Or stroll through the morning forest catching my breath,
Suddenly, a bud of lightning
Blooms in the sky of my heart.
That flower becomes a spring of poetry,
Whispering a new song
Or gently untangling
The knotted threads of my troubles.
A thrilling ripple striking my heart—
Perhaps it is
A shining jewel placed in my heart
By the Master of the universe who breathes wisdom.
This jewel, flown in on a beam of light,
Is a warm proof
That He lives and loves me.
May this mysterious gift dwell often,
Let me pray daily with a burning heart,
And may the jewels He has poured out
Shine for His joy and glory.
Even when the gift hesitates,
I quietly hold in my heart
The mysterious melody
That my beloved will someday sing.
Spirit
The spirit dwelling deep within the body
Hears a whispering voice above the clouds.
The soul breathing alongside the spirit
Is an antenna catching the world’s vibrations.
The soul listens to city noise and crowd murmurs,
The body sways to soft whispers of instinct’s temptations,
So the spirit often misses the Creator’s gentle breath.
Amid the whirlpool of desires stirred by soul and body,
My spirit firmly grasps
The Creator’s shining shield and sword,
And cautiously feels along the path
Opened by the grace and wisdom flowing from His spring.
O Almighty, who fills all things with light,
Do not leave my spirit to its wavering choices,
But guide my spirit with Your hand,
Illuminating the way with a quiet light,
That I may follow wholeheartedly every day.
Embrace my spirit, trembling with unrest,
In Your warm arms like morning sunlight,
And fill it abundantly
With waves of laughter that seep deep within the heart,
And with the hope of sprouts blossoming toward tomorrow.
Conscience
Every time a wicked thought passes,
In the dark forest of my heart,
A chilling blade grazes the flesh,
Passing like a flash of lightning.
Dark clouds gather and weigh upon my mind.
The river within my heart
Is tossed about like a raft in a storm.
Invisible whispers
Come like a gentle breeze
And illuminate the shining path.
The One who quietly guides from above
Is the lighthouse of the soul,
Shining upon us in the dark, a star that guides to truth.
Wandering the alleys of online political news,
As comments overflow with lies and hatred,
My heart is crushed like a heavy stone,
And my pulse leaps erratically like a cricket.
Even amid the flood of evil falsehoods,
With eyes clear as spring water, beholding the truth,
Let me walk according to the will
Of the Creator of all things.
With drops of prayer,
May I cleanse the lighthouse of my soul.
Wansoo Kim achieved Ph. D. in English Literature from the graduate school of Hanguk University of Foreign Studies. He has published 8 poetry books. One poetry book, “Duel among a middle-aged fox, a wild dog and a deer” was a bestseller in 2012. He won the World Peace Literature Prize for Poetry Research and Recitation, presented in New York City at the 5th World Congress of Poets(2004). He published poetry books, “Prescription of Civilization” and “Flowers of Thankfulness“ in America.(2019), received Geum-Chan Hwang Poetry Literature Prize in Korea(2019) and International Indian Award(literature) from WEWU(World English Writer’s Union)(2019). He published “Heart of God” in America(2020). He published an autobiography book, “Secrets and Fruits of Mission” and a poetry book, “Flowers of Gratitude”(2021). He received India’s Independence Day Literary Honors 2021”(2021). He published the Chinese version of his ebook, “Heart of God,” which reached Amazon bestseller #1(2022). He published poetry books, “Captive of Crazy Love.”(2023) and “Teachings of Mother Nature(2024).
Why Are Study Abroad Semesters Valuable for Students?
Meaning of These Programs – What Are They?
A study abroad semester is a life-changing experience – but how exactly?
Costs, Challenges, and Requirements
Nowadays, there are many foreign citizens in my country. Are they just tourists? Not quite. Today we see young people coming from abroad to various parts of our country. The reason is the global student exchange program. This program has a long history and began to develop in the 20th century. It was created to promote cultural and scientific cooperation between countries. A student exchange program allows students to temporarily study at a different university abroad. Through it, students gain knowledge and experience.
Historically, the United States was one of the first countries where such programs became popular, beginning with the Fulbright Program. One of the most well-known is the ERASMUS program – the oldest student exchange program in Europe, launched in 1987. Germany later developed its own version, with the DAAD program starting in 1925. These programs are highly popular among young people.
Experiences of Students:
Many students report positive experiences with exchange programs. Jabboraliev O., who studies at Kuala Lumpur University in Malaysia, said: “I expanded my professional experience through the exchange program. That’s why I’ve worked in many areas of my field.” This shows that exchange programs offer career benefits too.
