The Bridge of Colors

It matters not the clay that shaped the jar,
nor the wind that blew through the flute of bone,
art is the thread, subtle yet well-known,
that binds all maps into one single star.
The hand that weaves, the voice that tells the tale,
belong to no shore, nor a single wall;
they are lights that guide through the future’s call
with rhymes of silk and silver’s trail.
Let the brush travel through paths of earth,
let the dance awaken the sleeping square,
for a statue is life that breathes the air,
erasing the hate and giving peace birth.
Peoples of the world, open every door:
let your neighbor’s song become your own way,
for art is the sun, the wine, oand the day
that joins our distant souls forevermore.

Fernando Josè Martínez Alderete

Mèxico

The Sowing of Silence

Peace is not born from the coldness of steel,
nor from signatures on paper, torn and hollow;
it grows in the furrow where wounds start to heal,
between the stranger and the friend we follow.
It is a language where borders are gone,
trading the rifle for the grain of wheat,
where hands that once fought, before the dawn,
now build the shelter, the bread, and the seat.
Let the walls of shadow and fear now fall,
let the echo of hate be lost in the gale,
for more strength is found in a finger’s call
that reaches for another, beyond the veil.
It matters not language, the faith, or the skin,
the earth is the map of a single heartbeat;
we are the lineage that lets grace in,
leaving the ghosts of the past in retreat.
Peace is the bridge that spans the abyss,
the table is set, the light on the face,
to find in the other a kinship like this:
that their home is our home, a shared holy space.

Fernando Josè Martínez Alderete

Mèxico

Dr. Fernando Martinez Alderete

Writer, poet, theater actor, radio producer. Born in Leon Guanajato Mexico on April 21, 1977, President of Mil Mentes por México in Guanajuato. Dr. HC, global leadership and literature.

His poems were published in more than 200 anthologies in fifteen countries around the world and he is author of ten books, of poetry, short stories and novels.

‎Survival Will Be Immortal History

‎Mesfakus Salahin

‎Bangladesh

‎

‎When will sweaty hands be able to say –

‎This homeland, river, forest is mine;

‎The head above my shoulders is unsold;

‎The sky full of stars above my head is mine;

‎The sun will cut through the darkness with its light;

‎The moonlight will be the ink to write my story?

‎

‎

‎When will the newly born voice say –

‎There is no burden of debt on the head,

‎No bloodshed touches the map,

‎The fluidity of existence grows at will,

‎The largest budget in world financial policy,

‎I am not only the country’s, but the world’s greatest asset?

‎

‎When will the shepherd flute say –

‎The pure soul plays in my stomach,

‎The wind and the sea swell in the faintness of the melody,

‎The wounds of the river are just the artist’s paintings,

‎Childhood is not incomplete due to lack of water,

‎There is no shortage of money in human market?

‎

‎When will people say as human beings –

‎The color of our blood does not change,

‎Our hands are not severed,

‎The shepherd’s two hands are not withered,

‎The language of the heart is tied without a thread,

‎And the destination is one and the same?

‎

‎When will the arsenal be destroyed in the path of love,

‎The earth will be purified by the spread of humanity,

‎Shadows will be enchanted by the scorching heat,

‎Nature will not burn in the fires of aggression,

‎The atoms of love will flow in torrents

‎The power of arms be as sweet as a fountain?

‎

‎When will the horse of egoism stop,

‎The hydrogen bomb won’ t be made in the furnace of ego,

‎The smell of bullets won’ tt scar the rose’s chest,

‎The fertile time won’t be pierced by the shore of modernity,

‎The Alsaceian squad won’ t guard the breakfast table,

‎The rainbow will bloom at its natural pace?

‎

‎When will the trees absorb the essence of narrow-mindedness,

‎The violent palaces will become the huts of compromise,

‎Captivity will cultivate free freedom in blood,

‎The waters of the river will be transformed into love,

‎The history of division will be washed away by equal distribution,

‎Our survival will become an immortal history?

