mockery of democracy why mockery of democracy? because demo crazy can be easily mocked. this world or being optimistic i read what i’m interested in yes, yes, but it makes it harder to live yes, yes, in this world. which world? a very reliable source who said that those who are honest & good who have character & discrimination win the respect of all the world must not have seen the latest political results. William’s masterpiece beyond honest & good character & discrimination there must live what is impossible to fathom a phantom lurking in the shadows somewhere in the coulisse Shakespeare himself hysterical (laughing) builders of this world or what his world builds if i could laugh with you i’d celebrate all my mirth & frivolity reach beyond the myth of integrity & other worldly lies & lie with you until at last we make it true. bonus: tomorrow’s optimism or the new builders we need a new word with a new definition for the new world.
Category Archives: CHAOS
Poetry from Iroda Sherzod

My dad
The one who loves me more than anyone
My father is my mountain
When anxiety comes, it passes
There is nothing in this world, father
I could not tell when the time came
I love you dad
This name is in my heart
My dear dear father
He thought about our future
My father worked without rest
He did not eat himself but fed us
Father, I have no prayers
The daughter of Abdusamiyeva Iroda Sherzod was born on May 15, 2009 in Sherabad district of Surkhandarya region. In 2016 she went to study in the 1st grade of general education school No. 67 in Sherabad district of Surkhandarya region. Currently, she is a 9th grade student of this school. She started writing poems in the 5th grade and has written about 20 poems. His poems were published in magazines such as “Bekajon+”, “Sherabod Life”, “Bilimdon” and prestigious German magazines. Her poems were also published on Google Networks. She works as a coordinator and volunteer in Sherabad district. She wants to become a journalist in the future. She intends to become a mature person who will serve the country.
Photography from Kylian Cubilla Gomez
Poetry from Jernail S. Anand

