The queen loved the spring from childhood. The rustling of the leaves, the vibration of the roses, was astonishing to her. The spring seemed to bring new life, new hopes, and dreams.
But then years passed … The life of the princess has changed. She married, took on daily worries, responsibilities, moved away from childhood. Now she did not notice the spring coming. There was no time to observe the raindrops from the window. Every day, the day of worries would pass the tremors, and it seemed to missing something in her heart.
One day when she was walking along the road, she felt that the soft spring was beating her breeze. She stopped for a moment. The trees were overwhelmed by gusts, moving the birds and the air. Her heart remembered those pure sensations a few years ago.
In no hurry, the princess went to the most loved garden in her childhood. She sat there and first took time for herself. The leaves were rich and the smell of flowers filled the air. The princess felt as if she had lost herself and found herself again.
That day she realized: Life is not just a bunch of worries. Sometimes you have to stop and feel spring. Because every season is the priceless gift of life, every moment.
Bekmirzayeva Aziza Rustam daughter was born on May 10, 2005 in Khatirchi district of Navoi region. It is the 2nd year student of the Samarkand Institute of Agroinovations and Research, which is interested in science and creativity. Continues to study the way to get to education and personal development and to be a leading specialist in their field. To date, they have more than 10 certificates and are working in various fields.
Fadwa Attia from Egypt writes about play (Fares reveals the hidden) Mohamed Sobhi’s directorial vision, from the very first scene, is presented by Sobhi using the technique of merging the cinema screen with theatrical performance, using footage from the character of Faris Faris Balajwad in the series, which he played years ago, to confirm a specific identity at the beginning of the play.
He takes us back to the very first scene of that, enthusiastically entering the scenes of that train—the train that expresses the history and identity of a nation, and the Al-Sadawi family, who came from different places for the inheritance and do not know each other—and a discussion about the treasure in the scene that follows, in an enjoyable transition between Cairo Station and the scene of the apartment in which they will live, which is the family home, conveying to us the concerns of the Egyptian household, from free education and its concerns to Afrocentricity, which is trying to steal the identity of the ancient Egyptians, to the conscientious censorship of our lives, to artificial crying, globalization, technology, and the mobile phone that has torn the Egyptian family apart.
All of this is done in successive scenes in the first act as they search for the treasure amidst a succession of slogans, songs, lighting, and sets, and an attempt to decipher the treasure between the two heroes of the play, Mohamed Sobhi and Wafaa Sadek. By inviting the 22 heirs of Hafez Naguib to search for the treasure of their great patriotic grandfather, the land usurped by Maysoun, Mudalla Ghazi. These heirs include traitors, agents, pessimists, frustrated opportunists, superficial and greedy individuals. They resorted to deception until they were burdened with debts in their quest to fulfill the terms of the requirements of the rulers of Zion to the letter, ending with their dispersal, despairing and hopeless, due to their lack of true awareness of what was being plotted against them.
A play by the Fares Studio troupe, Uncovering the Hidden. This is the Actor’s Studio band, founded by the star Mohamed Sobhi in the eighties. With the team spirit, expressing the dreams of young people today, raising the slogan of awareness of the Palestinian cause. These are the names of the actors and actresses.
This play revolves around the events of a knight’s play, which reveals the hidden, set against a melodramatic background. A true artistic, comedic, musical, and theatrical show, presented by the Actor’s Studio troupe, written and directed by Mohamed Sobhy, with Ayman Fatia participating in the book, decor by Mohamed El-Gharbawy, lyrics by Abdullah Hassan, music by Sherif Hamdan, and starring: Mohamed Sobhy (Fares), Wafa Sadek (Baheya), Kamal Attia (Dahab), Rehab Hussein (Maison), Angelica Ayman (Nidal), Laila Fawzy (Souad), Dalida (Shaimaa), Mustafa Youssef (Ghazy), Mohamed Shawky (Shawky), Lamia Orabi (Abla), Dalia Nabil (Malak), Michael William (Michael William, Daqdaq), Abou Heiba (Sand), Helmy Galal (Aref the lawyer), Mohamed Abdel Moaty (Mukhtar), Alaa Fouad (Kamal), Khaled Mohamed (the final man), Gamal Abdel Nasser(Sadon), Walid Hany, James: Mahmoud El-Sherif (Rahma), Remasib (Sara), Lamar Awad (Hanin), Bilal Mohamed (Seif).
The play consists of two acts, each with seven scenes, and achieves harmony in all elements between the various sets and theatrical scenery, from the station to the apartment to the palace to the grounds. The smooth and effortless performance, the spirit of a loving team, the various topics including the identity of the homeland, the Palestinian cause, the golden billion, education issues, and others, and the emphasis on “We are all one, Muslim and Christian, hand in hand.”
The music, theatrical lighting, and the integrated visual image with integrated scenography, in addition to the appropriate clothing for each actor and actress, the songs and performance in singing as well, with a new return to emphasize identity, homeland, and belonging, and a reminder of the integration of cinematic presentation with theater, by integrating the character of Fares, who appeared to us years ago in the series “Fares without a Horse,” so that the prologue at the beginning of the play became the first scene that attracted the audience. As for the children, he presented them in the impact of technology and artificial intelligence on their lives, bringing us to our lives and what is in them, so that we can stand with ourselves, fully aware of the external threats from Israel to the challenges within our daily lives.