Dilafruz, a student who studied in Japan, said: “My verbal communication improved significantly.” In particular, her ability to express herself in Japanese grew. This proves students can also benefit linguistically from exchange programs.
Advantages of Student Exchange Programs:
Exchange programs offer many benefits. Students gain new knowledge and boost their academic progress. But that’s not all. Studying abroad helps develop important personal skills, such as:
– Intercultural Competence: Students learn to understand and respect cultural differences by engaging directly with people from diverse backgrounds.
– Independence: Living in a foreign country forces students to organize daily life independently – from housing to daily routines.
– Language Skills: Constant exposure to a foreign language helps students improve their language proficiency.
– Better Career Opportunities: Employers value international experience, which signals flexibility and adaptability.
Challenges:
Of course, there are also difficulties. Many students face the following challenges when moving abroad:
– Financial Issues: Living abroad can be expensive. Students often need scholarships or part-time jobs.
– Different Education Systems: Learning methods may differ from those in the home country, requiring students to adapt.
– Cultural Differences: Adapting to new customs and traditions can be tough in a foreign country.
Conclusion:
In conclusion, student exchange programs are an excellent opportunity for young people to gain international experience, explore other cultures, and improve both academically and professionally. They help students adjust to new environments and foster mutual understanding between cultures.
During the program, students learn how to navigate life in a foreign country, speak new languages, and enhance communication skills. These experiences are valuable in today’s world and can improve future career prospects. Additionally, students form international connections that may benefit them later.
Despite the challenges, such as financial burdens, housing issues, or differences in education systems, these very obstacles help students become more independent and adaptable.
Overall, exchange programs are a key component of global education. They not only help young people expand their knowledge but also support personal growth. International exchange strengthens relationships between countries and universities. Therefore, such programs should continue to be supported so more students can benefit.
Oyatillo Jabboraliev was born in Fergana region. He is a student at Xiamen University in Malaysia.
Konstantinos FaHs has another article published following up on his Synchronized Chaos pieces about ancient Greek myths and their continuing role in modern Hellenic culture. He’d like to share his piece in The Rhythm of Vietnam,which is a Vietnamese magazine with a mission that seems similar to our own.
Also, disabled contributor, lyric essayist, and ALS activist Katrina Byrd suffered hurricane damage to her home and seeks support to rebuild and make ends meet while she’s getting ready to move. Whatever folks can contribute will make a real difference.
Now, for our new issue: Chaos Does Not Exclude Love. The reverse of a phrase from a review of Elwin Cotman’s urban fantasy collection discussing how Cotman’s work was from a loving place yet made room for the complexity of the world. At Synchronized Chaos, we are intimately acquainted with the world’s nuance and chaos, yet we see and find room for empathy and connection.
Neven Duzevic reflects on travel memories and reconnecting with an old friend. Dr. Perwaiz Shaharyar speaks to the awesome and transformative power of romantic love. Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai reflects upon the intensity of romantic feelings. Duane Vorhees speaks to loneliness and heartbreak and sensuality and various forms of human-ness. Kristy Raines speaks to the beauty of love and the tragedy of heartbreak.
Harper Chan reflects on his bravado and the reality of his feelings in the past year. Mickey Corrigan’s poetry shows how psychological and cultural shifts and traumas can manifest in our bodies. Abigail George speaks to how support from friends and family and a commitment to live in the present rather than reliving old traumas can help those addicted to drugs. Alan Catlin mixes cultural memories and touchstones with personal and societal losses.
Vo Thi Nhu Mai offers up a poetic tribute to the international vision of fellow poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou. Greek poet Eva Petropoulou Lianou interviews Bangladeshi poet S. Afrose on how she hopes poetry and joint exploration through literary sci-fi will obliterate the need for war. Dr. Jernail Singh laments that morality and compassion have become passe to a generation obsessed with modernity and personal success. Priyanka Neogi speaks to the beauty of carrying oneself with noble character. Maria Koulovou Roumelioti urges us to remember the world’s children and create love and peace as Anwar Rahim reminds us to live with kindness and courage.
Mykyta Ryzhykh speculates on whether love can continue to exist amidst war. Haroon Rashid pays tribute to Indian political leader Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam, who loved peace but led through strength. Christine Poythress reflects on how easy it is for a once-proud and free nation to slide into fascism simply by admiring the fascist aesthetic and its seductive power. Ahmed Miqdad renders a global tragedy in simple terms: he’s too scared to go back to his home in Gaza to water his cactus plant.
Lili Lang probes the meaning behind things that seem simple: the work of a hairdresser, a family packing up the belongings of a recently deceased grandmother.