‎

‎When will the bond of friendship be sealed by the sails of a ship,

‎The boundaries of the ocean will not swallow the long flesh of the heart,

‎The word ‘our’ will belong to everyone,

‎Religion will depict the presence of heaven,

‎The body will become the bodiless soul,

‎The mind will become our pilgrimage?

‎

The Role of Family in the Development of the Nation

The family is the most important foundation of society and the starting point of human life. Every person learns their values and moral standards within the family. A strong family is the cornerstone of a stable society.

Today, in the Republic of Uzbekistan, supporting families, encouraging young families, and providing social assistance are important directions of state policy. May 15 is widely celebrated as International Family Day. The family is the foundation of the nation. A strong family guarantees stability and progress in society.

In modern families, women are engaged in entrepreneurial activities, contributing to the material well-being of the household. Parents raise their children to be knowledgeable, patriotic, and responsible individuals. Moreover, the family plays an important role in passing national values from generation to generation and preserving the cultural heritage of society.

Every family has its own values. Preserving family values is the duty of every person. Family members should show respect and love to each other, while children should be attentive and considerate toward their parents. The family’s history, traditions, and customs passing continuously from one generation to another strengthens the stability of society.

Child upbringing begins in the family. A child learns love, respect, and moral values from their parents. A child raised in a healthy family grows up to be independent, honest, and responsible. Parents prepare their children for life, raising them to be knowledgeable and socially active. Therefore, love, warmth, and affection within the family are extremely important for the child’s mental health and future.

COMEDIA

Leopard, lion, and bitch-wolf

hunger for my soul. Virgil

saves me and takes me to Hell.

lovers, poets, craps players,

roisterers, and blasphemers

are assigned vicious circles.

Many of my friends are there.

They greet me with tears and prayers

and swear to elect me mayor

when I move to their precinct.

And we huddle over drinks

and brag about past high jinks.

And Virgil grows quite distraught.

He regrets what he has wrought,

and he checks his sundial watch.

“Come,” he says, “it’s time to go!”

I agree to leave, just so

I’ll be back some tomorrow.

SUN RA, NIGHT

The passion becomes precision,

silent organs suddenly articulate,

our jazz exact,

universe complete.

An ingenious engine,

gladly self-winding,

perpetrator of Being–

sex is that loving violence

that screws time’s ingedients

(wasiswillbe)

into a Reality

that’s the matheme of poetry:

the science of intimacy with

the alchemy of Romance-myth.

And of existence–

we are the masterpieces!

The electric youandme

moves together gloriously,

excalibur-in-stone machinery

that’s the index of our style,

the evidence of our skill.

Amply blest,

an amethyst,

we are the levee

against the tsunami’s

approaching closing fists–

isn’t there enough madness left?

The solution is more sex!

BODIES WE LOVE

Is that thumbsup we hold in trust

actually just a making-the-fig?

Which vistas shall we later see

as caricatures,

which oaths are mere gestures?

The withinness of the present

obscures tomorrow’s withoutnesses.

The hidden shall be open then

and the bodies we love, no longers

(and no longer even memories).

Yesterdays are the only forevers.

RELOCATING?

Della Street’s behind me,

need a new address.

Lois Lane? Is it Etta Place?

No service road can be an I-.

I KNOW MY PLACE

The metropolis and the ghost town,

the ecosystem and the city:

My world is a paradox of orthodox and strange,

an environment of blend

that reconciles divides.

The academy and the stockyard,

The industrial plant and the garden

share their universe

with quarks and galaxies.

They bridge chaos and constitution,

balance ocean mountain desert plain

glacier volcano,

combine/contain actions and emotions,

reconcile all us doubters and cowards.

The legislature and the prison,

the gymnasium and the ashram

have equal weight and heft.

They refine and define,

blur boundaries,

apportion my lot in space.

