The Firefly

On the way a firefly flies near me at night

Removing darkness it flies all around me

At first it seemed to be a glow of light

Never known before the light a firefly

As like as I see the brightness in you my glory of life

It arises to me the stars in the sky

The star flowers in the dewy morning

And the firefly – you all the glory of light

Now in the darkness of night

I have built a castle in you

O my love, my light in the ignorance

That came to my sight so many years ago in a bush

The pieces of light enlightened the castle through time over time

The castle I like to live

I like to sleep

I like to think

I do not know what I count

I like to go through in my glorious lovely firefly.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

24 May, 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.

Where I’ve Been

If you want to know where I’ve been,

Look at the musty side of the earth with no air or rails

Where the knives spit rust into the blood

Like steel guns.

If you want to know where i’ve been, picture a black tide

Swelling until it overwhelms the sea.

The wolves howl overhead.

Picture the dark sun

Simmering, the air thinning.

Picture the red-hot moon

Hustling so it can feel the heat inside.

Picture all that

Then picture me rising.

secrets

secrets can be sweet

whispers until the whispers

yell and people hear

Skeletons In The Closet

Our skeletons

Are made up

Of everything we are told.

But your blood,

Is everything you would give it for.

Who We Are

We are

The sunrise

And sunset

We are

The rain

And the rainbows

We are

The flowers

And the weeds.

Daydreams

the only

words

my pen

wants to write down

are the ones that won’t

come out.

the words that whisper

in my sleep

telling me

to wake up

to face the day.

PRAYER TO GOD

Dear God, prayer and hope

Thank you for giving love to my soul

So I know how to love both, a grass and a flower

And all the people on this planet.

Thank you for guiding me along the paths of beauty

That you give me strength to fly with birds

You are in my heart with the angel of goodness

As a blessing and as light itself.

God, that I praise you with a song

My whole being breathes with you

Hear the prayers that the heart does not bleed

Give peace that is no more.

Do not allow departures from home

Let the chaos, bombs and rockets stop

Refugees, uncertainty without an aim and hope

And the pathlessness of this suffering planet. 

Enlighten the reason of this madness 

Cease the wars and conflicts 

Unite the hearts that do not know love

May everyone find peace and freedom.

GORDANA SARIĆ

MONTENEGRO

Dying City

Honking taxis, buses, blue-white buildings reshaping

the city’s flesh and bones, scattered anecdotes,

a murder on the serpentine lane, wagging tongues,

desiccated trams, stained walls, imperial nostalgias,

twilight extrudes the spectral accumulations,

time never progresses here in this dying city

strobic eyeballs of the passerby, not cruising,

the crowd speaking in half- knowledge, are caught

up in the eddies of chaos,

An anemic crow on the branchless tree sharpens

his eyes; untangle the reflection upside down,

The slum boys play football on the roadside park.

A memory dormant, a dirty dark alley draws ambigram.

A clock-tower shines in the first light of the morning sun.

@ gopallahiri

…………………………………………

Threes

1.

At each shout, each footfall,

the wind breaks into a song

under the canopy of rain clouds.

2.

Drumbeats harden in autumnal light

rain drops falling in the puddle,

the round of applause settles.

3.

The images fill up, glimmer and silence

there is a long pause, almost an inertia

of feelings- forsaken, murky.

@gopallahiri

………………………………………………..

Anaphora of This Afternoon

This afternoon is sauntering

through the forest

This afternoon is smeared words

feelings of sorrow.

This afternoon is a retreat from sun

and electric heater.

This afternoon is blood on the streets

for us to lick.

This afternoon is that breaks out

in my heart.

This afternoon is the dim light

of the foyer.

This afternoon is the tongueless mouth

mumbling your name

@gopallahiri

………………………………………………………………..

Tea Pot, cups and two Souls

(Inspired by the painting of Jean-Francois Raffaelli, Art Institute of Chicago)

I extend my hands to touch the canvas-oil on linen,

surely pure colours mix in the original brushstroke.

There two souls sitting together- quiet, pensive, brooding,

tilted heads, woolen hats and white scurf covering grey hairs. 

Tea pot, cups and plates, milk pot, sugar bowl roll out,

No splashing tea, clinking cups and spoons, finger licking.

The tablecloth reminds the fragments of what they know,

soft, silent looks bring the most interesting dreams.

Brick walls and flower plants draw daytime lucidity

the plucky cat alone stiches the hem of the afternoon.

Aroma of fresh tea oozes magical, daylight doze, 

no one is to hold them in check, to steer their new age journey.

Time and space for being lost and in a kind of hurry

A lingering whiff, it says about tomorrow.

©gopallahiri

……………………………………………………….

Intense Love Stories

I walk through the vast fields of mustard

in the breezy and windswept morning.

The golden heads are falling on my toes,

touching and calming my bare feet.

I lie down on the grass, let the haze and

miasma come in and roll me back,

Two sparrows stand on their wonky feet,

each in the ease of a single, feathery body.

Bees wait at a distance on the tip of a white

flower, sunrays touch their shining faces.

It’s a hot summer day, but there in the water

a flock of geese winging fast, an epoch melts,

Singing, chirping, roaming where lilies stand,

This morning taps out intense love stories.

@gopallahiri

…………………………………………….