Mahmudova Sohibaxon offers up a tribute to dependable and caring fathers. J.J. Campbell writes of the visceral love and physical work of aging and caregiving, of inhabiting an elderly and a middle-aged body. Taylor Dibbert’s poetic speaker embraces age with joy, thrilled to still be alive. Bill Tope crafts an expansive and welcoming vision of perfection that can welcome more types of people and bodies as Ambrose George urges the world to maintain an open mind towards gender roles and identities.
Leslie Lisbona pays tribute to her deceased mother by writing a letter catching her up on family news. Stephen Jarrell Williams considers endings and beginnings and the possibility of renewal. Asma’u Sulaiman speaks to being lost and then found in life. Cheng Yong’s poetry addresses ways we hide from each other and ourselves, physically and psychologically. Mahbub Alam wishes for a romantic connection that can extend and endure beyond Earth. Dibyangana’s poetry touches on love, grief, and personal metamorphosis. Mely Ratkovic writes of spiritual contemplation and the nature of good and evil. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa describes souls who turn away from greed and evil and heal, in smaller and larger ways. Christopher Bernard suggests that creativity and storytelling might play a part in what makes life worth enduring.
Brian Barbeito speculates about intention and communication with the universe. Svetlana Rostova speculates on what spirituality might mean in the face of a seemingly indifferent world. Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumnova’s piece conveys spiritual ecstasy, love, and beauty.
Sandro Piedrahita’s story highlights the power of enduring and sacrificial spiritual devotion in the midst of our human-ness.
Paul Durand reflects on teaching first-grade music in a time of hatred and divisiveness. Su Yun collects the thoughts and observations of a whole selection of schoolchildren in China about nature and their world.
Jibril Mohammed Usman shares a photograph of a person looking into nature, at one with and part of his world, altered in the same way as the trees and house. Mark Young’s geographies play with and explore Australia from new angles, turning maps into works of art.
Odina Bahodirova argues for the relevance of philology as an academic discipline because of its role in preserving cultural wisdom encoded in language and the ability of students to understand and think critically about language. Sevinch Shukurova explores the role of code-switching as a pedagogical tool in language learning. Surayo Nosirova shares the power of an educator giving a struggling student tutoring and a second chance. Nozima Zioydilloyeva celebrates Uzbekistan’s cultural accomplishments and women’s education within her home country. Marjona Mardonova honors the history of the learned Jadid Uzbek modernizers.
Nazeem Aziz recollects Bangladeshi history and celebrates their fights for freedom and national identity. Poet Hua Ai speaks to people’s basic longings to live, to be seen and heard. Leif Ingram-Bunn speaks to hypocrisy and self-righteousness on behalf of those who would silence him, and self-assertion on his part as a wounded but brave, worthy child of God.
Z.I. Mahmud traces the mythic and the heroic from Tolkien to Harry Potter. Poet Hua Ai, interviewed by editor Cristina Deptula, also wonders about the stories we tell ourselves. She speculates through her work about what in the human condition is mandatory for survival and what is learned behavior that could be unlearned with changing times.
Synchronized Chaos contains many of the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves and our world. We hope you enjoy and learn from the narrative!
Ralph sat upright in his recliner, his legs splayed out before him. His hands, resting between his knees, quavered furiously. Ralph sighed. How, he thought, could he ask Elizabeth to marry him when he couldn’t even hold out the engagement ring without shaking like a cornstalk in the wind?
Would she laugh at him? he wondered. No, Elizabeth wasn’t cruel, but how could she possibly not feel the revulsion that Ralph felt for himself? She wouldn’t give voice to that emotion, but that only made it worse. Ralph had once owned a three-legged dog, but his father had scolded him, saying he should settle for nothing less than perfection, and dad had the dog put to sleep. When Ralph subsequently developed his tremor, his father had regarded him as something less than he had before.
In 1930s Germany, Ralph knew, he would have suffered sterilization so that his infirmity could not be passed on to future generations. Or, he might have himself been put to death. He let out a breath. Why me? he used to wonder. At length, he had conjured an answer: Why not me? Besides, by now, he was used to it. He took up the jeweler’s box and extracted the ring, weighed it in his palm, contemplated his intense, primal love for Elizabeth for a moment, then said aloud, “I’ll ask her. Tonight!”
They sat in his living room, a fire crackling in the fireplace on this, the night before Christmas. The tree scented the room with balsam. Ralph was nervous. He had never asked anyone to marry him before; he’d never had the nerve. Also, he had never been in love before. She sat beside him on the sofa, waiting expectantly, he thought. He held the jeweler’s box behind a throw pillow; he didn’t want to frighten her away. Could she really accept him? he wondered desperately.
