Poetry from Lan Qyqalla

Older middle aged man with grey hair, reading glasses, and a small black bird on his hand. He's got a blue collared shirt and is standing in front of an open window.

AUTUMN LOVE IN PRISTINA

We met in the fall,

in the amphitheater you tweet…

the streets of Pristina,

in the cold night,

shoot me like a mountain fairy.

the stars were aligned

that summer evening in your tear,

we were both lost in the untouched oasis

and the lips stopped at the sounds FlokArtë.

Why did we travel, tell me why

in the cold winter and snow,

the beaming sun gave us a gift,

you ray of sunshine lit me siashra.

Why did we run to the meadows, why

in the early spring fragrance of love

we pray to the flowers of the green field,

embraced we felt exotic intoxication.

Valentine’s Day

Lora

embroidered Valentine’s Day

on the map of love

Egnatia-Naisus street

and in passing I also took

the honey flavor

from the hot ashes

of the estinguished fire.

Lora

like a blonde ladybug in the meteorite

nobody whispers

on the map of love

and the star twister out of exhausted longing

in the timeless feeling

brought the freshness of age

the kiss of the mountain like Hera from Olympus

departed in the endless today

night.

Lora

frozen in heat

slightly heated to the bosom of love

“I’m very cold

Lan takes me with him

tonight

I do not want flowers

a white rose

to have for Valentine’s Day! “

CV / LAN QYQALLA 

Lan graduated from the Faculty of Philology in the branch of Albanian language and literature in Prishtina, from Republika of Kosovo. He is a professor of the Albanian language in the Gymnasium. Lani is the Editor-in Chief of the international cultural and artistic magazine ORFEU, which is published in many languages in Pristina, the capital of Kosovo. He is also the editor of the cultural show ORFEU on TV Jupiteri7 channel on YouTube. He wrote poems, stories, drama, novels in Pristina. He has written in many newspapers, portals, Radio, TV, and Magazines in the Albanian language and in English, bangu, Romanian, Francophone, Turkish, Arabic, Italian, Greek, Swedish, Hindu, Spanish, Korean etc.

Essay from Nurmurodova Gulsoda

On the Area Relationship Between a Triangle and the Triangle Formed by Its Medians

The study of triangle geometry has long captivated mathematicians due to its inherent elegance and the deep relationships between different properties of a triangle. One such intriguing relationship involves the comparison between the area of a triangle and the area of a triangle formed by its medians. This result has far-reaching implications in various mathematical fields and continues to provide insights into geometric transformations and their properties.

The Median Triangle: Definition and Significance

In any given triangle, a median is a line segment that joins a vertex to the midpoint of the opposite side. A triangle, by definition, has three medians, and these medians are concurrent at a point called the centroid. This centroid divides each median into two parts, with the segment connecting the vertex to the centroid being twice the length of the segment connecting the centroid to the midpoint of the opposite side.

When the three medians of a triangle are used as the sides of a new triangle, the resulting triangle is known as the median triangle. While this geometric construction is simple, its relationship with the area of the original triangle reveals deeper insights into the triangle’s structure and properties.

Area Relationship Between the Original Triangle and the Median Triangle

A fascinating result in triangle geometry reveals that the area of the triangle formed by the medians is exactly 75% of the area of the original triangle. In mathematical terms, if  represents the area of the original triangle and  represents the area of the triangle formed by the medians, the following relationship holds:

S/s=4/3

This formula indicates that the area of the original triangle is  times the area of the median triangle. This relationship arises from the geometric properties of the medians and their connection to the centroid.

Derivation of the Formula

To derive this area relationship, it is essential to recognize that the median triangle is similar to the original triangle. The medians divide the original triangle into smaller triangles, each of which is proportional to the original triangle. By applying principles of geometric similarity and proportionality, one can show that the area of the median triangle is  of the area of the original triangle.

The factor  comes from the scaling of the areas due to the centroid’s influence on the medians. The centroid acts as a point of balance, and it is through this balancing point that the areas of the two triangles are related in the manner described.

Applications and Importance

This area relationship has important applications in multiple areas of mathematics and physics. In geometry, it aids in understanding the properties of triangle transformations, while in optimization and design, it helps in problems where the centroid and medians play a role in determining structural properties.

Furthermore, this result enhances our understanding of how transformations, such as replacing the sides of a triangle with its medians, can affect area while preserving similarity. It also highlights the efficiency of using medians in various geometric calculations.

Conclusion

The relationship between the area of a triangle and the area of the triangle formed by its medians is a profound result in geometric analysis. The fact that the area of the median triangle is  times that of the original triangle demonstrates the deep interconnections within the geometry of triangles. This result not only contributes to theoretical mathematics but also has practical implications in various fields where geometric transformations are employed.

