Gaza, the Land of Resilience

Oh Gaza, cradle of ancient cries,

Beneath your sky where sorrow lies.

Your streets bear tales of courage untold,

A city of fire, steadfast and bold.

The winds hum songs of a broken dream,

Yet your spirit shines in every gleam.

Through shattered homes and fractured land,

You rise again with a steady hand.

The olive trees whisper their lore,

Of days of peace they once bore.

Now, roots hold firm in the scarred terrain,

A symbol of hope amidst the pain.

Don Bormon is a student of grade ten in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Gaza’s Grief

The sky is dark, the ground is torn,

In Gaza’s land, so many mourn.

Homes are lost, and hearts still ache,

A heavy toll, too much to take.

But still they stand, through endless pain,

Hoping peace will come again.

Through broken streets, their voices cry,

For love to bloom, for war to die.

Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade ten in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

LAND OF SILENCE

In the valley where the wind softly smiles,

Where birds sing free from fear and pain,

Peace weaves robes of golden threads,

And crafts a world of boundless freedom.

On the horizon where dawn gleams bright,

No cannons roar, no tears of grief fall,

Only whispers of rivers, the scent of olives,

In a world where hearts rest in calm.

No longer do hands bear weapons of war,

Now they reach to build bridges anew,

Eyes once shadowed by darkness and pain

Now seek only the skies’ heavenly hue.

For in peace, love blooms and grows,

While tales of war become distant lore.

In every heart glows a spark of joy,

And life’s silence creates a radiant light.

Land of silence, sacred and dear,

May eternity rest in your gentle embrace.

Let every song from this place arise,

To spread love and the fragrance of freedom.

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci’s statement “Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard” is circulating through the blood. That’s why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them. As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube. Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers. She is the recipient of many international awards. “Trees of Desire” is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems “Moon Circle”. She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists “Mountain Views” in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club “Area Felix” in Serbia.

Voices of Gaza
  
In the streets of Gaza, where shadows fall, 
Children's laughter fades into a distant call. 
There are no shortcuts, only endless struggles, 
A journey marked by the edge of a knife. 

To reach the goals, it takes everyone's toil and commitment, 
In a land where dreams barely survive. 
Patience, the guide in the darkest night, 
Learning, growing, seeking the light. 

In the heart of Gaza, the cruel embrace of hunger, 
Thirst and pain etched on every face. 
Yet hope persists, a glimmer in the darkness, 
A promise of peace, a flower that blooms. 

Remember, world, the cries of the little ones, 
In Gaza, where the innocent fall. 
Cease the fire now, let compassion reign, 
End the suffering, ease the pain. 

For every step on this weary path, 
Is a testimony to the lasting wrath. 
But with every lesson, in every tear shed 
There is strength to move forward. 

In unity, we stand, hand in hand, 
For the children of Gaza, for this sacred land, hoping. 
May peace prevail, may love ignite, 
A future where all can bask in the light.

BIOGRAPHY

Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the locality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on 16th April, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț, Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy.

She has been living for 23 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

She wrote her first poem at her age of seven. She is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for her literary activities. She collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. She writes in Romanian, Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge.

BOOKS

She has published her poems in six books:

in Italy:

1. ” Point different ( to be ) ” – ed. Italian and

2.” In the den of my thoughts ( Dacia ) ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian AlettiEditore 2016,

3.“ Sky amphora ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian EdizioniDivinafollia 2017,

in Romania:

4. ” The soul of words” ed. bilingual Romanian/ Albanian Amanda Edit Verlag 2021,

5.” Syntagms with longing for clover ” ed. Romanian, EdituraMinela 2021.

6.” The Voice interior ” LidiaPopa and BakiYmeri ed. bilingual Romanian/Italian, Amanda Edit Verlag 2022.

Her poems featured in more than 50 literary anthologies and literary magazines on line from 2014 to 2023 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, Bangladesh, United Kingdom, Liban,USA,etc.

Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangladesh, Portuguese, Serbian, Urdu, Dari, Tamil, etc.

Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.

She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.

She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that “it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature “.

