Uchechukwu Onyedikam (italic) 

Christina Chin (plain) 


 

harp-lute

a run of melody 

widening 

the baby lulled 

to sleep



watching

two shadows

behind the stacked 

wood pile

newborn puppies 



the soul

entwined with

Gángan

the rhythm of pounding 

prophecies 



harmonic 

phrasing of a dialect

unfamiliar jargons

scripted in my 

prescription slips



twilight corner 

all the memories 

in the shade 

skylight glimmers

the illipe nut canopy 

Truth

In this world of ever more unified faces

each proposes a photocopy of another self that does not belong to him 

It tends to identify itself and to come out of its truth, 

offers the non-existence of unique and unrepeatable identity value in exchange for stereotypes without soul and minds less and less thinking.

Playful hide-and-seek games to conceal twisted thoughts in a society that borders on universal failure.

There is the courage of armies to seek the truth.

Soldiers fight with the divine power of the Holy Spirit 

to shake the consciences of those who trade truth for perdition.

 He sells his freedom for little or nothing.

Verità

In questo mondo di volti sempre più unificati

ognuno propone la fotocopia di un altro sé stesso che non gli appartiene 

Tende ad identificarsi e a uscire dalla sua verità, 

offre l’inesistenza del valore identitario unico e irripetibile in cambio di stereotipi privi di anima e menti sempre meno pensanti.

Giochi ludici a nascondino per occultare pensieri contorti in una società che rasenta il fallimento universale.

Esiste il coraggio degli eserciti combattenti per ricercare la verità.

Soldati lottano investiti del potere divino dello spirito Santo 

per scuotere le coscienze di chi baratta la verità con la perdizione.

 Vende la propria libertà per poco o niente.

A Mother’s Love

A mother’s love, a gentle grace,  

A soothing touch, a warm embrace.  

Through sleepless nights and endless days,  

She guides with wisdom, lights our ways.

Her hands that nurture, heal, and mend,  

A constant, steadfast, lifelong friend.  

Her voice, a melody so sweet,  

In every word, her heart’s heartbeat.

With patience vast as the open sky,  

She lifts us up, teaches us to fly.  

Her strength, a rock, unyielding, pure,  

In her love, we feel secure.

She’s the calm within the storm,  

A shelter safe, where hearts are warm.  

Her love, a beacon, always bright,  

Guiding us through the darkest night.

A mother’s love, a gift divine,  

In every moment, it does shine.  

Forever cherished, deep and true,  

A mother’s love, in all we do.

Umarova Nazokat was born on December 21,2005 Yunusabad district, Tashkent city of the Republic of Uzbekistan. She currently studies at Tashkent state university of Law. She achieved a lot of awards and achievements. She is a reader, a young poet, a researcher, the author of numerous articles, thesis and poems. She is learning five languages, besides, she is a participant in international forums, conferences, and webinars, graduated from several personal development courses, is a volunteer in her community and has achieved many other successes.

A plantation girl brought me a cup of water
And I told her without restraint about my excitement
My daughter, like a fish, says meow and is looking for a husband My wife is like a pearl looking for someones neck and thread
My son was killed during another war
My brother was shot according to laws that don’t exist
Where are the plantations from? I thought and looked around Insane saliva flowed from my lips
I looked at my so called hands
I saw that I did not have a cup of water in my hands. I have nothing at all except a sick stomach
One of my comrades in misfortune advised me to drink less cold water
He said: “You never know, you’ll still catch a cold, you won’t be able to work, and you will be thrown into the ravine exhausted”
I pulled a holey hat over my ears, took a shovel and began to dig a Siberian winter forest
Someone at a distance chopped spruce and dragged them to the barn (in general, thats what we were ordered to)
I began to dig a hole with all my might and then lay down in it and fell asleep as if I had never been there
Finally, I crossed myself three times with a healthy mental finger

reprint by Exist otherwise
***
a little woman told about how she was mutilated and
I sat nearby and was silent as if I were a rapist
I wondered how quickly kafka can turn into a beetle
I wondered how fast a beetle could move during a fuck

like this I sat and stared madly at the little woman in lust someone
came up to me and advised me to control myself

I replied that I like men more and left

on the way, I met a cat that was attacked by an insatiable male where
did I go? no one knows this

when I got home, I masturbated and called a prostitute guy to tell him about his life well,
then I fucked him and let him go

the sky exploded outside the window
the sun watched as the prostitute guy stood naked near the closet I stood
against the wall and pretended to be a closet

***
Skulls crack in a race under the soles
Now I know what it’s like to be a god

Now I know what it’s like to be the god of death
The crunch of nothingness is heard in the auricle
***sounds in the darkness are unknownlike hungry puppies eyes are darting around

the river burst here
now we divide the silence in half and eat in silence

nobody knows what we are thinking
honestly speaking I don’t even know who you are and who I am

we are all drowned
and through our cries the flower of music grows
reprint by 

FEED THE HOLY***
The only thing worse than death is loving someone other than you
Or than me
Or
The only thing worse than death is not loving you
?