Written by Nurmurodova Gulzoda 

Essay from Alisher Muhtarjonov

Protecting Nature: Our Responsibility

Today, the growing world population, industrial development, and excessive pressure on natural resources are making the need for environmental protection more urgent. People must pay more attention to preserving nature, as it directly impacts our lives and the well-being of future generations.

Protecting nature primarily means conserving natural resources and helping to regenerate them sustainably. Water, air, land, and wildlife are all essential for our future well-being. However, the improper use of these resources, along with pollution and climate change, can lead to a serious ecological crisis.

As individuals, it is our responsibility to approach nature with care and respect. Reducing plastic waste, optimizing energy consumption, transitioning to renewable energy sources, and choosing eco-friendly products are all ways to conserve natural resources. Every small step we take can lead to significant global change.

Education also plays a crucial role in protecting nature. Teaching the younger generation about environmental responsibility, shaping their values correctly, and fostering an environmentally conscious attitude are essential. Additionally, governments and companies must implement policies that focus on environmental protection and introduce strategies to safeguard our planet.

In conclusion, protecting nature is not only the responsibility of governments or corporations but of every individual. Our actions can bring about change and help create a clean and healthy environment for future generations. Loving and caring for nature is our collective responsibility.

Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Bald middle aged white man with reading glasses and a long beard and gray tee shirt poses in a bedroom in front of furniture and posters.

———————————————————————————-

mistakes

i grew up in a dysfunctional

family where i wasn’t allowed

to make mistakes

and whenever i would make

a mistake

i was punished for it; stand in

the corner for hours, no tv or

radio, etc.

so, of course, i did whatever

i could to not make mistakes

to this day, i am programmed

to be punished when i do make

a mistake

mostly from myself

i know it isn’t healthy

not good for my mental state

but shit, what is anymore

part of the reason i don’t

need therapy

it all was from a fucked up

childhood, just like everything

else

————————————————————————

just as difficult to find

i have a running joke

with my mother that

i would love a morphine

drip for christmas

that or a rare mickey

mantle baseball card

amazingly, roughly

the same price and

just as difficult to

find

so, socks and

underwear

yet again

no excuse to

die without

fresh ones

on

——————————————————————

blood soaked presents

a man came down

the chimney and

quickly was greeted

with a shotgun

he joked, where are

the milk and cookies

one blast later

and the shooter

was enjoying

a few of them

blood soaked presents

christmas in the hood

not sure what any of

these fucks think are

behind these shallow

walls

————————————————————————–

empty shopping centers

as a cynical adult

i can’t help but wonder

how many pedophiles

are at home watching

these christmas specials

with a hard on

to say i hate the holidays

is like calling the greatest

liar ever elected president

in this country abraham

lincoln

and i’m sure given a few

twists and turns this life

could have been much

different

sadly, those roads have

been built over and are

now empty shopping

centers

———————————————————————————

a long rope and a tall tree

another waiting room

more christmas music

these are the mornings

where i could use a

long rope and a tall

tree

there’s a large

evergreen in

our backyard

decisions, decisions…

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is trapped in suburbia, waiting for time to finally be on his side. He’s been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash and Yellow Mama. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Essay from Ruxshona Toxirova

Central Asian woman with a black headscarf, brown eyes, and a white knit vest over a black top.

Innovative High-Tech Methods for Diagnosing and Treating Diabetes Complications in Connection with Tuberculosis

Xolmatova G.A., Toxirova R.

Andijan State Medical Institute

Diabetes mellitus (DM) is characterized by a disruption in metabolic processes in the body, leading to impaired immune system function and reduced immunity. Consequently, patients with diabetes are at an increased risk of developing infectious diseases, one of which is tuberculosis (TB). This study aimed to investigate innovative high-tech methods for diagnosing and treating diabetes complications in connection with tuberculosis.

The research involved 60 patients with type 1 diabetes who were under observation at the Andijan State Medical Institute clinic between 2022 and 2024. Among the main group, 39 patients had type 1 diabetes combined with autoimmune thyroiditis (AIT), 11 with tuberculosis, 5 with impaired glucose tolerance (IGT), 2 with Graves’ disease, 1 with both AIT and tuberculosis, and 2 with AIT and IGT. Growth and body mass index (BMI) values were consistent with age-appropriate averages, and no significant differences were observed between the groups (r=0.78 and 0.72, respectively).