Thus, “Fares Uncovers the Hidden” is a historical show that displays the past, present, and future in the best play presented at the level of public and private sector theater, to sit on the throne of the summit in terms of occupying first place compared to shows that did not achieve the same artistic and moral value, achieving the difficult equation in a complete artistic show. The play “Fares Uncovers the Hidden” occupied first.
Fadwa Attia is a writer, painter and photographer from Egypt.
My stomach hurts right after writing the title. I’ve avoided this grief as it’s so real that it begins to hurt physically. But somewhere Tessa knows how I feel. She was my dog, but also my friend. We spent years walking the forests, its verdant valleys and then sunny summits, also surveying streams and more open, pastoral places. And we went in all seasons, unafraid and confident.
In time, the old girl slowed down a bit, and many of her whiskers had turned grey. I watched her and she watched me, maybe knowing that time had begun to call her to a further, unknown destiny. But we carried on. One day she became sick, and got better for a while, but then became ill again. The vet said she had cancer. She had thrown up and eliminated a lot of blood, and was in pain. The more humane action at that point was to put her down, to let her go, and that’s what occurred. I was there with her the whole time and held her, assured her.
I think I helped her in those last moments and that they were with as little pain as possible. But what or where is this assurance afterwards against grief for myself? It is for me like a light rain coat or thin sweater in minus 20 degree Celsius winter weather.
Therefore, it’s no assurance or insurance whatsoever.
I am caught in the storm.
And, as the storm brags its vexatious winds, bullying, and as those winds blow cold snow upon my already troubled countenance, a demeanour of frustration and withdrawal and plain stupid pain, I try and think of better days…
It was warm when I retrieved her from a small northern rescue outfit. An old woman and man, obviously good souls, ran the shelter which consisted of a large fenced area in back of their property. They relied on donations for almost everything and had an agreement with vets in training somewhere to perform necessary operations to prevent the dogs from being taken by breeders. They were the n the middle of an almost God forsaken climate of mosquitoes though, for there was a series of bogs or swamps close by that allowed many more mosquitoes to breed than a regular summer place even rural.
That’s why Tessa always not only disliked mosquitoes like anyone or any animal would, she absolutely abhorred them and it was noticeable if one or a fly even went near her.
I’d asked to go in the cage where dogs were barking, especially Tessa. The old caretaker, grey hair disheveled, clothing torn through age and hard work, and unrepaired in places, had said, ‘If you want. Go ahead. Nobody has asked to do that before.’ I went in and Tessa barked at me nonstop. But I could see she was not an aggressive soul but rather a scared soul.
When it was time to travel home she lay in the van just in the middle a bit behind me and stopped barking. Looking up at me I could see her saying to the universe at that time something akin to, ‘Oh. He is the one. He has come to rescue me and bring me to a forever home. He is not a threat and I can relax a bit now.’
Not bad Tessa. That day I took you out of the humid mosquito infested world and we left with air conditioning and a water bowl you’d not have share.
In life she could never completely relax, for God knows what trauma or abandonment Tessa endured in the beginning of this life. But for her, she came a long way through the years and was comfortable as possible.
They say not to use cliches, but who are they exactly at the end of the day and what do they know? Other than a spelling mistake or some real structural error, I was never too concerned with what some stranger, or school of thought, had to say.
Everyone is an expert, aren’t they?
Tessa had a good run, maybe a great run all things considered.
I did the best I could, each and every day.
And, most importantly, Tessa is in a better place now.
As for the grief, my stomach still hurts, and though it’s uncomfortable I’m not afraid.
J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Horror Sleaze Trash, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Beatnik Cowboy, Lothlorien Poetry Journal and Disturb the Universe Magazine. You can catch him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)
1. Please share your thoughts about the future of literature..
It gives me the greatest honor to share and partake my own passion for literature, that ornament that embellishes our livelihood throughout lifetime, I am smitten by rendition and erudition of books in all life spheres, to build up a cultural cauldron inside my mind, to dissolve in the amalgam of civilizations and conception of the other, I am not that fond of traveling abroad, for fear of nostalgia to swathes of my endeared heartfelt homeland, rather I consider reading is the solution to unravel the riddle and decipher the intricacies of the others’ thoughts, attitudes and expectations.
It mirrors their torchlight guidance for the generations who are in dire need of your imagination and enlightenment to recognize who they really are, to perceive to what extent they reached out in their conceptualizing the core and crux of what is going on in the literary and scientific arenas.
When u start writing?
I do start since the prim of my youth, as a curious onlooker youngling in pursuance of language exposure, I listen a lot to the radio transmissions, like BBC news, or VOA coverage, I wrote down what I was hearing with the help of pronunciation skills I gained, the process by which I acquired spontaneity and fluency in English, fundaments in some other languages, didactic methodological errands to tackle my subject matter helped me a lot, throughout planning to – do lists in English, to your amazement, I tried to find out equivalent in my Arabic Fus7a the mother tongue, regarding idiomatic structure, interjection and syntax.