SHE IS

*Member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS)

*Honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa PoeticaMagia y Plumas Republic of Colombia,

*Member of Hispanomundial Union of Writers (Union Hispanomundial de Escritores) (UHE) and Thousands Minds For Mexico (MMMEX)

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*She had come power of attorney Vice-president UHE Romania, Mars18, 2021- August 21, 2021

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*Counselor from Italy for Suryodaya Literary Foundation Odisha India,

*Director from Italy for Alìanza Cultural Universal (ACU) Argentina

*Member Motivational Strips Oman,a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally,

*Director of Poetry and Literature World Vision Board of Directors (PLWV) Bangladesh

*Membership of ANGEENA INTERNATIONAL NON PROFIT ORGANISATION of Canada

International Peace Ambassador of The Daily Global Nation International Independent Newspaper from Dhaka Bangladesh – 2023

*Founder literary group Lido dell’anima with LIDO DELL’ANIMA AWARDS

*Founder LIDO DELL’ANIMA Italian magazine

*Founder SILVAE VERBORUM INTERNATIONAL multilingual magazine

*Founder literary currently #homelesspoetry

etc.

GAZA

Gaza, land of ancient olive trees,

its branches, arms that implore the sky,

its leaves, yellowish green tears,

under a scorching sun, a slow fire.

Its houses, boats stranded on the sand,

hit by waves of war and apathy,

its walls, stories engraved in stone,

of resistance and pain, an open wound.

Its children, flowers that grow among rubble,

with eyes that reflect an uncertain tomorrow,

full of the uncertainty of reconstruction.

its laughter, echoes that seek a tomorrow,

in a withered garden, with no spring nearby.

Its streets, rivers of tears and hope,

that flow among ruins, looking for a way out,

its people, stars that shine in the night,

despite the darkness, a light on.

Gaza, a poem written in blood and pain,

a song to life, which resists the clamor,

a cry of hope, which rises to the sky,

a call for peace, a new future.

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.

The Killings of Gaza

The blood flowing on the ground

The world takes its shape in a new mould

By the sound the birds flew away quickly to the safe

The sky became so gloomy

The shiny morning turned into smoky brown

The lightning in the darkness of night shattered down

The children, the women, the young and the old

The devastated area

Oh! Pathetic deaths for whom are you call us?

No reply without a long sigh

Wildfire is running in place of humanity

Sorrows, sufferings, torture and deaths happening in everyday life

It’s as if like the hereditary wealth

From the other side of the spot we see, hear and get scared

As the condition for the deer in the rush in front of a hungry tiger

Nothing to do without feeling hatred for the killers

On the other side sympathized with the people in Gaza

The storm is blowing, the world moving in the cyclone

‘To be or not to be – that is the question’  

We, all stand in the puzzling and haggling queue

But justice never goes injustice

Time will take us to face the judge

And the victims must enter into their mirthful goal

Though out of sight,

Every day in the sprouting green fields

Where fresh oxygen makes our veins flow clean

And in the twinkling sky

They are laughing and singing the songs of joy!

How sweet they dream in sleep!

How would they lead their lives tomorrow?

Can we imagine?

 Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

 27  January, 2025.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

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Taghrid Boumerhi
Poet
Translator
Journalist
Lebanon
Brasil




Θέμα: Poem Written Y translation by TAGHRID BOU MERHI

"BETWEEN SILENCE AND NOTHINGNESS" 
Poem in Arabic language written and translated into English, Italiano, Spanish, French and Portuguese by poet and Translator TAGHRID BOU MERHI 

بين الصمت والعدم

في البدءِ، كانتِ الكلماتُ تُخلقُ من الرماد، ثمَّ تتلاشى في الفراغِ كأنّها لم تكن.
كنتُ أحاولُ أن أسمعَ صوتَ الظلِّ وهوَ ينسحبُ من الجدار، لكنَّ الجدارَ لم يكنْ هناك.
كنتُ أبحثُ عن يدٍ تمسكُ بالزمنِ، فأمسكتُ بريحٍ خفيفةٍ تسرّبتْ من بينِ أصابعي.
ثمَّ أدركتُ أنَّ الفراغَ يزدادُ امتلاءً كلّما حاولتُ قياسَهُ،
وأنَّ العدمَ يُمسكُ بالعالمِ مثلَ قصيدةٍ لم تكتملْ.