In patients with co-occurring autoimmune pathologies, HbA1c levels corresponded to subcompensation of carbohydrate metabolism (8.36±1.94%) and were significantly higher than in the control group (7.45±1.12%, r=0.004). Insulin requirements in patients with multi-glandular damage did not differ significantly from those in the control group (0.85±0.31 U/kg vs. 0.93±0.52 U/kg, r=0.33).

Biochemical blood parameters showed no significant differences: total calcium (r=0.42), ionized calcium (r=0.49), phosphorus (r=0.26), alkaline phosphatase (r=0.71), cholesterol (r=0.32), lipoprotein fractions (r>0.05), triglycerides (r=0.08), urinary iron (r=0.41), and ferritin (r=0.70). However, TPO antibodies were significantly higher in the main group compared to the control group (327.41±469.91 IU/ml vs. 42.12±37.44 IU/ml, r=0.0001). TSH and C-peptide levels did not differ significantly between the groups (r=0.10 and 0.40, respectively).

Recommendations for improving medical care for children with diabetes:

Establish a monitoring system for all diabetes complications (specific and nonspecific) starting from the diagnosis.

Ensure adequate staffing of pediatric endocrinologists and establish regional endocrinology centers.

Strengthen coordinated collaboration across all stages of care among specialists.

Keywords: Diabetes mellitus, tuberculosis, reduced immunity.

Ruxshona Izzatbekovna Toxirova was born on July 25, 2004, in the Oltinkoʻl district of Andijan region. She is Uzbek by nationality. From 2011 to 2022, she studied at the 48th general secondary school in the Oltinkoʻl district. Currently, she is a third-year student at the Faculty of Pediatrics at Andijan State Medical Institute. She graduated from school with excellent grades and achleved numerous successes, actively participating in subject Olympiads. She is the coordinator of the Girls’ Club. She participated in the conference “INNOVATIVE APPROACH TO CURRENT ISSUES IN MEDICINE” held on March 29, 2024. She is also the author of many articles.

Poetry from Don Edwards

A Chicken Is An Egg

A chicken is an egg’s way of making another egg

First things first though as the circle arcs along

The days come and go bringing more of what has been

I think the light shows the way I should always go

But then the darkness comes and I know that I don’t know

Help me see the process before it falls below

Just beyond the horizon I believe it steady moves

Though I am left behind wondering what comes now

There’s always something special about a sunset

Reminiscent of the bright lit day it leaves again behind

Then it drifts into the night and shadow overcomes

I don’t see how to follow a guide that’s out of sight

I feel the loss of knowledge sunk by time’s constant flight

So I stumble slowly within the cold and now’s unsure night

When We Were Met

When we were met and the world was fine

Not a thing could hurt us

I was all yours and you forever mine

I discovered colors I had never seen

It all smelled of apple blooms

And I thought I knew everything

We walked together in hand along

We held each other close

We had become one with a love of our own

Then before us came distractions from our self

Temptingly unfamiliar feelings as familiarity set in

And before I could cry forgiveness you put me on a shelf

I asked my father to explain you to me

How I could want you so

Why you would walk away

Yet the sun keeps passing over my head

Against the blank blue sky

What I got was —

Where were you when I hung the stars

Where when I created the world and let it go

How can you even pretend to know

But tell me clean —

How a dream could take my soul

How it could then dissolve like a rainbow’s arc

Leaving me without reason or cause

Finding my self wandering through the hurt filled dark

I’ve got the horror — show me some love

I don’t need more lessons — show me how to love again

I give up on tomorrow

I don’t want to dream anymore

Take away this world of sorrow.

Just leave me alone

It is the last night before the final day

And all that has been given will be taken away

No hope can replace what’s gone to stay

I asked my father to explain you to me

How I could want you so

Why you would walk away

Yet the sun keeps passing over my head

Against the blank blue sky

What I got was —

Where were you when I hung the stars

Where when I created the world and let it go

How can you even pretend to know 

There are nights when the stars arrive

They cloud the domed dark heavens

And if you watch them slowly unwind their path

Sometimes one breaks loose

And flies across its way falling as it streaks

Like a doomed but sparkingly brilliant consequential light

Then gone

I asked my father to explain you to me

How I could want you so

Why you would walk away

Yet the sun keeps passing over my head

Against the blank blue sky

What I got was —

Where were you when I hung the stars

Where when I created the world and let it go

How can you even pretend to know

How can you even pretend to know

The First Ones Off

The first ones off the ship that night

Floated away to lives again

Those who deferred brave and selfless

Froze to death when the water came in

Those who were early to work that day

At desks when the planes crashed in

They’re the ones who suffered and died

Those wandering that way late only heard the pain

We’re taught to be strong and to do our part

Never shirk and always tell the truth

But reward isn’t promised to those who pull their weight

They’re the ones who are holding up the tent

So when enough of their brothers aren’t helping anymore

It all comes tumbling upon them crashing to the floor

She Bears The Touches

Like a new day she brightens the lobby air

All others pause in a Romantic pastiche

For some reason then she sees me and approaches

Though I’ve stopped as all the rest have

Then we are drinking in the lobby bar

Among the tired and swollen salesmen slouching

Hidden from their workphones talking sports and profits

Sidelong glances at her to tease their endless night

And we seem to be the one

The one between us

I have to leave tomorrow

But I don’t want to tell her

There can only be tonight

Unless she would leave her life for mine

And she bears the touches the many touches

The touches that leave their mark

Such beauty such grace tainted only by her life

Touches scar stunt and shape what is best

Until it fades and dies with time and experience

Oh such warmth found on a dark winter’s evening

She heats the bed like a drink of old brown whiskey

And slips across me like some delirious dream

As I respond with best guess touches of my own

When she kisses me her mouth is softy open

While she holds me down and under her stern need

And all I want is to see where this is going

Bright colors drift by and everything’s gone fuzzy

As we become the one

The one between us

I have to leave tomorrow

But I don’t want to tell her

There can only be tonight

Unless she would leave her life for mine

And she bears the touches the many touches

The touches that leave their mark

Such beauty such grace tainted only by her life

Touches scar stunt and shape what is best

Until it fades and dies with time and experience

She takes the night for her own and leaves me with the dawning

I can’t move to stop her as everything in me has drained away

She left me like the night falls slow then gone quickly

And I feel like something special’s happened

But I’m not sure how or why to find her

So I stay drinking in the lobby watching the door and waiting

Thinking we were to become the one

The one between us

I should have left today

But I don’t know how to tell her

There might only be tonight

Maybe she would leave her life for mine

But she bears the touches the many touches

The touches that leave their mark

Such beauty such grace tainted only by her life

Touches scar stunt and shape what is best

Until it fades and dies with time and experience

By Demens

I have signed away your soul and made you mine

As climbs the greedy moss upon the unexpecting tree

So stay and I will slowly take what you used to be

All of your joy — All of your happiness

I’ll extract all your dreams and memories as I steady grow

And encase them within my creeping quiet while you won’t even know

Nothing will I leave you

But for blank silence and shadow

Nothing to long for nor to move toward

While I make your body tingle constantly antic

As if the nerves only are alive

A buck scraping his antlers grunting in rut

A dog rubbing his nether across the carpet

Thoughtlessly frantic

Each touch will be your reason d’etre

And you’ll never sleep or even sit again

With declination you’ll forget to eat or wash or know until the end

As you wander blindfolded by me to the next sensation

Until you can no longer move

Your mind hidden from what surrounds you

Your body released on its own recognizance

To forage for touches and unimagined adventures

Neither aware nor remembered

This is the world I make for you

The horror that all is unrecognized

To be lost, displaced, and all is down

Then the wheelchair with you in the greasy gown

Finally fetal again clenched now a dumb dying child

Submerged within the last silence

Don Edwards lives and writes in Los Angeles.

Poetry from Jake Triola

The Golden Age of Menace

Something blocks me from knowing everything there is to know of another even of you, with whom I have spent some twenty-two hundred—
or two thousand, two hundred days, at home and abroad, searching for a skyline fit for bohemian ways and dreams that stretch beyond, slightly under and, on the bad days, adjacent to, if not directly so, the skylines we’ve known
all our lives, luckily spent in the same geographies and the same seasons
I don’t expect a reward
for this behavior but regularly find myself asking when
the recognition—
and by recognition, I don’t mean, again, reward but, rather, interaction, discourse, hearsay (well, maybe not the last one)
—will come
I don’t understand why perceived failures pass us by
as if we never had a say in them
as if we never recognized ourselves in the heat of the moment of
their passing as able to
take up the mantle, steer the ship of our lives as a place for choices choice may play a role, yes,
I don’t doubt that, but I definitely don’t doubt fate,
and yet, I’ve felt much closer to choice all my life, but who
says they’re in conflict with one another?
I wonder these things as I try to recall whether or not I blew out the candle in the
living room before heading to bed wouldn’t want to burn the house down but wouldn’t it burn regardless

with Fate at the wheel?
And wouldn’t it find its way around Choice if she decided
to make an appearance through me, through my actions as captain
of some vessel floating among a sea of passengers all equally
struggling with their own decisions?
I blow out a candle, and excessive current causes wires to overheat, leading to melted
insulation and sparks, resulting in
a full-blown electrical fire. Of course, these fires pose a major risk to you and your family, your family.
That’s right. You have a family.
The experiments in choice have led you to a family. A family
you’re dragging through this feeble century that feels
so poorly developed, like some Kaspar-Hauser child sans the mystery,
the intrigue of scandal which now lives out in the open air…
is it scandal—
is it corruption—
out in the open like that? For all to see?
Or was it always like this? Back in the days when you could try to beat The Turk in chess be seen as blessed as you
sauntered down the alley way to the place you know is just a vice…
“At least,” you say, “it’s not the worst one…” I cannot recall where I was going
I cannot remember my dreams
I hardly dream anymore and prefer it that way, anyway.
I’m not sitting around and waiting.
I’m taking action
toward a something better, a something good, in spite of the already good
to shed the skin of the disciple to hang it up to dry overnight for no apparent reason
to finish another’s sentences
against their will, apathetic to their wishes. It’s not a respect thing—I exude respect and admiration for the elites on their streets

paranoid beneath the bedsheets… It’s warranted, I suppose.
There’s not so much good in the world but there can be good in your world and this is why, perhaps, we are
better than God—higher than God because God created a world
not which is violent and unhinged
but one which is lackluster and mediocre and allows for oxygen to mingle with other things and form all variation of life that’s pretty good. But only that.
The birds scream, as Herzog says, and we mustn’t forget that.
Why does the dust settle?
Why do the ashes come and go so quickly? Phoenixes—Phoenices?—rising and falling from past lives prioritized
as a July evening grips you by your ankles in the Midwest heat and coming snow coming rain coming from the sky
the sun—Fortune’s number-one stronghold, a compass rose
depicting a red magnetic north among otherwise yellow directional arrows The Rite of Spring bears rotten fruit and it’s fine that we left it in the past, as a rose is a rose is a rose
no matter where is grows but how can we ensure our flowers go untouched
when the right to bear arms
is privileged over a drinkable well unblemished, not poisoned,
in tandem with dewdrops unspoiled by modern machines marching, consolidations, meeting in the middle of a middle hellbent on oblivion
on sending us to waste, abandoned, disgraced,
unlike everything we talk about loving as circumstances show a trend
toward the triumph of the will and of the fantasy of hierarchy
of that syrup dripping from your mouth that manipulates the masses
and turns them into assets for an empire in its sunset years, its autumn moon

it’s harvest time in these Balkans it’s Canterbury Tales without a point its people scream and shout, reckless abandon,
its creameries cremated for some clout by foragers, by those selling toys
and hocking things you’ve not seen
a respite from the manufactured sheen of supermarkets,
but all of this swallowed by the Culture Ministry, her new henchmen, and the stakeholders unnamed
I’d name them if I could
I’d name them if I knew their names
If they are reading this, I want them to know that I’d name them if I could
and think we always should but all this considered,
I don’t let my heart harden, and
I don’t let it go to waste, at the bottom of an apple barrel, going rotten, turning its back on the world,
in which, by the way, it certainly doesn’t want to participate, but I’m not the kind
to take up arms in a tinderbox, in The Golden Age of Menace, which doesn’t come from abroad
but from at home, in my own backyard, in my own chest,
and just as the seizures I’ve witnessed have woken me up to my own fragility, so the mirror in front of me
reinforces the primary illusion of all life


Two Streets

I’m standing at the corner intersection, I suppose, of two streets: one leading to Montreal, the other to
New Orleans, with a mountain in the middle, while the audience expects a few
magic tricks.

The problem is that I’m sick of magic, and tricks make me sick, but walking keeps me
going, keeps me showing up, stepping, one foot forward, another back
to a future I’ve already lived and a past which is only mysterious


But a Beast

Howling as the earth shakes
I pick a plum from the nearby tree and carry on singing
about something sweet but dead all those twentieth century ways of loving—and living
—that might just prove to be sinister in the eyes of Time


Why It’s Good to Go Out Walking

I go out walking and it doesn’t do much to
quell the craving, to bring anything new to the
dusty table, with its flies buzzing all around, but that’s exactly why it’s good to go out walking, to see that there’s nothing waiting, there’s nothing there, and when you return home, there is so much
there, so much more than you ever knew

Jake Triola is a writer, musician, and filmmaker from Erie, Pennsylvania currently living in Glasgow, Scotland. He studied cinema, photography, and comparative literature at Ithaca College, where he made the award-winning thesis film, Drawdown. He has since released nine albums and five EPs under the name “Kill Symbols.” His poetry has appeared in Hidden Peak PressSpinozablue, and The Odd Review.