Annotation: It would not be a mistake to say that the “Office of the Future” is a true center of opportunities and knowledge for young people. During the program, participants have the chance to strengthen their teamwork and leadership skills, attend master classes from experienced speakers, and exchange ideas and experiences with new friends. Over the course of five days, more than 150 young people discover new sides of themselves. This program is highly valuable and essential for today’s youth.
Keywords: Education, 5 days, Kelajak ofisi, project
Аннотация: Не будет ошибкой сказать, что «Офис будущего» является настоящим центром возможностей и знаний для молодежи. В рамках программы участники имеют возможность укрепить свои навыки командной работы и лидерства, посетить мастер-классы от опытных спикеров, а также обменяться идеями и опытом с новыми друзьями. В течение пяти дней более 150 молодых людей открывают в себе новые грани. Эта программа является очень ценной и необходимой для современной молодежи.
Ключевые слова: Образование,5 дней, Проект,Келажак офиси
Annotatsiya: “Kelajak ofisi” yoshlar uchun haqiqiy imkoniyat va bilim maskani desak, adashmagan bo‘lamiz. Dastur davomida ishtirokchilar jamoada ishlash va yetakchilik ko‘nikmalarini mustahkamlash, tajribali spikerlarning mahorat darslarida qatnashish, yangi do‘stlar bilan fikr va tajribalar almashish imkoniyatiga ega bo‘ladilar. Besh kun davomida 150 dan ortiq yoshlar o‘zlaridagi yangi qirralarni kashf etadilar. Ushbu loyiha yoshlar uchun nihoyatda muhim va qadrlidir.
Kalit so’zlar: Ta’lim, 5 kun, proyekt, Kelajak ofisi
Mukhammadiyeva Sevinch is a second-year student at Tashkent State Medical University. She graduated from school with a gold medal in 2024, demonstrating her academic excellence. In 2022, she earned an IELTS score of 6.5, reflecting her strong proficiency in English. Sevinch is also the holder of a National “A” Certificate in Chemistry and has achieved distinction as a winner of the Chemistry Olympiad.
A phantasmagoria including the past and present, visions, dreams, bits of reality, psychic seers and the sea, hairstyles, nature walks, talismans, seasons and wonder. When I was a kid I could see that spirit was announcing itself through the floor tiles, sometimes the wallpaper or clouds, and other things. The problem later, for a mystic that is,- is a liberal arts or even worse, science education, and growing up in general. This takes the ghosts away and then you fit in but fit into what?- to a mediocre and a blasé reality devoid of electric and eclectic realms. The spirits were there, are there, and not as a projection but rather a protection. Sometimes though, they themselves are lost souls as are we, and they are crying out for help or to at least be seen. There are such things, such strange mellow and sometimes startling phenomenon.
The diviner said that one of the people listening was wearing a whale necklace. And I was. And she said the letter B as an initial. This was true. This was me. And yet in another instance, she said also, about green iguanas and the country of Aruba, of the name ‘Brian,’ as she put it. This interested me and I resonated with it. I had just gotten back from Aruba and seen and photographed the green iguanas. Then I saw the whale design on the pet store floor also. I wondered if someone drew it or it was a marking by accident. It was in a way slightly vague that I just could not exactly tell. I wasn’t sure what it all meant but it meant something.
I thought back to the past then. Working in the shelter I had to help a most beautiful woman from The Caspian Sea who was assigned to be a co-worker but was bullied by the other woman workers. It was because of her hair mostly. She had balayage hair and to her waist. It was real hair. And she was full of mystery and wonderful strange exotic eclectic auras and atmospheres. Then other women, especially during trainings when everyone had to sit together, whispered loudly and cruelly about her saying she didn’t belong there and that her hair was not real. She began to ask me long before trainings if I would get coffee with her when it was break. I realized it was not because she liked me in any even platonic or other way, but because it wasn’t too far off from being bullied in the school yard and she knew I’d be an ally. And to think, these people were assigned to helping and advocating for the marginalized. What a world we live in. She was hurt and overall sensitive. And amidst several regular souls trying to make their way, to navigate life, two known drug dealers were walking up the driveway one evening and one was really heavy-set. She said, ‘Here comes a whale,’ and it broke my idea of her as she now had a capacity for meanness. She had that capability somewhere inside her. I just kept it to myself. English was not her first language. But she managed the insult ‘well,’ though I didn’t like it.
I kept listening to the canon of near-death experiences because I studied much in my spare time about spirituality, psychology, that whole realm of topics. It often said how people didn’t want to come back,- such was how it felt at home in heaven or the other side. That was hopeful for the sick, the terminally ill, for the ones who have passed and for all of us one day…when our time and circumstance of demise arrive…
I eventually left the world as much as I could and just walked the forests and by small streams of water. There I saw what I deemed to be spirits in the tree bark, cumulus clouds, or in swaying winter reeds cold and freezing. I felt them amidst spring raindrops where I waited solitary in the world for what I don’t know. Summer spirits everywhere too,- by sumac leaves and the abandoned tractor, in the flickering light through the tree canopy or the stones by the lee, the protective lee made of sand and dirt and root systems. Autumnal times had the most, HAVE the most,- spectres, phantoms, and angels. They live everywhere. Sometimes during those times an energy can be felt, like an electric surge in the air but one more akin to containing a spiritual sensibility. Maybe it was the kundalini energy, I would think. I had seen several snakes in the early days and wondered if they were an outward manifestation of the inward kundalini rising or having risen.