تُرى، هل كانَ الإنسانُ فكرةً تأخّرتْ عن الوصول؟
هل كانَ ظلَّ احتمالٍ نسيَ أنْ يعودَ إلى جسده؟
كنتُ أراقبُ الوقتَ وهوَ يسيلُ على طاولةٍ من زجاج،
كانَ الزمنُ يذوبُ ببطءٍ، يتركُ أثرَهُ على الأصابعِ ثمَّ يختفي،
لكنَّ أحداً لم يلاحظْ أنَّ الطاولةَ كانتْ تصدأُ من الداخل.

في الخارجِ، كانَ الصمتُ يملأُ الأزقّةَ مثلَ دخانٍ باردٍ،
والأبوابُ تُفتحُ على نفسها دونَ أن يدخلَ أحدٌ أو يخرجَ.
الأرصفةُ تنتظرُ خطواتٍ لم تأتِ،
والأشجارُ تحاولُ أن تُقنعَ العابرينَ أنّها لا تزالُ تتنفّسُ.

هل ثمّةَ بابٌ للخروجِ من هذهِ الدائرة؟
ربّما البابُ ليسَ في الجدار،
ربّما البابُ ليسَ باباً، بل فكرةٌ تنزلقُ في الظلامِ ثمَّ تنحلُّ في الهواء.
لكن، كيفَ يخرجُ المرءُ من شيءٍ لا يدركُ حدوده؟
كيفَ يعبرُ إلى الضفّةِ الأخرى دونَ أنْ يعرفَ إنْ كانتْ هناكَ ضفّةٌ أخرى؟

كنتُ أفكّرُ في هذا حينَ سمعتُ صوتاً يسألني:
"من تكونُ؟"
بحثتُ عن إجابةٍ في جيبي، فلم أجدْ سوى حفنةِ غبارٍ قديمٍ
وبقايا أصواتٍ لم يعدْ أحدٌ يذكرُ أصحابَها.
فقلتُ للصوتِ:
"أنا ظِلٌّ يتذكّرُ أنه كانَ ضوءاً،
أنا صدى كلمةٍ نسيَتْ من قالَها،
أنا خطأٌ لم يجدْ مكاناً ليسقطَ فيه،
أنا اللاشيءُ، يسعى ليكونَ شيئاً."

ثمَّ نظرتُ إلى يدي،
فرأيتُ أنني لم أكنْ هناك.

Version Italian 

TRA IL SILENZIO E IL NULLA 

All'inizio, le parole nascevano dalla cenere,
poi svanivano nel vuoto come se non fossero mai esistite.
Cercavo di sentire il suono dell’ombra che si ritirava dal muro,
ma il muro non c’era.
Cercavo una mano che afferrasse il tempo,
ma ho preso solo un vento leggero, sfuggito tra le mie dita.
Poi ho capito che il vuoto si riempie quanto più si cerca di misurarlo,
e che il nulla trattiene il mondo come una poesia incompiuta.

Mi chiedo: l’uomo era forse un’idea arrivata in ritardo?
Era forse l’ombra di una possibilità
che ha dimenticato di tornare al suo corpo?
Osservavo il tempo scorrere su un tavolo di vetro,
si scioglieva lentamente, lasciando tracce sulle dita,
poi scompariva.
Ma nessuno si accorgeva che il tavolo arrugginiva dall’interno.

Fuori, il silenzio riempiva i vicoli come un fumo freddo,
le porte si aprivano su se stesse
senza che nessuno entrasse o uscisse.
I marciapiedi aspettavano passi che non arrivavano,
e gli alberi cercavano di convincere i passanti
che ancora respiravano.

C’è forse una porta per uscire da questo cerchio?
Forse la porta non è nel muro,
forse la porta non è una porta,
ma un’idea che scivola nell’oscurità e si dissolve nell’aria.
Ma come si esce da qualcosa di cui non si conoscono i confini?
Come si attraversa l’altra riva senza sapere se esiste davvero un’altra riva?

Stavo pensando a questo, quando ho sentito una voce chiedermi:
“Chi sei?”
Ho cercato una risposta nella mia tasca,
ma non ho trovato altro che una manciata di polvere antica
e resti di voci di cui nessuno ricordava più i proprietari.
Allora ho detto alla voce:

“Io sono un’ombra che ricorda di essere stata luce,
sono l’eco di una parola che ha dimenticato chi l’ha pronunciata,
sono un errore che non ha trovato un posto dove cadere,
sono il nulla che cerca di diventare qualcosa.”