He was not anyone’s idea of perfection, certainly not his father’s. His childhood rejection by his dad figured prominently in Ralph’s memory, and it’s what made him the man he was today. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was perfection itself. He had never known a nobler, more exquisitely lovely creature before. If she said yes, then she would be his mate, his lover, his wife. A bead of perspiration appeared on his brow. Nervously, he wiped it away with the hand holding the box.
“What’s that, Ralph?” Elizabeth asked unexpectedly.
“Huh?” he said stupidly, hiding the box again. But it was too late.
“What have you got there, Ralph?” she asked anew, pointing to the hand holding the ring box.
Ralph brought the box into view and murmured, “Liz, I was going to ask you…ask you to marry me.”
“Have you changed your mind?” she asked boldly.
He blinked. “No…No, I…Will you marry me, Liz?” he implored. “I know I have a lot of faults,” he began. “But, I love you, and…”
“Shut up, Ralph,” she said gently. “You had me at “Will you marry me?’ “
Ralph smiled, leaned in for a kiss, being careful not to bump Elizabeth’s walker.
Are you still 66? I’m 60 now. I’ve done the best I could since your death.
Do you remember when you told your friend that “only Leslie is unsettled”? I was 30 then, the night before you died. That’s when you said it, at the theater; I overheard you. I know you meant that you wanted me to marry and have a family. Later I broke up with Dany. I married Val, the one you thought had a nice voice, from Iran. You had a conversation with him once in the living room while I was in the kitchen. You told him that you had a relative from Iran, and I walked in when you said that, surprised.
Dad was very lonely without you. I thought he would never let me go. He convinced Val to move in when we got engaged. And after the wedding, he made it nice for Val to stay. Too nice! We finally moved to 53rd and 8th Avenue, all the way up on the 20th floor. I wish you could have seen it. I was close to Central Park and Lincoln Center and Coliseum Books and Lechters.
Debi and I used all your tickets to the opera. We didn’t like it at first, but we’d make a day of it: lunch with Susie, Martha, and Anna Burak, and sometimes Tower Records afterwards to get the CD of the opera we’d just seen. I wore your fur-lined coat and mostly took naps in your seat. Then, one night Placido Domingo sang Nessun Dorma, and I cried so much, but I was really crying for you. I feel, when I am at the opera house, that you are near me. It is almost unbearable.
Beatrice dated Dad for a few months. She wore your clothes, used your Dooney and Bourke wallet, like she wanted to be you. She even offered to brush my hair and I let her. They broke up, and a few years later her cancer returned and she passed away.
Aaron was born in the same hospital where you had me, and – can you believe it? – my OB was trained by Dr. Landsman. When I went into labor, I had to fill out forms at the hospital, and where it asked for the mother’s name, instead of writing my name, I wrote yours.
Aaron looked just like you when he was born, and I gave him the middle name Yves in your honor. I was out-of-my-mind in love with him. In all the blissful moments of his babyhood, I felt like you were a part of me, delighting in him.
Oliver is your last grandchild. Again I was in love. We moved to the Parker Towers, a rental across the street from Debi’s building in Queens. It reminded me of our old Kew Gardens apartment. It was the same set-up: two-bedroom, two-bath, eat-in kitchen, balcony, a friendly doorman, the same whoosh of air when you closed the front door. I had a view of the World Trade Center, your favorite place to take out-of-towners.
Val and I split up soon after Oliver was born. Everything about being with Val became too difficult. Also, we didn’t have any help, and I had to do everything you did for me and work in an office as well. He moved out, and I was a single mother until Oliver’s fourth birthday.
Those were difficult years, with little money and a lot of loneliness. Debi was my constant companion, like a mother to me and also my best friend. Dorian was kind, leaving me cash in my junk drawer and paying for my airfare to visit him. He called me all day long. Once when I was in California visiting him, his cellphone rang and everyone looked around wondering who it could be because I was right there.
Dad married Anna Greenberg’s cousin Nina. After that, we were no longer welcome at his house unless we were expressly invited. If we were invited, I couldn’t even get a glass of water without asking. Once, when my boys were with Val for the weekend, I called Dad to see if he wanted my company. “Another time,” he said. He didn’t know that I was parked outside. Then I saw Anna’s son pull up with his family. He had Chinese food. He walked in as if the house were his.