***
і want to kiss the flower but it is poisoned
a trampled sunbeam told me about this

the poisoned flower wants to kiss me
the clot of night grows blacker inside my torn chest

***
My favorite war
I dreamed of being killed by an air bomb
I never wanted someone else to die instead of me

There’s nothing left to fear
Outside the windows of big cities there is still a war going on
And in small towns there are now not even windows

I want fuck with scientists
A nuclear bomb must be born inside me
The war around me must be undermined from within

***
war is homeland
war is home
war is land

war is cotton candy
war is a kite
war is an airborne kiss

air bomb
my heart explodes
my body is torn to pieces

і had the courage to be afraid when
a stranger with the face of death
knocked on the window

***
I am writing a letter asking for a chocolate bar
Crunch in the mouth
Pleasant bitterness in the mouth

I read your answer and my jaw tightens
You do not love me
Bitter taste in the mouth

I throw chocolate dreams out of my head
I can never get you out of my head

When The Chalice Rises

No one knows

if the sacred narrative is

like the church fathers

tell us

Collected events

from distant a past

reported by rumours

that speak of hell and heaven

of Cain and Abel

of the Magdalen

the snake and the apple

Everything suggests

imaginary stories

for foolish and gullible people

told in an archaic language

the modernity refuses

to understand

But when on the altar

the chalice rises

in reverent silence

bow the bystanders  their heads

Nervous

I was always a nervous 

little boy, negotiating 

playground perils,

the bigger, louder 

boys, girls, figuring 

when and how to kiss

Patty under the wild 

cherry tree. (The why 

remained an enigma.)

My apprehension 

loomed from more

malevolent origins: 

a dark violence,

a cruel neglect, 

too many horrific events,

a long list efficiently 

repressed. (But we won’t 

get into that, will we?)

My symptoms manifested: 

my belly, a perpetually 

clenched little fist;

my frequent and 

spontaneous bloody

nose on the school bus; 

my peculiar and relentless 

obsessions and compulsions.

Now gray, nearly sixty, 

that small, anxious child 

huddles, cringes, 

desperate for a quiet, 

unobtrusive corner.

The Dead Man

When she was still young,

When we were yet a family,

My mother found a dead man,

A very dead dead man,

On her way home from work,

Drudgery at the carry-out.

Old Mr. what’s-his-name

Had been raking leaves

In his yard, that tiny red

Bungalow on Martinsburg Road.

I could guess at her usual

Oscillation between shock, curiosity,

And annoyance over the bother.

Did she poke at him a bit, feel

For his pulse before seeking help?

(Years later, a girl I danced with

In the Pleasant Street Junior High

Cafeteria made her first home

With her new husband there.

I imagined the dead man still

Breathing, raking, poking about.)

In the kitchen, after supper,

Mom and Dad whispered

And joked over her adventure.

I thought, as there was no one

But my mother to find him,

Shouldn’t we be a little sad, a little 

Thoughtful over the dead man,

Old Mr. what’s-his-name?

How was it when, her turn,

Someone found my mother dead, 

Alone in her bed long after her 

Mania and violence split us apart?

Did they whisper and joke about

My mother at their kitchen table?

Born today 

From an idea that suddenly flashed 

Among the cherry blossoms, the enchanting spring arrived with the rosy rain of the first kiss to welcome the new life generated today before the poetic triumph in the city cradle of wisdom and creativity.

The open lips to bud color of cherries golden impassioned cherries yearn to join the instant to crown the fleeting moment.

Challenge and play have merged into one to highlight, in the final touch, the eternal skin incarnate on which to write our prayer of love as a hymn sung while hearts dance to the alternating rhythm of sweet melodious notes that reach Paradise.

I will be born with you, raising my goblets to toast 

timid and smiling eyes 

as we say congratulations 

So be for now and always.