It had been a long day. I lay down to sleep. I suddenly and finally saw the light, an other-worldly light,- golden and white mixed together. It was unmistakable. Then again, and a third time to be sure. I was growing spiritually after a lifetime of practice. I was grateful. I prayed to see it more. I did a bit. Then I must have fallen asleep and finally had good dreams again. I dreamt I was by the old shore and the saltwater sea. The one of my youth. It was overcast. Atlantic coastline. I was alone but felt so good about it. I glanced back at my building, then up and down the shoreline and finally out to the horizon. I felt the energy of the world, like in the forest but times a hundred or more, and it seemed it was another world,- an electric heaven. I could see distant verdant palm fronds dancing awkwardly for the pre-storm winds. I went in the water up to my neck and sometimes went intentionally under and let the ocean go a bit into my mouth and my eyes. That way it could enter my soul. I was unafraid. I was just unafraid of absolutely anything. I didn’t know if I was on earth or in heaven, experiencing this world or the next, immersed in a dream or kissed by providence and fortune and therefore there in real life.
their backpacks filled with new crayons and glue sticks.
Morning begins with Mass. The students pray
together, sharing optimism and faith—
until the gunfire starts. Round after round
sprays through a stained-glass window, firing wild.
Two kids are killed, and 18 more are wounded.
Terror, shock, and panic fill the church.
One boy, shielding his friend, shot in the back.
A wounded girl keeps pleading, “Hold my hand.”
There’s no escape. The shooter barred a door
with a 2X4. Brought three guns. Used them all—
a rifle, shotgun, pistol. Perfect tools
for someone standing outside, shooting in.
Just like the shooter’s heroes in the news.
It takes a lot of hate to mow down children—
faces bright with eagerness and promise.
What kind of mind resents their zest and joy?
Seeks only to destroy, destroy, destroy?
And why can some young person filled with rage
buy gun after gun after gun– no questions asked?
This feast of hate was crowned by suicide.
Without guns, toxic hate would not be fatal.
* On August 27, 2025, a sniper shot through a Church window at children attending a Mass that opened the school year for Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis. Two dead, 18 wounded.
ICE WELCOMES STRANGERS
ICE targets brown—brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin.
Storm troopers drag whole families from rich fields,
leaving crops half-picked. These bounty hunters
seize brown workers from construction sites,
hotel staffs, work crews, courts, meat-packing plants.—
disrupting businesses, creating holes
that can’t be filled. A green card’s not a shield.
Nikhita is a 19 year old. She is studying at SSVM World School, Coimbatore, India. She enjoys reading books, dancing, and playing the piano. Her imagination and creativity shine through her writing.
When I was in a little pain, you always came to me,
You always cared for me,
You were kind like a mother, always worried
You worked day and night like me
Thank you, Shoira Master, a thousand times
I am grateful that you meet me on my fateful paths,
Every time I see you, I feel happy,
Thank you for the knowledge you have given,
May you always be healthy for my happiness
Thank you, Shoira Master, a thousand times
Happy Stay by my side in my days,
Children, enjoy your happiness,
Know that you are the most important thing for me,
May you always be surrounded by beautiful happiness
Thank you, Shoira teacher, a thousand times
Who was I, a simple writer,
A pained person who shared his pain with the you
With you in my life, it is beautiful to live
I will definitely make you the happiest teacher
Thank you, Shoira teacher, a thousand times
I LOVE YOU MASTER SHOIRA OBIDOVA
Sobirjonova Rayhona, a 11th-grade student of the 8th general secondary school in Vobkent district, Bukhara region. She was born in December 2008 in the village of Chorikalon, Vobkent district, in a family of intellectuals. Her parents supported Rayhona from a young age. She started writing in the 3rd grade. Her first creative poem was published in the newspaper “Vobkent Hayot”. She has also published extensively in Synchronized Chaos International Magazine, India’s Namaste India Magazine, Gulkhan Magazine, Germany’s RavenCage Magazine and many other magazines and newspapers. Actively participated in many competitions, won high places and won many prizes. She is still busy creating.
The Age of War
For most of a life now long enough
to be half buried in history,
the country, half-despairingly,
I call my own—
half-decadent, half-barbarian,
and wholly crass—
has been, above all things, at war.
Not only the kind that bleeds headlines.
A frigid civil war, scar
of a hot one long ago,
between a party drunk on virtue
and another, aggrieved and vengeful.
A war between races,
nations, tribes,
for which will tyrannize
the seven continents.
A war between generations
as callous adulthood sends its children
to the slow death of lack of enough
money, or drones and killing.
A war of the rich on the rest of us,
rooted as old as time
now a monstrosity
beyond obscenity.
A war between the sexes
whipped into a frenzy;
a war man and woman refuse
either truce or loss.
War on war on war across
decades I do not wish to count—
at times almost about to gamble
a cagey ceasefire,
only to be pulled underground
in cunning retreat,
like a wild fire that forever burns,
threatening at points that cannot be known
to claw and tongue into the air again
and sweep away to ashes
the wilderness of mankind.
I do not see an end to them.
Perhaps they cannot end:
perhaps they are as old
as mad, foolish humankind,
and so they will end only
with the last human sigh.
And so they are tearing us to pieces.
_____
Christopher Bernard’s book The Socialist’s Garden of Verses won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the “Top 100 Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews. His latest book of poetry, appearing in the fall of 2025, is The Beauty of Matter.
