the delicate thrum, heartbeat through my bound chest, my palm pressed there like a promise, every breath stolen from me like a murmuration of living feeling seeing i’m living in the stars like a superhero. only now.
only now does the murmuration of my heartbeat slow, the murmuration of birds slow their pace. i’ve been taught to exist without realizing.. the gentle murmurs of your heart have become a gift.
i didn’t realize i missed you until i stood under the sky with the world opened up to me and i murmuredation, please come home. we are both home.
if we are both home then why do i feel lost? when my mom told me it wasn’t a panic attack
all i wanted was you. your delicate murmuration thrumming through my bones. your comfort. when i picture you i feel safe. i watch birds and i feel like i’m floating away. i could take off in search of them but i think you’d notice.
i hope so. i notice every murmuration, we are a murmuration, aren’t we? a flock of birds, we rise, we fall, i missed you you you it’s hard to realize i missed you until i see you
and you say you missed me and i say it back and i feel right again, not just a stolen wish floating away to a star-ling.
Nourina ⭐
By Jamal Garougar 🇲🇦
Since time immemorial,
the heart has been digging a well inside me
to listen to its own water…
No one knows
that peace begins with a single drop
negotiating with its stone
before leaping toward the light.
I walk,
and nameless birds hang from my shoulders,
gathering what falls from my thoughts
as if collecting seeds
waiting for the season of departure.
I watch the trees
hide faces in their bark—
one resembles my childhood,
another the world’s trembling fear,
and a third
I do not know,
yet it reassures me
as it watches
from the shimmer of night between the branches.
I move forward,
and the things around me shift
as if the universe
were readjusting its geometry
to the rhythm of my heart…
Stones listen,
the air takes notes,
grass spells out
my footsteps
like a child learning the alphabet
for the very first time.
I love…
not a single face,
but the space
between faces,
the luminous space
shaped by the quiet passage
of the heart.
I love how water
negotiates with the earth,
and how the earth
learns from the water’s flow
the tenderness of surrender.
I also love
that everything in the universe
is suspended by a delicate thread
held by the Creator
from an unseen place—
and yet
this thread breaks
only when we close our hearts.
I stop,
and memory escapes through a window,
from which a woman appears
whom I do not know,
yet I recognize
the way she calms the wind
as it brushes past her…
and I understand that love
is not a person,
but a ritual
that souls learn
only when they set themselves aside.
I grow silent,
and meaning flows
from unknown places,
as if language
had borrowed the voice of clouds
and left me
fallen in wonder.
And when night descends,
I feel my heart
closing its doors
and opening its single window
toward a sky
that breathes within me…
a sky
where every star
knew my name
before I was born,
and knew that I came
to plant
a small garden
where the world may rest
for just a moment.
Thus,
I become a sentence
in a book vaster than Earth,
and my life
becomes a code written
on a faint light,
read by angels
searching for a new reason
why humans
should not grow weary
of carrying this planet.
And here, within every heartbeat,
the heart continues to whisper…
Nourina is not the end of the poem—
but the beginning of everything.
A chapel of trust envelops our circle, A place where truth exists, A place where we can wear purple. Sometimes we howl from pain and memory. A soothing word, compassionate, insightful, Tempers those thoughts, offers new perspectives.
We share jubilations and sorrows in movement and dance, Mad drumming and laughter, And talking, talking, talking. A lovely buzzing bespeaks tradition – Our foremothers who drummed and laughed And talked and talked and talked.
Revelatory and elemental, With all the terror of a winter storm And the sweet gentleness of spring. We engage in rituals, pre-arranged and specific. Buffalo women, Christian, Jewish— Clever talismans guiding us through the seasons.
Our Lady of the Altar stands steadfast, reminding us of our bond. The glow of rich mulled wine and the reliability of fresh-popped corn Set the stage for ceremony. We listen and take note.
Who is hurting? Who needs to be heard? We circle around pain and anger, Listening, offering only what we know. We circle around joy too – Reveling in our sisters’ tales of travel, Marveling at our sisters’ growth.
We cycle through the seasons together, bold warrior women, Facing each challenge as it comes. The strength of our group provides defense Against the harsher elements.
