina,
it is like a black hole,
where your entire being collapses into nothingness.
Do not spoil the evening;
let each sip of coffee
yield another intoxicating draft.

May your evening be blessed. Let her arrive,
let her warmth outmatch the coffee’s steam.
Sit face to face and begin to write—
let the lover’s body strip down like the fountain pen.

Do not spoil the evening.
Drag the poem deep into the night—
let the ink of the fountain pen
flood the undiscovered vagina.


Ri Hossain is a prominent voice in Bengali poetry, recognized as a rebellious and resilient figure in the contemporary literary landscape. Born on August 19, 1981, in Rangpur, Bangladesh, with ancestral roots in Munshiganj, he began his literary journey in 1993. His poetry deeply reflects personal experiences, societal conflicts, urban alienation, and a steadfast commitment to free expression. Author of several works, including the poetry collection Kobitar Abhyutthan Chai (2024), his writing bridges social consciousness with profound psychological and intimate introspection.

Poetry from Mykyta Ryzhykh

poem

Spring Christmas

My head is like a ribbon thrown under a train that you can’t stop; that you don’t want to stop. My head: like a ribbon of worm in an apple pie. My head: destroy this pain again and for the first time (like water washing time from hair). Destroy this head: abnormal, sick, vile, purple-marbled, and then winter and snow will begin. Snow always holds a secret: destroy this snow, it carries neither secrets nor questions, trains are like lame swallows, rails are like inflorescences of homeless and suicides peoples hanging from the trees. This head carries no secrets, no questions. Destroy this head: the husks will scatter across meadows and deserts, across bird meadows and across human deserts. Cut off the dead branches, pluck the faded flowers, take out the trash, throw your head under the train.

And then I’ll die. And then you’ll die inside my head.

Poetry from Abigail George

?

Wednesday, early morning

It is the 22nd of July 2026

Waves of Charles Bukowski’s making

Our father 

is finishing radiation therapy 

on Monday

My back hurts

It is the middle of winter

At night, he looks at pornography on my computer

The computer that people out of the kindness of their hearts

fundraised for me

I am greeted, good morning, in the darkness

By curvy women

And busty babes

An online casino, rainbow lights flickering

Is this what his despair feels like?

Every night, he  

surfs the web

Looking for

Curvy women

Busty babes

There’s nothing I can do about this

There’s nothing I can do about online casinos

That I find on my computer

The cigarette ash

The packets of marijuana

The crystal meth

His pipes

Dear God, please tell me what I am supposed to do?

When he makes a fist

When he screams, Dyke!

Yes, this is what I wake up to

Please, make it stop

I just want it to stop

And I don’t 

want to read 

this memoir 

that he is writing

I have 

a terrible cough 

and headaches now

because 

he smokes 

all the time 

in the house

He has a vape

He smokes that

He smokes cigarettes

He smokes marijuana

I don’t know 

if he is still using tik

He used to hide 

that in his drawer

Where his son 

played computer games

Is this 

what suffering is,

Or is it terror?

Is it the stuff 

that nightmares 

are made from?

This is what my despair feels like

My sadness

my yearning for days gone by

The longing for the brother 

I used to know gone up 

in webs of smoke

The zol a cobweb in his hand

What am I praying for? 

Your soul?

Yes, maybe, 

I am praying 

for your soul

Maybe that is 

what a sister 

is supposed to do 

for her brother

I just don’t know 

how much more 

of this I can take

I am living 

on the edge 

every day

My mental health 

Is in a precarious 

state of balance

I am scared 

I will be hospitalized again

My sister says 

that she thinks 

I am sick 

and I need 

to see a doctor

They pay no attention 

to my brother

who is the cause 

of my distress

I am the problem

I knit

I knit 

I am knitting 

a scarf 

for my niece

I don’t know 

how long I will be sane, 

this time

I ask my father,

How can my own brother do this to me?

How? 

Why, why, why?

My father turns his head, and says,

There’s nothing I can do for you now

I have cancer

Look after yourself, my child

There is nothing 

I can do 

for you, my brother

But I will 

pray for you

For an about turn 

in your life

How I can remember

All the tides that came before

The shift and change in my mood

Like yesterday, like yesterday

As I feel it comes upon me now

How sacred 

your boyhood was, once. 

Once. Once

I think of all the harm 

that you have done to me,

I think to myself that you 

would never have done 

that to the women

You worked with when you 

were a credit risk analyst at that bank

The white women, the pale Amazons

But you did it to me,

To your sister

What kind of a man are you,

Or are you just a drug-fueled monster

At the point of no return?

I have forgiven you

What else can I do?

For me to live my own life

And care for your children

What else can I do?

I make you a cup of coffee in the morning

How did you sleep, I ask

We watch your daughter as she stands between us, watching us

I know now that it’s not your fault

It was never your fault to begin with 

Addiction doesn’t discriminate.

Poetry from Ananya S. Guha

night doesn’t happen…

Night doesn’t sleep anymore

the sound of dogs

the memories of

what never happened 

silently brood one by one

night doesn’t happen 

silence is moored in songs

night happens 

when only these hills

are comatose 

and you expect the dogs

to bark raucously

but there is silence

because night doesn’t happen

anymore

rains will suddenly arrive

and ravish night and these hills

night doesn’t happen anymore…

Ananya S Guha

Ananya S Guha lives in Shillong in Northeast India. His poems have been published in both print and electronic formats, and he has been writing poetry for the last forty years. 