That linguistic inclination granted me tools and opened up large scale horizons to address the other, the process reached its zenith alongside with the gigantic leap of the know how, technological platforms, I jumped into platforms and mobile apps dealing in learning languages, there are so many to imitate the inventory contents and speak with the other. Since then, I planned a pathway to work on translation as a bonfire or a kindled flame to light up minds and allure other to the benefits of linguistics, as I volunteer to do so, awaiting to reap the fruits and my words instilled and inscribed in the scroll of universal history of literature like the notable role models in prose and verse.
The Good and the Bad.
Who is winning in nowadays?
That is a philosophical question, compelling me to the inner self of mankind, good and evil deeds created and innate inside of us, instinctively we might be susceptible to both pathways, but the mighty hand of good and righteous so doing is the vanquisher at last, goodness is like the lofty sun light, a heavenly revelation, but all humans err, and have shortcomings and deficiencies engendered, that abomination and obscene inclination dimmed the lovely hearts, that may delude us and made us into an abyss of the hell. There are wise proverbs admonishing us all—do good and cast it into the seas, do as you would be done by. Therefore, emanating from that mundane truth, we must uphold the slogan or motto of good and faithfulness rather than malfide and diabolical intrigues.
How many books have you written
And where can we find your books?
My printed out paper literary output was not that superfluous, I wrote about 10 short stories long time ago, but some of which were printed, in fact, 3 of which named: a human being.. But?.. The altars of imagination.. Snippets tinged with the savory of one’sself.. So many published electronically on Facebook prose symposia such as:the Golden Forum of short story, the Arab conference magazine platform.. Poetic anthologies are my passion, I wrote rhymed and free verse, my first diwan named : give me some sake, my poetic quill?..’ Hanaiki ‘Published and printed, but alot of poems scattered through websites and platforms, I also translate from other foreignlanguages into the Arabic.
Novels and novella play an important part of significance, the Adventurous novel ‘Nabhan and Dannan Alhazhaian’ – Nabhah and the Cask of Bewilderness, published this year, along with a translated novella— what’s after? Both Arabic and English versions of mine. For me, I dreamt to publish an encyclopedia encompassing most of luminaries around the globe with entire congregational literary genre masterpieces I have translated for them, still that dream awaiting a sponsor to make into the light. Translation is all in all undulating waves of outrageous sea of knowledge, full of untold sunken pearls in need to shine. A plea to all literary avant-garde laureates in all fields—give a keen eye on the translators, supposedly, I am one of them. Also, I am doing great in the sphere of literary criticism, you can follow my studies for the Arab writers through Arab symposium for contemporary criticism, and magazine like Amarjy, Damietta, blue world magazine, Nokhba, and other Greek, Romanian and Albanian podiums.
Anyone can search on my name through Google search engine in Arabic and English: Ahmed Farooq Baidoon أحمد فاروق بيضون.
What will be the future?
The future is promising, throughout unprecedented microcosm of consensus of literate, authors, playwrights, novelists, poets and poetesses, along with the evolutionary literary new genres, like haiku, tanka, haibun, micro-fiction, micro novella, I wish the future of literature created a venue that shall simplify meeting of the notable acculutred from the entire global territories, to stand united as upholders of word beauty and firmaments, they build up mind apart from undermining mental calibers of the generation by trivial bandwagon of fallacies and violence. We all call upon peace, welfare and serenade, to populate the Earth, to be worthy living and let the children of the world sing the song of unity and unanimous psalms of love. I dreamt that I could hear the sparrows chirping again.
..A wish for 2025
I wish it will be the turning point for a fruitful future, that’s all,
If only I could see the sunlight without imbued clouds,
If only I could see festivity world-wide without a droplet of tear or bereavement,
Let-alone a world of grudge-free and cherished with tempestuous sentiments.
Be it a dream in impelling need to come true or still the apparition of hatred looms?
A phrase from your book
(I Am The Wandering Letter)
Behold—here I am the solitary letter,
Let go astray in a paginated paper,
My ink fountain has muttered its insomnia,
I wrote down words and battle myself in a race,
I stay up late at daytime and darkness loom at night,
Therein – could hear all shall carry and trace,
I call upon everyone before the glow of twilight,
How come could eyes blink-my ribs fed up with stress,
How come shall we caress those melancholic setbacks with laughter alright,
And, hide all what may choke of distress,
And, flout all contemptuous abomination and dismiss,
Oh! Let-alone that blackout and sleepless eyelids perplexed till late times,
And, all inflected upon us—such lethal crimes,
I shall lay aside all overwhelming screams into oblivion rhymes,
Behold – the stroke of pens, ripped papers of mine; be it echoless as I feel down,
That serves me right as crippled, knitting my eyebrow and frown,
Does the croak of toads prevail in the universe and trumpet?
Verily, the celestial skies manifested as my salvation refuge to glimpse in slumber,
From color to another, we shall stomp it,
Behold-homesick of days, in grey tug of conflicting starry curtains – please hide,
If only I could be back in shape, a free letter without clipping wings – open- eyed.