Summer brings its lusty rapture – Toes unseen since the previous year Summoning memories of summers past: Previous lovers lying with us on moist grass, under starlit skies, Best friends staying over to talk all night Because it was summer. Tawny legs and white shorts give way now To flowing dresses, graceful movement, soulful majesty. Buffalo women under the steady gaze Of Our Lady of the Altar.
Autumn arrives, as it always does, Forever catching us off guard. A momentary pall as we mourn another summer’s passing. Moving toward acceptance, we embrace new colors, Commenting brightly on the crisp fall air. Knowing how quickly it passes, We glory in the filtered autumn light, Bathing sky and lake in colors brilliant and pale. It is a time of preparation Of mind, body, soul, and hearth.
Our lake in the sky turns wintry and ponderous Until the first wondrous snowfall – Downy flakes and all. Winter hardly seems ominous. With the exuberance of children we throw back our heads, Thrust out our tongues to catch the snow’s purity In holy communion with God’s divinity.
Overwrapped in puffy clothing, runny red noses, We brave deadly roads in the dead of winter. Undaunted, we circle back again To listen, to laugh, to be present for one another And for ourselves.
Someone may be hurting; someone may need to be heard. We listen, undisturbed. Here, in our women’s circle Where trust is found And friendships formed, We open our hearts As Ladies of the Lake.
We celebrate our feminine essence as one, Resurrecting the child within Who loves to play in all weather, Outside or in.
Delighting in the treasures of each miraculous season, Reflected in every face of this glorious circle. Fierce women, all! I celebrate you. I wish you joy and merriment As we circle together once again Through the turning seasons.
CONTENT AND ESSENCE OF INTERNATIONAL ASSESSMENT PROGRAMS
Kattakurgan State Pedagogical Institute, Student Qarshiboyeva Mavluda Azizbek qizi
Annotation: This article analyzes the purpose, structure, and impact of international assessment programs on the education system. It examines how countries shape their educational policies based on the implementation procedures and results of PISA, TIMSS, and PIRLS. The article highlights the importance of international assessment programs in improving the modern education system.
Introduction. In the context of modern globalization, assessing and comparing the quality of education at the international level has become increasingly important. Every country strives to determine the effectiveness of its education system, eliminate weaknesses, and align with international standards by using various assessment programs. International assessment programs measure students’ knowledge, skills, and competencies based on objective criteria and provide opportunities for comparative analysis among countries. These programs allow policymakers, researchers, and teachers to understand the real state of the education process.
International assessment programs emerged in the late 20th century due to the need to standardize education quality globally. Organizations such as the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) and the International Association for the Evaluation of Educational Achievement (IEA) developed scientifically grounded methodologies to measure educational outcomes. Today, world-renowned programs such as PISA, TIMSS, and PIRLS play a significant role in shaping educational policy and improving national competitiveness. These programs not only assess students’ performance but also provide tools to analyze various components of education systems. Uzbekistan has also actively participated in these assessments in recent years to improve its national education system.
Main Part. PISA (Programme for International Student Assessment), conducted every three years since 2000 by the OECD, assesses the functional knowledge of 15-year-old students in mathematics, reading, and science. Unlike traditional tests, PISA evaluates students’ ability to apply knowledge to real-life situations, requiring critical thinking, problem-solving, and analytical skills. More than 80 countries participate in PISA, making it one of the most extensive assessment programs in the world.
TIMSS (Trends in International Mathematics and Science Study), conducted every four years since 1995 by the IEA, assesses the mathematics and science knowledge of 4th- and 8th-grade students. The test is based on school curricula and measures students’ knowledge, application, and reasoning skills. TIMSS provides valuable information for improving education standards.
PIRLS (Progress in International Reading Literacy Study), launched in 2001 and conducted every five years by the IEA, assesses the reading literacy of 4th-grade students. It measures students’ ability to understand, interpret, and evaluate literary and informational texts.
Differences among PISA, TIMSS, and PIRLS show their unique focuses: PISA assesses functional literacy, TIMSS measures subject-based curriculum mastery, and PIRLS focuses on early reading skills. Despite differences, all three programs contribute significantly to evaluating and improving education quality.
Uzbekistan’s participation in PISA 2021 provided insights into the national education system and identified areas for improvement, particularly in functional literacy and problem-solving skills.