Poi ho guardato le mie mani,
e ho visto che io non c’ero più.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBANO - BRASILE



English Version

BETWEEN SILENCE AND NOTHINGNESS

In the beginning, words were born from ashes,
then vanished into emptiness as if they had never been.
I tried to hear the sound of the shadow withdrawing from the wall,
but the wall was not there.
I searched for a hand to grasp time,
but I held only a light breeze slipping through my fingers.
Then I realized that emptiness grows fuller the more one tries to measure it,
and that nothingness holds the world like an unfinished poem.

I wonder: was humanity merely an idea that arrived too late?
Was it the shadow of a possibility
that forgot to return to its body?
I watched time flow across a glass table,
melting slowly, leaving its trace on my fingers,
then disappearing.
Yet no one noticed that the table was rusting from within.

Outside, silence filled the alleys like cold smoke,
doors opened onto themselves
without anyone entering or leaving.
Sidewalks awaited footsteps that never came,
and trees tried to convince passersby
that they were still breathing.

Is there a door to escape this circle?
Perhaps the door is not in the wall,
perhaps the door is not a door at all,
but an idea slipping into darkness, dissolving into the air.
But how does one leave something whose boundaries are unknown?
How does one cross to the other shore without knowing if there is another shore?

I was thinking about this when I heard a voice ask me:
"Who are you?"
I searched my pocket for an answer,
but found only a handful of ancient dust
and the remnants of voices whose owners had long been forgotten.
So I said to the voice:

"I am a shadow that remembers being light,
I am the echo of a word that has forgotten who spoke it,
I am a mistake that never found a place to fall,
I am nothingness striving to become something."

Then I looked at my hands,
and saw that I was no longer there.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LEBANON - BRAZIL 



Spanich Version 

ENTRE EL SILENCIO Y LA NADA

Al principio, las palabras nacían de las cenizas,
luego desaparecían en el vacío como si nunca hubieran existido.
Intenté escuchar el sonido de la sombra retirándose de la pared,
pero la pared no estaba allí.
Busqué una mano que sostuviera el tiempo,
pero solo atrapé una brisa ligera que se escapaba entre mis dedos.
Entonces comprendí que el vacío se llena más cuanto más intentamos medirlo,
y que la nada sostiene al mundo como un poema inacabado.

Me pregunto: ¿fue la humanidad solo una idea que llegó tarde?
¿Fue la sombra de una posibilidad
que olvidó regresar a su cuerpo?
Observé el tiempo deslizándose sobre una mesa de cristal,
derritiéndose lentamente, dejando su rastro en mis dedos,
para luego desvanecerse.
Pero nadie notó que la mesa se oxidaba por dentro.

Afuera, el silencio llenaba los callejones como un humo frío,
las puertas se abrían sobre sí mismas
sin que nadie entrara o saliera.
Las aceras esperaban pasos que nunca llegaron,
y los árboles intentaban convencer a los transeúntes
de que aún respiraban.

¿Existe una puerta para salir de este círculo?
Tal vez la puerta no está en la pared,
tal vez la puerta no es una puerta,
sino una idea que se desliza en la oscuridad y se disuelve en el aire.
Pero, ¿cómo se escapa de algo cuyos límites son desconocidos?
¿Cómo se cruza a la otra orilla sin saber si hay otra orilla?

Pensaba en esto cuando escuché una voz preguntarme:
"¿Quién eres?"
Busqué en mi bolsillo una respuesta,
pero solo encontré un puñado de polvo antiguo
y los restos de voces cuyos dueños habían sido olvidados.
Entonces le respondí a la voz:

"Soy una sombra que recuerda haber sido luz,
soy el eco de una palabra que olvidó quién la pronunció,
soy un error que nunca encontró dónde caer,
soy la nada intentando convertirse en algo."

