Tea

Teapots and adorable napkins
The child's soul knows no bounds
It clasps a little a lithe wards dream
A homesickness that grows in your soul
A pungent tea flavoured gift that i picked up
A flower of moth eaten daisies I charm in thee
Bottled and boat necked gifts that churn my soul
A homely affair a stage show for faint hearted
I like to knit sweaters in lulled voice
What if my voice reached you today? 
I will scramble and do the dishes the art of 
Domestic choices still I landed on my fairy tales
I daresay I will write on my behalf 
As poetry becomes a stagecraft for skin and home. 

Girls picking flowers

Makes bouquets

The guys are also gathered

“Ko’pkari” plays the game

Both mountains and gardens 

It is bluish in color 

Swallows are coming

Everyone knows that.

This is the most wonderful holiday

Nowruz, my dears,

Ancient, traditional

Everyone will appreciate it.

Grandmother, grandfather

They always pray

Peace and health

They put it in their eyes

Rasulova Rukhshona Vahobjon’s daughter was born on October 16, 2008 in Rishton district of Fergana region. In 2015, she started studying in the 1st grade of school 34 in this district. Currently, she is a 9th grade student of this school. Rukhshona Rasulova is interested in participating in various competitions, writing poems and stories, and reading many books.

She regularly participates in school and district competitions and takes pride of place. Also she participates in many online contests and earned international certificates. She is a member of various creative teams and the 2024 “Ufq ilmi” 1st place winner.

As a young artist she has unlimited goals in her heart. Her biggest dream is to become a “young reader”.

Rukhshona Rasulova’s poems were published in the book “Youth of Uzbekistan” published by Justfiction publishing house, and in one of the most prestigious British magazines “Raven Cage” and “Kenya Time” in Thailand. And she has been included in various anthologies covering artists across the Republic. 

Saidqulova Nozima To`lqin daughter

                                  Republic Uzbekistan

                   Kashkadarya region Karshi centre

               Karshi Engeneering-Economist Institute

                           Sanoat faculty 3-rd student.

Motherland

To praise the motherland,

My highest wish, my family dream.

In your corners that filled my heart,

My feelings are awakened, in your dreams.

I live to praise your name,

I saw my mother in you.

Be full of love,

I saw my father in you

Courage and strength.

Exalt your name,

It’s a confession.

If I wave your flag,

To another country.

Heard your description,

                  Greatness heard.

Let him wonder surprised,

My heart is white.

Dream rush,

My motherland is mine.

A child of an ordinary person has the most knowledge, but a child of a rich man knows nothing.

Why are you always a rich man’s son?

Why do you say that if a man with money is his father.

Did you see, my friends, this story of mine will still be answered in the Day of Judgement.

In the morning … The spring if the horizon is spreading. From the coldest winter, the spring was lifted by a spring temper to the spring. The river laughed again in the sky in the sky in the sky. The wings birds towards the hot land will return to the hot country again. Exclusive of just the exception. The butterflies also give a more charm to spring flowers with their elegance. For some reason the whole being, for some reason, a tree never flowered. If Nahot He does not want to flower, Nahot was foreigner to him?

Those questions had made a butterfly dream on the flower. The butterfly did not think for a long time. Has his curiosity? He went to that floral tree and began to ask questions. Why didn’t you even want to bloom when the whole being demonstrated his beauty? I also wanted you to land in the flowers of you too. Then the tree: I would also flow like other trees. I bloomed even from them. But regret. I was in a hurry. I was deceived in the sunset. I opened an early bud. As a result, my flowers are freezing because of my impatience. Then I was frozen. Now I can’t help me either. Neither the winter blame for me to fall into this case nor his belly. All the guilt is on myself. I wish I was not a hassle. I was also now the brains of spring. Sorry …

Mushtariy Tòlanboyeva, Student of the 8th grade of the Erkin Vohidov School of Creativity  

Childhood Poverty in Nigeria

In my childhood want

I had small sized unleavened 

bean cakes, sugar free millet

or corn pudding, and less

sweetened beverage for breakfast.

I never had Christmas chicken,

the traditional cedar lights,

Santa’s attractive delights,

and the ambience of advent.

Each seasonal necessity was

a luxury.

My indigent ‘hood’ was drenched

by the torrential rains.

And I played, ran across and often

sank into the soft miry land.

I once borrowed a footwear from 

my reluctant neighbour.

He very grudgingly gave me what

seemed to look like medieval

chopines, suitable for the entire 

neighbourhood’s quagmire.

I lost them both on a rainy day’s

deluge in the stormy month of may.

To pay back what I’d lost, my enraged

mum meticulously saved her hard

earned wages of a fortnight and

two days.

Urban Poverty in Nigeria 

I was birthed and raised

in one squalid abode;

In the shanties of Nigeria’s 

urban hell.

My consanguineal kinship

could only give less within 

incomes below a four score

threshold.

My physical growth was stunted

by near marasmic growth stimulants.

Bereft of all that mattered,

I bemoaned my undesirable state.

I scavenged from kitchen debris to 

get my fill.

I roamed the alleys scantily clad

with fabric pot holes.

I improvised my own play delights

from discarded wastes like empty

sugar packets, unwanted chiseled wood,

bottle tops and in some cases, empty cans 

At bedtime, I had limited space

on crowded sheets, air tight spaces

stemming from so much nasal pressure,

and in most cases, vermin that sucked

my body ketchup.

My God! The scar of childhood poverty could be much deeper than imagined!

Between seconds

Funny how we count time.
We try to contain it in seconds, hours, days, years.
But we wouldn’t know time passes if memories didn’t fall like petals,
Unpacking moments we once cherished.

That once smooth skin
Is scarred with lessons and cuts from our first fall.
We learn time takes everything,
And nothing stays the same,
Reminding us to enjoy life before it ends.

But when time actually passes,
We shed tears and laugh
At the experiences life managed to carry us through.
And here we are,
Wondering where it all went.