Research Methodology. The study employed comparative analysis, document review, and statistical analysis. Official reports from OECD, IEA, and UNESCO were used as primary sources. The structure, administration, and results of PISA, TIMSS, and PIRLS were compared, and the experiences of advanced countries such as Singapore, Finland, Japan, and South Korea were analyzed. Uzbekistan’s recent participation and results were also examined.
Analysis and Results. The evaluation of international assessment programs showed that although PISA, TIMSS, and PIRLS differ in their focus areas, their common goal is to assess education quality based on international standards. High-performing countries invest heavily in teacher training, modern teaching methods, and ensuring equity in education. For example, Singapore ranked first in PISA 2022 in mathematics, and TIMSS 2023 results confirmed the leadership of Singapore and South Korea in mathematics and science.
Conclusion and Recommendations. International assessment programs provide essential tools for comparing and improving education quality globally. Based on the study’s findings, the following recommendations are proposed for Uzbekistan:
Increase the share of practical tasks and real-life application materials in curricula to enhance functional literacy.
Expand teacher training programs aligned with international standards and modern teaching methods.
Establish a regular monitoring and evaluation system for learning outcomes.
Strengthening participation in international assessment programs and integrating global best practices into national conditions will support Uzbekistan’s efforts to modernize its education system and improve students’ competitiveness.
References:
OECD. PISA 2022 Results: What Students Know and Can Do. OECD Publishing, 2023.
IEA. TIMSS 2023 International Results in Mathematics and Science. IEA, 2024.
IEA. PIRLS 2021 International Results in Reading. Boston College, 2023.
Schleicher, A. World Class: How to Build a 21st-Century School System. OECD Publishing, 2018.
UNESCO. Global Education Monitoring Report 2023: Technology in Education. UNESCO, 2023.
Ministry of Education of Uzbekistan. National Education Development Strategy 2023–2027. Tashkent, 2023.
Lord Fredrick Lugard, the first colonial governor (1914-1918), amalgamated what was called the southern and northern protectorates to form the creation, the Flora Shaw’s named “Nigeria”, formerly the Royal Niger Company. The creation was valid for a hundred years (December 31 2014/January 1, 2015). Afterwards, the people who would be identified as Nigerians could decide to negotiate terms of their co-existence.
The major founding fathers of Nigeria, according to history, in the likes of Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, Chief Obafemi Awolowo and Alhaji Tafawa Balewa and the rest were not adults at the time Nigeria was created. Dr Nnamdi Azikiwe was born in 1904. Chief Obafemi Awolowo was born in 1912 while Alhaji Tafawa Balewa was born 1910. Therefore, they had no business being the major founding fathers of Nigeria, contrary to the historical narrative. Of course, Nigeria was (and still is) a British creation. Interestingly, they did not express their belief in the efficacy of the geographically created entity. For instance, in 1948, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, asserted Nigeria as being not a country but a geographical location separated by artificial boundaries. In the same breath, Alhaji Tafawa Balewa stated that the people in Europe—Belgium, Holland, England—are similar in cultures than the Igbo, Hausa and Yoruba, which are the three major tribes. Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, in 1964, who was paraded as the “Zik of Africa” and proponent of “One Nigeria”, stressed the need for Nigerians, four years after independence, to separate or go in pieces!
The major tribes have been existing for thousands of years before Nigeria was birthed. The DNA-based anthropological tests attest to this. It is a thing of concern most Nigerians today do not really know what the identities of their parents and or grand parents were, before October 1, 1960—the day Nigeria became a sovereign entity. Living former leaders such as General Yakubu Gowon (Retired), Chief Olusegun Obasanjo and Alhaji Abdul Salam Abubakar were born before Nigeria’s day of Independence which clearly identifies them as not “Nigerians”before independence. Who were they, then? That’s a question for another day!
From the inception of leadership of Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe (with Alhaji Tafawa Balewa being Prime Minister) to the current admission of Senator Bola Ahmed Tinubu, the bones of contention depicted over the years have been reflected in terms of tribalism, religion and ethnicity, all pointing at one thing; Nigerians have not been ONE people. From the deficits of the first coup in 1966, the subsequent Nigeria-Biafra Civil War (1967-1970), the incessant tribal clashes among the major tribes in the following years, the erupted religious crises of the 80s and 90s, even in the 2000s and documented ethnic conflicts to the aggravating economic hardships, particularly from the 90s till present, the marriage known as Nigeria was, for the sake of sanity, amongst the couple’s (the Yoruba, Igbo and Hausa tribes) long due for a divorce. Without a doubt, it has never worked out in the favour of the participating tribes—it is still not working! Yet, by some proxy-relates means, which apparently defeat the strength of comprehendible political, and socio-cultural rationale, Nigeria is still existing!