TRUTH: PARTIAL AND IMPARTIAL Lies are our staple food. We feel convulsions When we occasionally turn to truth Those who encounter it End up in hospitals, Or on the pistoled pier, If the dose of truth was higher. Literature is the realm Of the partial truth Even history has no history Of telling the impartial Unqualified truth does not let us sleep Try the balm of poetry Where the wounds are too deep. Literature introduces us To the best parts of humanity, And history to the worst Yet we love history Though it always acts like a wamp Tempts us with its perilous glory Which bears the death's stamp. Our silence can make stones speak, And also shut whirling tempests Of verbal extravagance. History is the warbling noise Of the river of life In its glorious as well as meanest flow Poetry interprets and modifies the show. .......... HOPE AND FAITH Hope sustains life And it is hope Which makes meat of a man, Killing him bit by bit Rather than despatching him off once for all. Hope is a path kept open While all the doors Are closed Leading to despair All around the earth and the firmament. Hope tempts us into living And keep on suffering The tantrums of fate Believing All will be well one day. Men who fail in their endeavours Turn to Hope To keep the masters In good humour thinking The mortals believe in their mercy. Faith, rather than hope, is A positive asset for man Which does not leave things To the will of gods Rather put the responsibility on human action. .............. THE ARTIST (At a fancy eating joint in the Hotel La Matriciana opposite Operation House, Rome) Whatever you have, Body or mind You have to exchange it For food. It is normal, And has nothing to shock If the exchange Is willing and under no stress. This exchange Loses its exalted status When we oversell ourselves Because we have to survive. Even if it is the centre of civilization The Republic Square of Rome The Creators of Beauty Have to beg to run their home. An artist, a singer, a poet Perform for the joy of creation But they have a body too And a mind to be kept in motion. When poets or singers sing In the streets It is divine And sends us in a trance But when next moment, He advances towards you With a begging bowl, All divinity takes wing. It was half for joy of his calling And half for his stomach Yet what a performer! I appreciate the singer ! But I pity the system Which has everything for the artless And nothing for the artist Whose work is so sublime. ............... . MAKING IT EASY Easy chairs have been in vogue Though these days Ease has filtered out And now chairs keep you near standing As they resemble the tables only . The more ease we find The greater is the torture Inflicted on the wooden stuff Just see how uneasily They are fixed to give peace to our flesh. Some species of men are found Looking so easy in life I can't help remembering those Whose bones are fitted beneath To give them an elevated state of peace . You cannot be easy unless you give Comparable torture to some one And all ease which Twists the bones of another person Is indivine and unjust. ............... THE SECOND FALL Gods believe in subtle communication They talk in silences And gestures Words and speech are crude arts In their parlance Which ignorant people use Or verbal aids for mentally retarded. Birds, animals, even insects know The subtle language of love Which gods understand And feel happy to bless them Man is the only creature Who has lost this subtle approach Because of his selfish know-mongering. Essential knowledge to remain alive Is imparted to every object That is why doves and lambs Have not been forced Out of existence They know the basic art of survival And nature's world is still aglow with life. Only men, in their selfishness, gathered More knowledge than was required To be alive with dignity The result is before our eyes See the fast fall of mankind alone From essential graces The greatest loss being their innocence and joy . Gods wonder what to do with Men with torn psyches who have Converted themselves into debris Impatient to overreach themselves. How to bless this ignorant tribe ? Who don't know when they abort a tree, they are cutting a descendant from the branch of life. ........... ............ ROME Here, in my hotel room, there is absolute calm I am in a state of complete self possession. Only some memories dance their way Into my mind. Is man lonely any time? I think never. Life is reduced to memories and emotions and wherever we are, they follow us But I find time with myself. This place where I stay has started communicating with me. Here are the three poems I have composed just now. A feeling of thankfulness to gods has overpowered me. And from this mental state, spring up these poems inwhich you will find me conversing not only with God but with fellow human beings too. FROM SILENCE TO DOCTORATE IN NOISE The things He created Were in an Accord of Silence Spreading fom end to end. It was the beginning of creation And gods knew Things possess communicative powers Birds, animals, insects Each one and then our waters And mounts conversed in silence. And there was no problem In understanding each other So plain was the language of silence. Things took a 'loud' turn when men Appeared on the scene Who took silence for half approval They decided to kill the trees They were silent, And men considered it half approval They wanted to imprison rivers into bottles But rivers were in a trance Men considered half yes when they said no No Men prayed for more and more Gods remained silent. Men took it as their half-approval When they found nature grumbling And gods frowning Men decided to break the Accord of Silence From silent communication they came to words And from words to blows From blows, to muscles, and then, Over to machine guns Silence has now received doctorate in noise. .......... LIVING WITH GOD Someone told me keep remembering God Go on telling him You are doing these good things And you have done this bad Soon I came to know God does not like to be kept busy All the time No fun engaging him in minor issues. I realised this thing in a very Costly way. Whatever I said, God often found fault with my words Finally every time I had to say sorry God never reverted to me When I was busy Only I did it out of fear or to please him. Now I let God do his work He knows I am here And I remember him. And when in need, he is here for me. We do not talk now much I also do not tell people How much I love him Or He loves me He is there in his grand presence And I am here in mine Mini presence trying to partake Some sparkles of his splendour. ........ JOURNEY OF JOY Is joy a personal domain? Entirely individual property? Something like food Which we own and eat When we need? No it is a protean im mass Falling and rising each moment Does not stay in the same shape Nor in the same mind Can't trust it. Every other person around you Related or unrelated Can make his participation In the creation of This dynamic content I sometimes feel though we call it My joy my pleasure, my happiness It is all an illusion. It is supplied to you By people you operate with. Any one can cause dents in your joy Turn it into grief And make you weep. You are at the receiving end only When your joy turns grief How helpless I am! It is a matter of the heart ! Where is my heart? Is it inside the vaults of my chest Oh..I see it like a ball running out And from there it returns carrying So much soil and waste matter Bruised too at times And sometimes when kicked, Crying. Joy which looks so much my own Rides on my passions Knocks at several doors In search of a return feeling But often returns crestfallen. Can I erect walls around it So that it does jump out Nor expect anything Nor feel lost But just stay inside, content with itself? Gods were unhappy to see me distraught They suggested another way. If you love others, Without expecting returns Nobody can divest you of your joy.
Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa

How Much I Love
You ask me how much I love you
Please do not be angry
For I truly cannot tell you
You asked me to count the stars
That is how much you love me
I can but my love reaches much far
You asked me to dive beneath the ocean
That is how deep you love me
My love is deeper than the ocean floor
You asked me to stay under the desert sun
That is how hot you love me
My love burns more than its core
So, please do not ask me
How much do I love you
I have no way of telling you.
Friendship
It’s not how long people meet
Or how extraordinary the feat
It’s how synchronized their hearts beat
Friends accept no defeat
The roads to be taken by their feet
Enduring all hindrance and heat.
Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.
Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
Photography from Isabel Gomez de Diego
Poetry from Rahmiddinova Mushtariy
I thank you
Father!
(My father is devoted to Rahmiddin!)
Father, your words are bright and kind,
Your words of wisdom are mysterious and magical,
Your teacher is different-minded,
Thank you, father!
We learned love from you,
We learned knowledge and enlightenment from you.
We learned manners and consequences from you.
Thank you, Father!
He watched us walk the streets,
He corrected our mistake without delay,
The reason is that he gave his gifts,
Thank you, Father!
Rahmiddinova Mushtariy Ravshan’s daughter was born on March 1, 2011 in Gulistan district of Syrdarya region. Now she is a student of the 8th grade. Mushtariy is interested in reading poetry, reading books, drawing. She appeared on television in kindergarten at the age of 3 and is still appearing on television. Participated in the Bilimdon competition. She took the 2nd place in English in the 2nd grade. Participates in many contests and projects. In the future, she will become a dentist. She is preparing for admission. Her dream is to make everyone proud of Mushtariy. She also participated in many anthologies. Participated in webinars.