Spring snow
My grandmother with a bright face was looking at me and eating mint pies. While smiling at her, I woke up from the light falling into my eyes. My mother did not even hear my voice because she was immersed in household chores.
Approaching her, I said: «Oh, oh, it’s spring season, the mints are now green. If I pick mints from the garden, let’s make mint pies and come see my grandmother?» My mother said in a sad voice: «Since the beginning of spring, the snow has covered the area again with its clothes. It’s a pity that we can’t pick mints.»
As I look out the window in surprise, it is hard to believe, it cannot even be called spring snow. Is it like the frosty days of winter? To my mother in a strict tone: I will pick mints, you will make pies, we will go to see my grandmother.
Despite calling my mother after me, I went out with the basket. I went to the garden and started looking for mint on the edge of the ditch. Water-soaked mints bent under the snow lay along the stream. «I found it», «I found it» and started gathering them.
When I filled my basket and went home, my mother asked: «Where did you find it, my child?» I didn’t have time to answer, so I said, «Let’s make mint pies faster.» Both of us were in a hurry to make pies and couldn’t stop. Hot pies are ready. After putting it in the
basket, we set off. I was very happy as I kicked the snow under my feet and ran.
The roof of my grandmother’s house was visible. «Grandma-grandma» we are here. Grandma couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw us. When we opened the basket, my grandmother greeted us with tears in her eyes, saying, «I just want to eat pies with mint» and thanking us. Even the spring snow did not overshadow our
meeting today.
Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntos por las letras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korabl znaniy» and «Talenty Rossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «Kayva Kishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina's «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.
Freedom Fighters
In the heart of struggle, courage ignites,
Amidst the darkness, brave souls take flight,
In Bangladesh’s story, they stand tall and true,
Freedom fighters, forging a path anew.
With valor as their shield, and justice as their guide,
They marched through fire, side by side,
Their voices echoed, a rallying cry,
For liberty’s cause, they dared to defy.
Through tears and triumphs, they pressed on,
Their spirit unyielding, their resolve strong,
They fought for freedom, they fought for right,
In the darkest hour, they brought forth light.
Their sacrifice remembered, their legacy bright,
In the annals of history, their valor alight,
Bangladesh’s heroes, in memory evergreen,
Their courage and passion, forever seen.
Muntasir Mamun Kiron is a student of grade ten in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Time Of Sunrise
Marking the passage from night to day,
A promise of hope, a new pathway.
The world awakens to the sun’s embrace,
Bathed in the light of its warming grace.
Birds herald the morning with their song,
As nature stirs and stretches along.
The air is fresh, the earth reborn,
In the quiet magic of the sunrise morn.
Horizons blush under the sun’s first kiss,
A moment of peace, pure and bliss.
Don Bormon is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
My village
When the mind wants to see
The green world, I go to my village
When you think about the game you
Remember that green nature
Means the smell of the soil
The green, the farmer’s dream
The mind in the unconscious race of
There is laughter, as many plants and trees
As I can bear, take this mine one by one.
Md. Easa Hossain (subas) is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
One day a boy named Sofiq went to his School. In tiffin time he quarreled with his friends. So, he was distressed. After breaking the school he lonely went to the rail station. Then, he started working beside the train line. Suddenly he noticed that the train line was broken in a place. And that time he the whistled of a train. He could not know what he did. Then, he hit upon a plan. He had worn a red color tea shirt. He put out his tea shirt and then tired it with a stick and trebled it. The driver of the train noticed that and stopped the train. Finally he saved the lives of many people with his witness.
Md. Amir Hamza is a student of grade seven in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Ravenswood was a small town surrounded by thick woods. It was a quiet place with a lot of stories about ghosts and mysterious disappearances. Most people didn’t believe these stories, but one legend still scared everyone: the legend of the Blackburn Mansion.
On a cool October evening, four friends—Emily, Jake, Sarah, and David—met at Emily’s house. They had been friends since kindergarten, and now, in their final year of high school, they wanted to have an unforgettable Halloween. They wanted something different, something exciting, something scary.
“Let’s spend the night at Blackburn Mansion,” Jake suggested with a mischievous grin.
The idea made everyone excited but also nervous. The mansion had been empty for decades since the Blackburn family disappeared mysteriously. People said it was haunted, with lights flickering in the windows and strange sounds coming from inside.
“Are you crazy? That place is cursed,” Sarah said, though she looked curious.
“Come on, Sarah, don’t be scared. It’s just a story. We’ll go, check it out, and leave before midnight. It’ll be fun,” Jake encouraged.
After some convincing, they all agreed. They packed flashlights, snacks, and an Ouija board, mostly as a joke. As the sun set, they walked through the forest, the path lit only by the pale light of the full moon.
The mansion stood before them, its once-beautiful face now falling apart and covered in ivy. The iron gates creaked open as they pushed through, and the air grew colder as they walked to the front door. Jake pushed the door open, and they stepped inside.
The inside was dark and dusty, with cobwebs hanging from the ceiling and broken furniture everywhere. The air felt heavy, like the walls were holding the memories of old horrors. Even though they tried to be brave, the friends felt a chill run down their spines.
They explored the ground floor, finding only empty rooms and old furniture. Then, they decided to set up their camp in the grand hall. The high ceiling and fancy chandeliers showed how grand the mansion used to be.
“Let’s try the Ouija board,” Emily suggested, her voice shaking a little.
They sat in a circle, placing the board on the floor and each putting a finger on the planchette. The room was silent, except for the occasional creak of the old house.
“Is anyone here?” Jake asked, his voice echoing.
At first, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the planchette began to move. They looked at each other, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Who’s doing that?” David asked, his voice nervous.
“It’s not me,” Emily whispered.
The planchette kept moving, spelling out a single word: “LEAVE.”
A sudden gust of wind blew through the hall, putting out their candles and leaving them in darkness. They panicked, fumbling for their flashlights. When they turned them on, they saw with horror that the doors had shut themselves, trapping them inside.
“We need to get out of here,” Sarah said, her voice shaking.
They ran to the door, but it wouldn’t open. It felt like an invisible force was holding it shut. They tried the windows, but they were all sealed tight.
“Let’s stick together and find another way out,” Jake suggested, trying to stay calm.
They moved deeper into the mansion, the air getting colder with each step. The hallways twisted and turned, leading them in circles. They passed by portraits of the Blackburn family, the eyes in the paintings seeming to follow them.
Then, they heard a soft whisper, growing louder. It seemed to come from the walls, sounding evil.
“Did you hear that?” Emily asked, her face pale.
Before anyone could answer, the ground shifted beneath them, and they fell into darkness.
Nahyean Taronno is a student of grade eight in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
I’m loveless, I’m unhappy – the word happiness without you,
Even the moon is falling from the sky,
Besarhad asked me how I was.
Bearmon – to a bearman world
fed
Chamomile of my heart
from the window.
With countless words spoken,
My last word asks after
at the moment.
He cries to the sky
swans-
The written words of your grandfather are superior.
And but, I spoke, I drank,
i burned
I grew up in the greatest living room.
The Maghreb is a stranger, a homeless stranger,
He asks, searching my heart
space
I will walk around the branch
the streets
I’m sorry
rebellious
that’s it.
They lied
the nights are quiet,
I wandered the lost city.
I thought you were sorry
i,
Wings of Blasphemy
a simple bee.
Hatamova Charos was born in 2009 in Fergana region. Currently, he is studying at the creative school named after Erkin Vahidov organized by PIIMA. His creative works have been published in several international magazines. The artist’s future goal is to become a poetess, to receive the Zulfiya state award and to become a scholar of literature.