Luego miré mis manos,
y vi que ya no estaba allí.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LÍBANO - BRASIL


-----


Version French 

ENTRE LE SILENCE ET LE NÉANT

Au commencement, les mots naissaient des cendres, puis s’évanouissaient dans le vide comme s’ils n’avaient jamais existé.
J’essayais d’entendre la voix de l’ombre qui se retirait du mur, mais le mur n’était pas là.
Je cherchais une main pour saisir le temps, mais j’ai attrapé une brise légère qui s’est échappée entre mes doigts.
Puis j’ai compris que le vide se remplissait à mesure que j’essayais de le mesurer,
et que le néant tenait le monde comme un poème inachevé.

Se pourrait-il que l’homme soit une idée arrivée en retard ?
Était-il l’ombre d’une possibilité qui avait oublié de retourner à son corps ?
Je regardais le temps couler sur une table en verre,
le temps fondait lentement, laissait sa trace sur les doigts puis disparaissait,
mais personne ne remarquait que la table rouillait de l’intérieur.

Dehors, le silence emplissait les ruelles comme une fumée froide,
et les portes s’ouvraient sur elles-mêmes sans que personne n’entre ni ne sorte.
Les trottoirs attendaient des pas qui ne venaient pas,
et les arbres tentaient de convaincre les passants qu’ils respiraient encore.

Y avait-il une porte pour sortir de ce cercle ?
Peut-être que la porte n’était pas dans le mur,
peut-être que la porte n’était pas une porte, mais une idée qui glissait dans l’obscurité avant de se dissoudre dans l’air.
Mais comment sortir de quelque chose dont on ne perçoit pas les limites ?
Comment traverser vers l’autre rive sans savoir s’il y a une autre rive ?

Je réfléchissais à cela quand j’ai entendu une voix me demander :
"Qui es-tu ?"
J’ai cherché une réponse dans ma poche, mais je n’y ai trouvé qu’une poignée de poussière ancienne
et des restes de voix dont plus personne ne se souvenait.
Alors, j’ai dit à la voix :
"Je suis une ombre qui se souvient d’avoir été lumière,
je suis l’écho d’un mot qui a oublié qui l’avait prononcé,
je suis une erreur qui n’a pas trouvé d’endroit où tomber,
je suis le néant, cherchant à devenir quelque chose."

Puis j’ai regardé ma main,
et j’ai vu que je n’étais plus là.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBAN - BRÉSIL 

---

Version Portuguese

ENTRE O SILÊNCIO E O NADA 

No começo, as palavras nasciam das cinzas, depois se dissipavam no vazio como se nunca tivessem existido.
Eu tentava ouvir a voz da sombra se afastando da parede, mas a parede não estava lá.
Eu procurava uma mão que segurasse o tempo, mas agarrei uma brisa leve que escapou entre meus dedos.
Então percebi que o vazio se tornava mais cheio sempre que eu tentava medi-lo,
e que o nada segurava o mundo como um poema inacabado.

Será que o ser humano era uma ideia que chegou tarde demais?
Seria ele a sombra de uma possibilidade que esqueceu de voltar ao seu corpo?
Eu observava o tempo escorrendo sobre uma mesa de vidro,
o tempo derretia lentamente, deixava sua marca nos dedos e depois desaparecia,
mas ninguém percebia que a mesa enferrujava por dentro.

Lá fora, o silêncio enchia as vielas como uma fumaça fria,
e as portas se abriam para si mesmas sem que ninguém entrasse ou saísse.
As calçadas esperavam passos que nunca vinham,
e as árvores tentavam convencer os transeuntes de que ainda respiravam.

Haveria uma porta para sair desse círculo?
Talvez a porta não estivesse na parede,
talvez a porta não fosse uma porta, mas uma ideia que escorregava na escuridão antes de se dissolver no ar.
Mas como se sai de algo cujos limites não se percebem?
Como atravessar para a outra margem sem saber se existe uma outra margem?

Eu pensava nisso quando ouvi uma voz me perguntar:
"Quem é você?"
Procurei uma resposta no bolso, mas só encontrei um punhado de poeira antiga
e restos de vozes cujos donos ninguém mais lembrava.
Então, disse à voz:
"Sou uma sombra que se lembra de ter sido luz,
sou o eco de uma palavra que esqueceu quem a disse,
sou um erro que não encontrou onde cair,
sou o nada, tentando ser alguma coisa."

Então olhei para minha mão,
e vi que eu já não estava lá.

©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI - LIBANO - BRAZIL