After we divorced, Val and I fell in love again. He moved back to the Queens apartment, and Debi and Dad didn’t speak to me anymore. I was disowned. Birthdays and Jewish holidays were particularly painful. I once saw from my kitchen window Dad entering Debi’s building with flowers for Passover. When I turned 40, Val told me I had a call, and I ran to the phone while asking him if it was my father. The look on his face was pure pity, so I knew it wasn’t. Dorian was my champion, tried to mediate, and took my side as my protector. He always picked up the phone when I called him. It took three years before I convinced Dad to let me back into his life. Debi followed soon after.
Val and I bought a house together in Westchester. We remarried in the living room, our sons our only witnesses.
Aaron is grown now. He lives with his girlfriend in Washington Heights, and they talk of getting married. Oliver is 24 and home with us. He graduated from Queens College, like you and me.
I have a dog, Rhoda, whom I love more than anything in the world.
At the end of Dad’s life, he was sick for a month in the hospital. Every day the nurse asked him for his birthday, and he would proudly pronounce “3/25/25,” but on his actual birthday he couldn’t remember. In his delirium he called for you. “Ou est Yvette?” He is buried next to you in Mount Hebron. Soon it will be his 100th birthday.
We sold the house after Dad died. That was hard. Debi and I packed 40 years of memories with nowhere to put them. I still regret throwing out the shearling jacket you bought me in Italy and Dad’s certificate from the New York Institute of Technology.
Sometimes I wonder what you would make of the world I live in now:
Manicures and pedicures can cost $85 with tip.
Donald Trump is President.
The Twin Towers are no longer standing.
It is fashionable to live in Brooklyn.
There are no more phone booths and fewer and fewer parking meters.
Coins are insignificant.
Loehman’s and Lord & Taylor don’t exist, but Saks does.
No one dresses up or wears pantyhose. You would think they leave the house in their pajamas.
People hardly go to the movies. Miraculously, the Paris Theater is there. That’s where we saw Crossing Delancey, or maybe it was Cousin Cousine. The Ziegfeld, too. We saw Star Wars there with Dad on a hot summer night.
I get my hair colored by Javier, your colorist. I sought him out because I always loved your hair color.
I still go to Carmel on 108th Street to get lebne and pita and kashkaval cheese and sambousek.
All your friends are gone except for Vally. Do you remember when Val and I met you and Vally at the theater to see Three Tall Women, and we thought it was so funny that they had such similar names. She looks the same, by the way.
May died of cancer; all your sisters, too. They died after you, even though you were the baby.
Debi lost Stanley, and he is also buried in Mount Hebron.
Dorian will be 75 next month. He is still in Walnut Creek, although in a different house. He and Claudia had twins.
Debi is 70 and is in the same apartment. Alix Austin lives with her. Remember how she broke his heart when they were teenagers?
You have a great-grandson, Benjamin. He is three and looks like Chloe, and a little bit like Debi.
Dany never married.
I write a lot about you. It is like having you with me, especially how you laugh or the sound of your gold bangles. How you got mad at me for imitating your accent when I said, “When you are right, you are right.” How you couldn’t stop yourself from eating cheese and drinking the whole container of kefir.
I can cook almost all of your food, like gratin and mejadra, but not the rice pilaf.
I live in New Rochelle. I remember you used to go shopping there for clothing, and I thought it sounded so fancy. My house is shelved with all your precious books, and on the walls is the artwork you collected. I framed your library card with your signature, and I have it on my desk.
Laurie Anderson is still performing.
Spalding Gray died by suicide.
Pavarotti died, too. I had a chance to see him on stage at the Met.
Woody Allen continues to make movies, and he married Soon Yi.
I went to a dinner and Salman Rushdie was there. He wore a patch over one eye because he had been stabbed.
I won a prize for my writing. That was one of the times I missed you the most.
I also missed you when I got married and then when I got divorced. I missed you when I had Aaron and then Oliver. I missed that they didn’t know you. I missed you when I got fired from the bank because I couldn’t do it all, at least not well.
I miss you when I read a really great book and I can’t share it with you. Do you remember how we read all of Paul Auster’s books, one after the other? He is gone too.
I used to be afraid that I would forget your voice, but I now know I never will.
Love,
Lellybelle
Leslie Lisbona was featured in the Style section of The New York Times in March 2024.
Aside from Synchronized Chaos, the first journal that ever accepted her work, she has been published in JMWW, Smoky Blue Literary & Arts Magazine, and Welter. Her work has been nominated for Sundress Publications’ Best of the Net 2024 contest and won the nonfiction prize at Bar Bar Magazine (2024 BarBe Award) https://bebarbar.com/2025-barbes/
She is the child of immigrants from Beirut, