Kindness

The dream had not yet fallen asleep. He was impatiently waiting for his brother to come home from work. Yes, today is that special day. That is, he and his brother spent the last day of every month together in front of the TV with a plate full of sweets.

Finally, the doorbell rang and his brother came home from work. Orzu ran and opened the door and greeted her brother with a beautiful smile. They took the corn and sweets that his brother had brought and went to the hall. Orzu went to the kitchen to make his brother’s favorite jasmine tea, and at this time, his brother found Orzu’s favorite cartoon on the TV. At last they began to love.

They lost their parents in a car accident three years ago. This event had a strong impact on Orzu, who did not smile or speak at all for a year. But one day when he and his brother were watching a new cartoon, Orzu smiled in his interesting place, and since then they have been watching this cartoon together.

When the cartoon came to the most interesting part, Orzu was pouring tea for his brother and suddenly the lid of the teapot fell into the cup. Then they laughed at each other. Because the same scene was happening in the cartoon. The brother and sister sat up until midnight and wished each other good night and went to sleep

After an hour, Orzu woke up from severe pain. Her stomach was hurting badly. Se didn’t want to wake up his brother because he had to go to work in the morning. For this reason, she went to the kitchen and looked for painkillers, but there were none left. She went into her room and tried to bear it, thinking that it would go away if she waited till morning. But near morning, the pain increased, and Orzu passed out. The brother woke up for morning prayer and called his sister several times, but when he didn’t get an answer, he went into his sister’s room and cried when he saw her lying on the
floor.

The brother, who did not understand what happened to his sister, called the ambulance, explained the address in a crying voice and begged them to come as soon as possible. The brother was so scared that he took his sister in his arms and kept crying and praying. Soon the doctors arrived and after examining Orzu diagnosed that his appendix might have ruptured and took him to the hospital.

His brother kept begging God. He kept praying for Orzuni to get
well from the operation. Finally, the operation was over and the doctors allowed him to see his sister. His brother ran ahead and brought the red tulips that Orzu loved. He went to his sister and cried again.

Orzu didn’t know what to say or how to comfort her brother, suddenly she laughed and asked her brother, “Brother, you promised to take me to the park, but did you bring flowers so that you wouldn’t?” and his brother laughed along with his sister.

Thus they overcome one more challenge. On the day his sister was released from the hospital, her brother decorated the house and the bed with things Orzu liked. Now they are happy again. Happy again. His brother thanked God for saving his only sister, who was left behind by his parents.

I was late to begin leaving for walking, so I checked the time of sunset to make sure I wouldn’t get caught in darkness. It said 6:08 was when the sun set. I had enough time. I turned off the tarot card reader I was listening to and got my boots and such on. A local golf course allowed dog walkers through the winter months. Some people said it was to keep coyotes away and some had the owner as doing this because his mother used to walk the dogs there and it was all to keep part of her memory going. 

The dogs were happy and safe, and socialized well if a bit zealously sometimes, with the others they encountered. I took the left side which was less populated overall, and at that time for half the walk, that half of the golf course, there was nobody. It was one of those moments prolonged where the three of us were content, moving, together, and were where and how we were supposed to be. 

I looked out far and far across the lands and could see an old and sad building, something from maybe the 1970’s and even the most positive soul would be hard-pressed to find something sanguine about. I was glad I was in the next town, even if the people were a little on the snobbish side. It got really quiet, with no wind and I just paused sometimes and admired this remarkable quietude. There was a copse of trees standing above the long and wide white snow, both the ground and trees completely untouched by anything in the world. It reminded me of something. I couldn’t recall what. Then it hit me. It was all there like some old Carlos Castaneda book cover. That led me to thinking of Castaneda. His personal narrative probably hadn’t been true, according to my research, but his writing was beautiful and interesting, and did contain much wisdom. So, it was up to the reader to determine what they thought of it all finally. His immediate group of people didn’t end well. But in another way he had inspired many and perhaps still does. 

I arrived at a little series of small streams. The dogs, a Collie and a Husky, didn’t bother much and stayed close enough. They were both good swimmers but I wouldn’t want them to go too close in the winter months. I stood on some planks and stared at the black water which to the sides looked grey and in other places clear. I liked the sound and to see it travelling. I began to feel better and better. It had been a long cold snow-laden winter but finally there were little signs that it might end one day. 

There was a distant bell I kept hearing then, and also a black squirrel I saw running across the way in the openness before disappearing into a stand of trees. An elderly lady appeared before me with her dog. The three dogs met and played somewhat. 

‘Your dogs are beautiful,’ she mentioned. I told her thanks. ‘My dog is a rescue,’ she continued, ‘and I think they know when they are becoming a rescue.’

‘Good for you,’ I told her, ‘for giving him a home and walks. I might not be out here walking if not for mine, ’cause it easy to make any one excuse not to go out. So I rescue them and they rescue me.’

‘Exactly.’

Then the lady coughed and had a hard time stopping. ‘It’s a cold I’m fighting. But I’ve had it since December.’ That was a few months, I thought to myself, and something, life experience, common sense, maybe some intuition or the manner she coughed in, told me it was pneumonia. 

‘I hope you feel better soon.’

We looked around and the dogs kept playing. ‘I better get going,’ I said. And I glanced back in a bit and consciously sent her any light and good intentions that I could in order to help her with the pneumonia and in life. She seemed like such a good soul. Soon her and her dog disappeared into the part of the path that entered a group of old trees in the other direction. 

I kept on. There was a long stretch and I realized for some reason, alone with my own thoughts, that I had never seen the golf course without snow, in the spring or summer. I thought it must look kind, relaxing, even inspiring for its vibrant verdancy and calm plainness. There was a bit of ice to navigate going up the long hill to our truck, and I went slow and cautiously. The dogs had no trouble at all, full of agility and youth, prowess, and such, that they were. 

Some friendly people passed me and I said hello. It was interesting that they were setting out then because it was beginning to get dark. At the top the canines and I, got into my vehicle. Driving home I thought of the other side of outside, of home. There would be puzzles and books, nice people and the fire. The fire was electric and had no hearth stone, but it was a modern world and that’s just how it went sometimes. I still liked it. 

Inside, I wrote this, careful not to upset the puzzle pieces. Periodically I glanced up to see the darkening sky turn from blue to darker blue and then, black. It was night. It was a day’s end. It was Sunday as a Sunday should be, peaceful and without dilemma. 6:08 EST had come and passed. And that is what I saw, did, and thought, while that winter sun was going down again. 

——

Translated into Arabic by Egyptian poet Ahmed Farooq Baidoon

Mother is the doctor for any sickness

Mama is the country that everyone loves

without conquering

 Mama is joy and sorrow Mama the power

Mama the forgiveness

One word was created by God To forgive people

 Say it every day

 Call her if they put chains on you

To sweeten it the wound

To bring peace

My mom, you’re unique

You never told them you were upset

With gold I will cherish you

Chosen person

 I crown you My mother

 My sun

My compass

Eva Petropoulou Lianou 

إيفا بيتروبولو

الأمُّ طبيبٌ لكل الامراض

هي ذَا موئل كل مُحب

بلا غزو

أمي هي البهجة والفاجعة والقوة 

هي نبع التسامح والغفران

كلمة الله للناس من خلقه لسؤدد التسامح

 قل اسمها كل يوم 

نادها لمَّا يكبلوك بالأغلال

لتطبيب تلك الجراح

لتجلب إياك السلام 

أمي.. أنتِ متفردة

لم تخبريهم أبداً بأنك حزينة ومحبطة

سأغدق عليك بنعماء من الذهب التبريّ

أنتِ مختارتي

أتوجك.. أمي

أيا شمسي.. 

Translation 

 Ahmed Farooq Baidoon
Egypt 

Catharsis

In my memory I founded my private library of memories…

I only selected the good things

that made and make me happy…

I had a good life

and I learned a lot from it,

how to avoid pain and then, laugh.

Many illnesses

of age

with my good and strong attitude

nothing will break me…

As long as I can I will walk paths,

and when I can’t anymore

I will fly high and far,

nothing will stop me…

And if I fly from this life

I will be a breeze to kiss

those who remember me

and those I knew how to love…

I will be verses,

I will be poems for whoever wants to remember me…

Mirta Liliana Ramírez has been a poet and writer since she was 12 years old. She has been a Cultural Manager for more than 35 years. Creator and Director of the Groups of Writers and Artists: Together for the Letters, Artescritores, MultiArt, JPL world youth, Together for the letters Uzbekistan 1 and 2. She firmly defends that culture is the key to unite all the countries of the world. She works only with his own, free and integrating projects at a world cultural level. She has created the Cultural Movement with Rastrillaje Cultural and Forming the New Cultural Belts at the local level and also from Argentina to the world.

𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗺𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝗻𝗱 𝘆𝗼𝘂

You are not your past.

You are not your mistakes.

You are not your background.

You’re not who others say.

You’re not what the world dictates.

You are not the people who are incapable of loving you,

they may be fighting inner battles which you do not know.

You are who you choose to be.

You are what you do.

You are the decisions you make.

You are the paths you take.

You are the virtues you keep.

You are the philosophies you create.

You are the love you give away.

You are your purpose.

You are not what happens to you You are how you choose to respond.

You are who you build yourself to become.

You decide who you are.

Makhmasalayeva Jasmina Makhmashukurovna was born in the Mubarek district of the Kashkadarya region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. Now she is studying at 28th school in Mubarek. She is creative, knowledgeable and faithful by nature. Until now she participated in several international competitions and anthologies.Holder of Multilevel B2 which is National English Language Testing System. She has many achievements. This is like a drop from the sea…

Point Of Correction

For the SS2 students of Great Immaculate Secondary School, 2013/2014 Academic Session.