ON RETURNING HOME ANEW AFTER HALF A CENTURY

where ghosts and memories forever reign

everything/nothing is still the same

strange faces on familiar names

changed functions for famous frames

remembering unremembered chimes

but the sky! the sky remains

Today, everything is fast. We spend hours scrolling on TikTok or Instagram. We see thousands of pictures, but sometimes we feel empty. I’m 16, and I also love my phone. But lately, I found something better: Reading a book.

​Reading is not just about school or homework. It is like a “3D journey” without leaving your room. When you watch a movie, you see the director’s imagination. But when you read a book, you are the director. You imagine the faces, the colors, and the voices. Your brain becomes a private cinema.

​The best part? A book is a friend that never judges you. Sometimes you feel sad or lonely, and you don’t know why. Then, you read a sentence in a book that describes exactly how you feel. In that moment, you realize: “I am not alone.”

​Books don’t have ads or notifications. It’s just you and the story. It’s the best way to relax your mind from the noisy world.

​So, tonight, let’s try something different. Put your phone away for just 15 minutes. Smell the pages, feel the paper, and start a new adventure. Trust me, no smartphone can give you this feeling.

A lost homeland. 

O, Iran!

The land of ancient beauty, 

now the land of deep sorrow

alongside the longing for freedom. 

Your sun is veiled by a shadow’s weight,

and tears have washed over the city gate.

The mothers’ heart in quiet sorrow wait,

while smoke obscures the old, historic places.

In the streets, a quiet fire still burns

for freedom’s song.

Unveiled hair are a high banner,

and the women’s voice turns darkness into light. 

O, Iran!

O, land of poets, wine of the primordial covenant, and the reed!

Your streets are now a fading map,

and the voices are a whisper in the wind.

O, Iran! The land of Hafez, Ferdowsi and Rumi!

Will from your ruins grow a stronger seed?

I carry my home in my fractured soul,

a suitcase filled with your pain 

and your collective grief.

Will the sun rise from your sky again?

Will the long night flee, my cherished land?

©® Farzaneh Dorri

Iran

 

                             UNKNOWN WOMAN

       It was the end of May, the beginning of June. Despite being the first days of summer, the days were very hot. Especially when you stand in the middle of a field that has just fallen, you feel as if you are stuck in a deserted desert. One such day, my sister and I went out to plant corn in the field. Perhaps because of our conversation, we finished planting the corn in one go. The day when the sun was high was very hot. There was a mulberry tree at the beginning of the field, and in its shade we drank the water we had brought in a bowl and rested for a while. At that moment, a woman standing on the roadside twenty or thirty steps away from us asked us for water. Although she was standing a little far from us, it was clear that she was tired and exhausted.

Then my sister told me to bring her water, and I did. As I got closer to her, she was holding her little girl, about four or five years old, and she was looking at me with tears in her eyes. I went up to her, greeted her, and poured her some water. She poured the waterI am not a good person, I am not a good person.I greeted her and poured her some water. She took the water and gave it to her daughter, who was probably very thirsty, and kept drinking. I was amazed by the bruised face and hands of this strange woman. After she had finished giving her daughter some water, she drank some herself and then handed me the cup.You are tired from work too, you can drink it yourself, he said, and wiped the tears that were flowing from his eyes. I said, “Drink it freely, we were just about to go home,” and I handed the water to the stranger again. She drank all the water because she was thirsty. Then she asked me to call my sister, and with a single gesture from me, my sister quickly came to us.

At first, my sister was surprised to see her pale face and eyes. Then, sensing our surprise, the stranger began to tell us the story with tears in her eyes. At first, she asked us to carry her daughter, who was running a fever due to a broken arm, and accompany her to the main road. My sister carried the girl. I, the stranger, who was about twenty-five or thirty years old,We set off as fast as I could. As we walked, he began to speak softly.We were originally from the lower classes, my father and mother died when we were young. My brother and I grew up in the arms of my grandmother. My grandmother passed away after seeing my brother get married. Years later, my brother gave me away to the son of an ordinary acquaintance who was not rich.

