Solely guided by the invisible North Star of conscience?
At times, the black magnet of selfishness
Draws the commander’s calm gaze,
Leading him down twisted crossroads.
At times, the crimson mist of hatred and envy
Clouds the commander’s clear eyes.
During my college years,
When the disease flared like a fierce flame,
I crossed the threshold of darkness many times;
The fierce waves of depression
Pushed the commander off the endless cliff.
O divine architect,
Let the heart of this quiet captain You have established
Always shine like the stars of the night sky,
Untainted and unscarred by the darkness of a sickened self.
In the fierce storms of life,
Secure him firmly to the anchor of justice.
Wansoo Kim (1954) achieved Ph. D. in English Literature from the graduate school of Hanguk University of Foreign Studies. He has published eight poetry books. One poetry book, “Duel among a middle-aged fox, a wild dog and a deer” was a bestseller in 2012. He won the World Peace Literature Prize for Poetry Research and Recitation, presented in New York City at the 5th World Congress of Poets(2004). He published poetry books, “Prescription of Civilization” and “Flowers of Thankfulness“ in America.(2019), received Geum-Chan Hwang Poetry Literature Prize in Korea(2019) and International Indian Award(literature) from WEWU(World English Writer’s Union)(2019). He published “Heart of God” in America(2020). He published an autobiography book, “Secrets and Fruits of Mission” and a poetry book, “Flowers of Gratitude”(2021). He received India’s Independence Day Literary Honors 2021”(2021). He published the Chinese version of his ebook, “Heart of God,” which reached Amazon bestseller #1(2022). He published poetry books, “Captive of Crazy Love.”(2023) and “Teachings of Mother Nature(2024).
I lost my patience and just took the cutter in my hand
‘To be, or not to be, that is the question’
Suddenly like a magic art I saw from both of them
The branches covered with flowers
My heart filled with joy
I stopped and waited for a while
Gradually the tree like the little ball blazed with the Maltas
So many Malta in the trees with the light of green stars
The birds are calling near them
Something heavenly whispers in my ears
The light of my smiling face reflects on them
I just came back to my thought
And found the path
Of the stretching glory in the belly
That comes to light at the time of the natural beauty.
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 the Warmth Comes Not from Radiators, but from People: Chorsu Awakens!
Bustling life, the lively exchange between seller and buyer, the noise of hundreds of conversations, Assalomu alaykum – the motto of everyone in this beautifully historic place.
It’s just past five in the morning. The air is still warm, touched by a cool breeze that sends a light shiver through the skin. While some people are only beginning to wake up, life at Chorsu is already in full swing. Vendors’ hands are deep in dough, while buyers clutch white plastic bags filled with fresh herbs sticking out on top, alongside warm, delicious flatbreads. This is not just a marketplace – it’s a way of life, like a massive mansion where millions of different people live together each day.
“Come here, daughter! I’ve got tasty khanym – just give it a try!” shouts a woman in a green apron and headscarf. At the same time, she gives change, places a fresh portion of food on a plate topped with onions, and manages to smile warmly and kindly.
The Uzbek bazaar Eski Juva (Chorsu) is not about buying and leaving. It’s an ancient theatre, formed over 2,000 years ago in the heart of the old city, at the crossroads of four trading streets.
Since ancient times, it has served as a convenient gathering place for merchants from many countries. Here, anyone could sell their crafts, food, clothing, and more. This tradition has been passed down through generations, which is why every tourist visiting Uzbekistan eagerly awaits their chance to visit the bazaar – to become a participant and a member of this living family. It’s a place where grandmothers argue over the price of potatoes, grandfathers discuss football and the latest news while browsing goods, girls try on dresses made of adras and atlas, and boys pick out their perfect tubeteika.
“I’m here every Saturday. Not to buy – to chat,” says Hikmat-ota, playing backgammon right on a carpet spread over the asphalt. “Chorsu is like a mini Uzbek mahalla, filled with bright colors. Everyone here belongs.”
Here, you don’t just buy food – you experience the real atmosphere of Uzbekistan. Stalls overflow with mountains of raisins and figs, rows of pahlava and nuts, spices of every shade and aroma – from the sharp scent of zira to the rich fragrance of saffron.
This bazaar is more than just a place of trade – it’s a mirror of the Uzbek soul, where every respected vendor is something of a philosopher, and every customer is not a guest, but a neighbor. Here, people know how to slow down, how to listen, and how to genuinely enjoy meeting each other.
By evening, the shopping bags are heavier, but the mood is lighter. And as the sun dips lower and the market begins to exhale after the day’s hustle, it becomes clear: Chorsu is not just a market.
It is the heartbeat of the city, its soul. It is the living memory of Tashkent, where every morning begins with a friendly shout, a hot flatbread, and the feeling that you are home.
Sultonova Mohidil, student of journalism and mass communications
Love’s cast takes off the burden of the heavy ground.
Love Lets Offered Values Exist
Love Locks Off Vices Exceedingly
Love Labels Outrightly Valued Entities
Love Locates Obvious Virtues Easily
These are the faces of L.O.V.E.
(J)
Dad Loves Me
Dad loves me because He made me Dad makes me trust him because he made my team Dad makes me strong because he made me not want Dad makes me smile because he took care of my file Dad makes me sleep well because he made me well Dad makes me work because he made me walk Dad makes me obey because he kept ‘Bad’ at bay Dad makes me pass life’s test because he made me life’s best Dad makes me read my book because he made me the nook Dad makes me a way because he made me pray Dad makes me alive because he gave me a life Dad makes me like everyone because he made love anyone Dad makes me preach because he made me teach Dad makes me modest because he made me honest Dad makes me eat because he made me fit