Adaeze took no nonsense from anybody. Anybody at all. She was bold and outspoken. She knew what she wanted at anytime. Fear never occurred to her. She would be the first person ever in our school to challenge Scubo, the Scout man who made sure there was order in our school. He acted like some sort of security man. He organized the exams, made sure nobody cheated, took the exam papers back to the teachers. In addition to these, he instilled fear into the students. It was impossible for one to be normal in the presence of Scubo because his own flogging was more painful than that of everybody else who had the power to flog the students – the seniors, the teachers, the school director. If Scubo had ever flogged you, you had no other choice than to fear him. What I myself felt towards Scubo was just fear. I did not see Scubo as a normal human being. When I saw Scubo the only thing I saw was canes and torrents of harsh words which he used on the students – Nincompoop! You stupid boy! You rascal! Bloody fool! Are you an imbecile?

Every student was afraid of Scubo because of his flogging. And not just because of his flogging. I guess there are people who have the gift of strangling or swallowing other people’s voices when they entered a room. Scubo had this gift, but of course not everybody’s voice would be strangled by the way.

Scubo never spoke to the students like a normal human being. He shouted. He gave instructions in shouts. Everything about him was unnecessarily manic, the way he walked, the way he spoke, the way he looked at the students, but Adaeze wasn’t going to have any of that. She wasn’t going to have anyone shove no spit into her mouth in the name of school security and control.

It was a cool Monday morning in class, and we had a free period. The teacher wasn’t around, and so our class prefect was telling everyone to lessen the noise, else he would be forced to write the names of noise makers. Nobody listened to him. The noise was too much, a collection of English and Igbo words melding together in the air.

That was when Adaeze walked in quietly. Nobody knew she had walked in until Scubo’s shouting voice appeared in our classroom. There was quiet immediately. On a normal day, Adaeze wasn’t known to be a troublemaker, wasn’t loud or boisterous. She was just a normal, cool girl who liked to mind her business.

“Where is that girl? Where is that stupid girl? Where is she?” Scubo shouted. His English had a heavy Igbo accent, and we always mimicked him in his absence, never in his presence. Our class prefect often said he couldn’t understand how our school director would employ an illiterate to work as school security.

Nobody said anything upon hearing Scubo’s voice. Adaeze sat on the pew where she normally sat. Scubo scanned the whole class with his eyes until he picked Adaeze. “Were you not the one I was calling?” he asked.

There was silence. Nobody spoke for seconds.

Scubo asked her the question again. “Excuse me, Sir?” she said with a tone that clearly showed that she was ready for anything that would follow as the consequence of her action.

“Are you stupid?” Scubo asked. “Are you talking to me in that manner?”

“I don’t understand what is happening, Sir. Nobody called me. Nobody called my name.”

“So you won’t answer if you didn’t hear your name?”

“People only respond to their names.”

“Oh. You senior students have started growing wings, abi? I called you and you refused to answer me.”

“Point of correction, Sir! Nobody called me. If I had heard my name, then I would have answered.”

Those words Point of correction, Sir! hewn out of Adaeze’s mouth stood heavy in the air. The audacity of the words, the fearlessness and the poise of it made everyone uneasy. Scubo raised his cane to flog Adaeze but she held the cane with her right hand. “You have no rights to flog me Sir. You did not call me, and there was no way I could answer to a call which did not exist.”

We all watched in astonishment. Later, we would hail Adaeze and tell her that she would make a great lawyer, but presently, we all kept quiet. We all knew what had happened even though we weren’t there when Scubo called Adaeze. Scubo never called anyone by name. It would have been nice if he tried to know the names of the students and call them by names just like the teachers did, but Scubo never called anyone by name, never even bothered to do so. What he often did was to holler “Hey you!” and then all the students would turn in panic, and then he would point to the offending student and say, “Come here!” If you hesitate or say, “Is it me, Sir?” Scubo would yell, “It is you I’m talking to, you Nincompoop!”

 Surely, Adaeze was in a big trouble, we thought. But Scubo walked out of the class without uttering another word. We waited for a retaliation, maybe Scubo would come back better armed. Maybe he would come back with more canes. Maybe he would invite the school director. But days passed, weeks walked past, and nobody mentioned Adaeze’s case again. Neither would Scubo come into our class to harass anybody again till we graduated. We gave Adaeze a nickname which she answered till we came out of secondary school. The nickname was “Point Of Correction”.

Unloved Woman 2

I was alone for years…

Like a tree

During the rain

So when I met this man

It was love at the first sight

I think

Talking hours on the phone

Talking hours over the dinner table

-U are only mine, he Whispers for years

– U belong to me, he repeat day after day

I didn’t react when he searched my bag, my phone, my Facebook account..

He told me to delete my social media accounts

He told me no need to go to work because he will take care of me

He told me, never go out alone…

I do not like!!

I did not react,

I did not go away

I did not talk to anyone

I keep my secrets deep inside

Without smile

Without tears

One night, they found me

In a fetal position

Covered with blood

He stabbed me with the kitchen knife….

After we had celebrated our 5th anniversary

The police described the whole scene

as a

Crime of passion

……….. 

Speak up!!!! 

Open the door and run!!!!

Do not be afraid!!!