After a while, their true nature gradually began to show. There were four of us in the family: me, my mother-in-law, my sister-in-law, and my boss. My boss was an alcoholic who had no education and had no work to do. My mother-in-law and sister-in-law would not let me go out. My mother-in-law would beat me badly when her son came home drunk. These disagreements affected my soul and one day I decided to leave home. I was packing my things when my mother-in-law came and took all my things, threw me and my daughter out of the room, and locked the door. I, unable to say anything for my daughter, led her to the field. The only reason my mother-in-law wouldn’t let me go was that she wanted to marry her daughter, who had returned from her sister’s marriage, to her son. When the day started to warm up, I returned home.

The thought of leaving this place, no matter what, was haunting me. When I went home, my mother-in-law would mumble something and tell me to her son who had come home drunk. After these words, I knew that there would definitely be a fight, so I left my daughter behind and went to them myself. I was more afraid of my daughter than myself. Because when my master came home drunk, he would shout at my daughter and shake his hand. Seeing my master’s eyes red with a hint of forgiveness, I would get more and more scared. No matter how much I tried to justify myself, it was no use. My mother-in-law’s mumbling must have touched my soul, and my master got up and hit me. Despite my screaming and crying in pain, he would beat me without even seeing me as a person. At that moment, my daughter ran to tell him not to hit my mother. I was hugging my daughter, but I couldn’t move one of my arms. My hand felt nothing, only pain.

When I begged her not to touch my daughter, she ran into the house with a scream. When she was drunk, she was like a mindless animal. My mother-in-law always tried to use it. My mother-in-law looked at me as if she was happy with it.He disappeared from sight as if relieved. My whole body was trembling with pain, and my hand felt as if it were crushed by a stone.As I stroked my face, which was already swollen, and wiped away the tears of my daughter, who was crying incessantly, I felt her heat radiating from her. I gathered my thoughts to protect my daughter, who was the meaning of my life, and slowly got up and set off. She really wanted me to leave.My mother-in-law didn’t stop me. While I was walking with my daughter who was running a fever, I kept crying and praying to God to heal her. I was so tired and exhausted from the long journey that I didn’t even have the strength to lift my daughter. Since we were far from the village, there was not a single living soul in sight. Oh my, my cries must have reached God, I met you on the way. You know this, you know, she said, and fell silent. There was silence. Seeing that she was getting weaker and weaker, we didn’t talk to her anymore.

Finally, we got on the main road and stopped the car. She put the little girl in the car and prayed for us.My mother-in-law didn’t stop me.While I was on the road with my daughter who was running a fever, I kept crying and begging God to heal her. I was so tired and exhausted from the long journey that I didn’t even have the strength to lift my daughter. Since we were far from the village, there was not a single living soul in sight. Oh my God, I think I met you on the road. You know what happened to you, you know. There was silence. Seeing that she was getting weaker and weaker, we didn’t talk to her anymore. Finally, we got to the main road and stopped the car. She put the girl in the car, blessed us, thanked us, and drove away. When my sister and I were returning home, we felt sorry that there were cruel and merciless people in the world like her boss, mother-in-law, and sister-in-law. Still, we returned home with our hearts lifted like a mountain, knowing that this stranger had left her home, which was filled with ignorance and evil, and was determined to fight for the happiness of her only daughter.

Sherdonayeva Ozoda Mahmarajab qizi was born on December 10, 2006 in the Gulbog mahalla of the Bandikhon district of the Surkhandarya region. In 2014, she attended school No. 20 in the Bandikhon district. She graduated from school in 2025. In 2025, she entered the Denov Institute of Entrepreneurship and Pedagogy. She received a C+ grade from the National Certificate in Native Language. In April 2023, her poem “Qadrdon maktabim” was published in a newspaper in the new Bandikhon district. She took part in the district stage of the young reader competition. She also took part in the public events, namely the “Readers among teenagers” competition. She took part in the Shariat section held under the slogan “Dillarda Vatan Mathi”. Her poems have been     submitted to magazines. Currently, she is participating in many competitions.