Essay from Dr. Jernail S. Anand

AI-THE ULTRA CULTURE:

THE ‘JINN’ [GENIE] FROM ALADDIN’S LAMP 

AI, the ‘jinn’ which has come out of Aladdin’s Lamp, is no doubt the triumph of human mind. It has opened the flood gates of knowledge, and conquered time and space, and brought mankind to the enviable position of a great victor. But, it is fraught with grave risks because it poses the greatest danger to human mind only. Moreover, it  appears the machine has taken all the credit pushing man, for whose benefit it was created, to a secondary position. The master does not trust his own mind, what commands to give.  Man is being reduced to a non-entity now, his brain laid aside, and the AI is doing all the work. A washing machine doing the chores of a housewife is a great help.  Making chapatis would also do. If the AI assists us, it is acceptable. But, if AI starts feeding us, while we are lying on our bed, it would be a bad day for man. Assistance enhances our powers, but replacement dismantles us. That is nothing short of a disaster for mankind. 

The business world has acquired AI as a blessing, and got rid of millions of workers, who are now on the roads, looking for jobs.  One major achievement/danger of the modern times is that AI has started making human fakes. In fact, it has created a fake factory, and men are thrilled by its powers to create AI babies, and then, once you give the perfect order, it responds and creates what you want.  A young man’s thrill at such creations can be appreciated, but, when older men indulge in these thrills, there is definitely a cause for worry, because, now these fakes will be misused to create an imaginary world, like the world of the celluloid where even murders carry no responsibility. 

It is scary to imagine what AI can do although,  behind it, we find our own human mind. The ‘Jinn’ is remembered for good deeds, but in case of AI, we are not certain, what is going to happen to mankind. What good it can do, and what good it has done, everything is in a fluid state, and in a state of absolute uncertainty. If AI, like the ‘Jinn’ works on our command, it is for man to realize what command to give. In itself, AI has no existence, nor any power, either to create or to destroy. 

If the ‘Jinn’ has come out, I propose certain ideas which can make this ‘Jinn’ perform to perfection, and for the betterment of mankind. I think, as awakened sections of humanity, we should realize where things have gone wrong, and how they can be put back into order. 

AI and Social Activism

The AI can be harnessed for social activism. But for this, the scientists who are creating this Ultra-Culture have to be given a Refresher Course in Social Idealism.  They need to be told that Science is a welfare discipline, and its powers cannot be used to abridge human happiness in any way. In fact, they need to be given training is Social Ethics emphasising the fact that  science cannot be ethically neutral.  And this idea has to be injected into the minds of the people working at the helm. Neither entertainment, nor business, should be the ideal of any scientific advancement. It is the wellbeing of humanity, and arming mankind with more and more powers, so that they could improve their living style, ultimately leading to greater happiness of the greater number. For this, we need to have an education which is ethically committed. International Academy of Ethics believes in changing the very Alphabet of human studies, such as E for Ethics, C for Compassion and K for Kindness and so on. And while leaving colleges, the students should be required to give a solemn declaration that they will not allow their knowledge to be misused to bring any harm to cosmic society.

From an Amusement Park to Social Activism

AI is working as most significant defining power in society already. But it is being used as a wilful amusement park where people come for mental acrobatics.  But it has to take the next step now, and assume the role of a Social Awakener.  And Man must rise up to his role as the Master of this Recreated Universe.  AI has to focus on things which were left undone by man while he was busy in marching forward. 

The revered river of India, the Ganges, remains polluted, and the Govt has made great efforts to cleanse its waters. Why not we press in AI to start cleaning the rivers of the world?

AI should work to reduce the radiations from electronic towers, or remove their toxicity, so that bird life could be saved.

The AI can help raise underground water levels in states where these are going down.

AI can de-escalate pollution levels in cities like New Delhi, Kolkata etc.

In a state like Punjab and Haryana, where stubble is burnt at the cost of human heath, it can find out some ways to tackle these issues.

AI can run the engines of buses, and cars, and even aeroplanes, and trains, without using any type of fuel. This is a great challenge for AI-ans so that it could usher in a new world order which is based on AI fuel. 

These are only a few suggestions which might look like an overkill. But, we should have faith in the human mind. If AI can be used for Deep Fakes and causing fear in human minds, we just need to change its direction, just change its posture, all its powers can be used for the good of mankind too. 

DR JERNAIL S ANAND

Dr. Jernail S. Anand, with 200 books to his credit [20 epics] is a Chandigarh-based  polymath, and a vital architect of the 21st century ethical literature whose seminal work ‘Lustus: The Prince of Darkness’ challenges the moral complacency of our era.  Founding President of the International Academy of Ethics, and Laureate of Charter of Morava [Serbia], Seneca [Italy], Franz Kafka [Germany, Ukraine, Czech Rep] and Maxim Gorky [Russia],  his name is inscribed on the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. He is an Honorary Member of the Serbian Writers Association, Belgrade. Anand has built a poetics that unites ethics, Vedic spirituality, social critique, and the philosophy of meaning. Anand presents an articulated perspective on poetry as an instrument of planetary consciousness. A moral philosopher, professor, and international speaker, Anand has devoted much of his research to the ethical dimension of language, to the responsibility of the individual within a globalised society, and to the relationship between matter, consciousness, and transcendence. Email: anandjs55@yahoo.com.

Bibliography:

https://sites.google.com/view/bibliography-dr-jernal-singh/home

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