Gopal Lahiri is a bilingual poet, critic, editor, and translator. He has authored 31 books, including eight solo/jointly edited books. His poems are published across more than 150 journals and translated in 18 languages He has been nominated for Pushcart Prize for poetry in 2021. He has received Setu Excellence Award, Pittsburgh, US, in poetry in 2020 and Ukiyoto award  for poetry in 2022. He has been conferred First Jayanta Mahapatra National Award on literature in 2024. Recent Credits: One Art Journal, Ink, Sweat & Tears, Shot Glass Journal, MasticadoresUSA, MasticadoresTaiwan, Amythyst Review, Verse-Virtual Journal, Setu Journal, Kitaab Journal and International Times.

In 3 Minutes of Listening

The beat

of this country

is near

everlasting

bells ringing long ago

and now

the brokenness healing

blowing down walls

and hearts bursting open

with glorious endless love

seeing

through the trees

branches open to all of us

even when we cut them down

treehouse built by Daddy

for children touching the sky

with dreams of flight

and no fear of falling

cloud pillows

and flying carpets

when our fathers leave us

by dying on the vine

we will sob within ourselves

growing older

in a world whirling too fast

until we realize

not fast enough.

Sacrifice

Books opened

to torn out pages

wondering why someone did that

when trees died

to make the paper pages

and sometimes the ink

made with blood…

Wisdom

My 93-year-old mother laughs

and my wife does a dance

in the center of the living room

as 3 old people remember

there’s more to come.

I Can’t Stop Loving You
‎
‎

Is time new? ls time old?

‎How can I say to you?

‎How am I to know?

‎Why is it snowing?

‎Why is your everything without me?

‎The world is motionless.

‎I want to back in time

‎I want to back in you

‎I want to feel the spring of magic moment

‎Love won’t end

‎Time won’t change the sun.

‎

‎Give me another chance

‎Come back and touch my heart

‎You are still living here

‎I am not the slave of time

‎Was l wrong? Were you wrong?

‎Who will break the cell of egg?

‎It is l who am always ready

‎Hear my heart and  touch my arms

‎You are everywhere

‎You are around my dream

‎You may be false, your love may be false But I am true

‎My love is true

‎I have never divided my mind into two

‎I have never walked another way

‎I have read the tears of my love

‎Take my heart into your heart

‎Take my life

‎My love is true and timeless

‎It is virgin and pure

‎I can’t stop loving you.

‎

‎Ask your soul about me

‎Ask yourself about me

‎Let me know your answer.

‎I don’t care your answer

‎I love you

‎And l can’t stop loving you.

The frenzied whirl of the newsroom is the centerpiece for SOLD ON A MONDAY, an historical fiction novel to be easily savored and digested within a couple of days. You won’t be able to put this one down.

Cigar smoke, paper airplanes flying, loud chatter, phones ringing, reporters scurrying about spilling coffee, crumpled paper being tossed in rubbish bins, and rushed stand-up meetings happening in small spaces. All of this activity and the flurry of competition between reporters hungry for the next story are well portrayed by author Kristina McMorris.

The ability to create a definitive mood from chapter 1’s opening paragraph through to the last page of this book, is a stunning feat. As McMorris masterfully paints this literary masterpiece, she blends together an array of colors and textures, using tiny vivid details and subtle emotional nuance, all of which make this story sing.

As we travel through the chapters, the two lead characters, Ellis Reed and Lily Palmer, gradually reveal their human flaws. Yet, each possess a heart of gold.

The trigger to this compelling tale takes place when Ellis makes a snap decision under pressure at the very start of the book. As an aspiring junior news reporter seeking his first sizzling headline, he hopes to capture the hearts and minds of readers, as well as reel in attention from his newspaper chief.

The setting for the story is the East Coast, including the farmlands of Pennsylvania, the city of Pittsburgh, and the heart of New York City. The year is 1931, in the midst of the Great Depression and prohibition. Ellis has staged a photograph to ‘cover his ass’ with his tough demanding boss. The photo is a fake, set up to look like something real but that factually, ‘is not.’ The photograph and its evocative heart-tugging caption become ultra-popular with the masses, and Ellis’ career is launched into the big-time news world.

Ellis achieves his dream but the featured photograph and caption also serve to set off a ‘domino effect’ with grave repercussions; all caused by his unethical ‘spur of the moment’ decision. The result is a family torn apart, with two children placed in great danger, leaving Ellis emotionally broken because of the heavy guilt he carries. His dilemma is an ethical one, faced with how to ‘right a wrong’ that’s remained secret for months.

When Lily, also an aspiring reporter with a hidden past, enters the picture, readers will delight in the twists and turns that follow, and how their paths will intertwine.

This novel will undoubtedly have readers on the edge of their seats. There’s action, family tension, unrequited love, passion, and characters who must deal with challenging societal pressures, including ‘seedy’ crime bosses out to eliminate anyone that gets in their way.

But the real impact of this read for me personally was the tug on my emotions which caused me to think about at least one snap decision I made in my life that, unfortunately, set a fireball rolling downhill; and my world, as I knew it, tilted.

Everyone reading this work likely has at least one on-the-spot decision that they deeply regret. And that is why the lead characters in this novel are compelling and relatable.

SOLD ON A MONDAY, by Kristina McMorris, is one helluva read! I highly recommend picking this one up.