How can a people who are different in culture, economic and political dynamics be “forced” to co-exist forever? The friction had long been established since independence. The history-claimed founding fathers, representatives of their tribes, brings to attention their position on the British-created Nigeria. The realistic incompatibility among the tribes got worse in subsequent years. It is amazing how the major tribes—knowing they are better existing independently—still officially co-existing as Nigerians.
What the Nigerian entity has created were generations of men and women who would develop disdain for each other and depict bad demeanors in dealing with themselves, having being fed by questionable and tweaked historical narratives and orchestrated happenings. Hence, ushering leaders who would emerge and govern the people based on how they reflect themselves. After all, a good leader is a reflection of (gotten from) a good people and a bad leader is gotten from or shows how bad a people is.
The current president was quoted as saying “I don’t believe in One Nigeria” in 1997, in an interview granted to a newspaper daily. Like his predecessor, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, Nigerian sovereignty is a mirage. But for some political aggrandizement, he became sworn-in as the president of the Federal Republic of Nigeria on May 29, 2023!
The devalued Naira, the Nigerian currency, deserves attention. On January 1, 1973, one Naira was equivalent to one British Pound. At the time, the standard of living was said to be, compared to the presently harsh economy, high. General Yakubu Gowon (Retired), the then head of state, bragged about Nigeria being so rich that its problem was how to spend money! The de-valuing of the Naira, resulting from frivolous spending by the previous administration, began. The Shagari-led regime in the late 70s was tasked with the onus of devaluing the currency, before the overthrow by Retired Major Muhammadu Buhari, who would become head of state, then Retired General Ibrahim Babagida in 1985. The Naira’s declining value was witnessed through the years. What was of a greater value than the US Dollar before 1985 is now no match to.the CFA (currency used by West African countries) and Ghanian Cedis. The Naira is presently so valueless and the cost of living is unimaginably high for an average Nigerian to afford. The current exchange rate of the US Dollar to the Naira is:
$1 is equivalent to 1610 Naira.
The high cost of living, partly resulting from the devalued Naira, projected to get worse in subsequent years, is sufficient to rationalize critically the Nigerian posterity, hundred years after its creation.
The cultural diversity, religious, socio-cultural and political differences have saliently ascertained the “oneness”, known as Nigeria, is a complete shadow of itself, when and if realistically evaluated. It becomes pertinent to recognize Nigeria’s existence, a century later, would better be history, or better yet, as the title, “There Was A Country” by the late novelist, Chinua Achebe, reads, than a living entity existing today. After a hundred years. Her existence points at this: “Divided we stand, United we fall!”
I still recall the last time I spoke to an alien, or perhaps merely imagined it to be so. It happened immediately after the first drops of blood—later known as menstruation—appeared. I curled up in a corner, watching the wall where it walked in transparent attire, playing cards next to a widow spider. I don’t know if it was truly a widow, but perhaps my mood at the time made me assume it.
From that moment, I imagined Eve dreaming of the respectable apple. Imagined her exhausted, suffering the cycle. Imagined her startled by the fact of her femaleness. I saw her in my mind attempting to flee the obsessive-compulsive disorder, the doubt, and the petty anxieties. Imagining herself pregnant, her belly immense, and her legs swollen from fluid retention. I pictured her with one eye open and one eye closed, like a resting wolf. Then the alien suddenly stung me; I opened my eyes and found it wearing Adam’s mask, recounting the familiar story from the perspective of the victim who fell into the trap of temptation.
No Bigger Than a Chickpea
Do you remember?
When I knelt before you, crying?
When you smiled at me and explained
Why did a piece of my body have to be cut off?
Do you remember?
You said,
“You won’t feel a thing.
It’s no bigger than a chickpea.”
My mother was boiling mint leaves.
I swear I felt the pot weeping.
Every leaf of mint seemed to ache,
As if preparing for a funeral.
You wore a loose, colorful galabiya.
You were laughing,
Genuinely happy, waiting for the line of girls—
So you could circumcise them.
It was the first time I heard the word.
I thought it was something
Like trimming your nails.
And I thought
You were like the school nurse.
We were laughing so hard,
Chasing one another,
Waiting for our turn.
The mother of each girl
Whispered to her:
“Once they cut that piece from you,
You’ll be a good girl.”
Do you remember?
Do you remember how all the girls begged you
When you pulled out the blade?
We thought it was a joke.
We thought it was a game.
But we never knew
We were part of it.
What the Palm Reader Told Me
A palm reader tells me I’ll end up working as a clown.
She says it with a wide smile shaped like a swordfish.
“You’ll live until sixty,” she says.
“And on the day you retire, you’ll take off your shoes in the street and run in the opposite direction of the traffic light.
That’s when you’ll start speaking Chinese—
The language you always dreamed of learning one day.
You’ll say xiè xiè—thank you so very much—
To everyone you meet.
It won’t bother you that the street vendor replies,
‘You’re welcome, Grandma.’
You know he has no manners.
And even though you used to get upset every time he said it,
This time you’ll run—run fast—all the way to the end of the road,
Like a child, like a nightingale eager to sing,
Happy with her voice and showing off a little.
The city’s chaos won’t annoy you then.
Nor the pollution,
Nor the skyscrapers,
Nor the smell of antidepressants.
You won’t think about how many times your father kissed you on his deathbed,
When he closed your eyes with a smile
And you thought he was playing.
You’ll just keep running and running
Until you bump into the throne of the Divine.
And you’ll reach out your hand,
Take a violet rose from it,
Plant it in the hollow of your chest,
And begin again.
A Thumb-Sized Sinbad under My Armpit
Beneath my armpit lives a Sinbad the size of a thumb.
His imagination feeds through an umbilical cord tied to my womb.
Now and then, people hear him speaking through a giant microphone—
Singing,
Cracking jokes,
Laughing like mad,
And impersonating a lonely banana suddenly abandoned by its peel.
The men of our town have no idea I carry a Sinbad inside me.
They say, “A woman—formed from a crooked rib.”
They say, “A woman—waiting for Prince Charming.”
But Sinbad stirs within me like a fetus,
Restless, chasing after adventure.
My aunt pinches my knee
For slipping into daydreams.
The good girls say yes.
But what about no?
What about what Sinbad tells me every night?
No one knows.
No one cares.
.
Thus Spoke the Orange Tree
Yesterday I met an orange tree and asked it, “Tell me, how we fold Time?”
To be born now, a thousand years old. To know how to understand man, beast, bird, insect, flower, and machine. How to walk naked on my tiptoes in a wintry open space, without fearing the cold. To sing at the top of my lungs because (am still breathing)
Without fearing the sirens or the police.
Yesterday I met a pregnant orange tree and whispered in her acrobatic ear, “How do you become an orange tree, then give birth to a moon? How do the jokes melt in your mouth like water with honey? Did you fall for an angel? Or did you read a poem of light? Do you wear crystal balls like cosmic spectacles?”
Yesterday I shed my skin, bone, and flesh like a temporary coat I no longer needed. Yesterday I broke free of it. Broke free of me. And raced at full speed to catch a star that accidentally fell from a baby’s eye. I called out to myself with a thousand foreign tongues, and I prayed. And I sighed. And melted, once more, into the drink of Love.
First Class Donkey
Yesterday I sat next to a donkey in first class. His eyes were pearls, his heart a green stone. When I slipped my hand out from under the seat belt to hold him, a piece of the full moon fell into my lap. I froze. The old stammer from fifth grade came back. My father’s voice in my ear: You’re still shy? It’s a donkey. But I wanted to hold him even more. His heart buzzed like a bee— maybe he could fly, maybe speak, like the ones in Orwell’s farm. His eyes: a fountain of hope. Could a gaze swallow me whole? Could he pull me toward him, inch by inch, until my body vanishes— no one finding me, no one seeing me except him? And the flight attendant? Would she report me missing? Or swear I was never there? The donkey holds a newspaper with a hole in it. I wonder: old-fashioned donkey? I lean closer, resisting the urge to hug him. His gentle eyes tempt me. Closer— I’m already there, inside the hole, second from the right on the obituary page. I’m there, dreaming.
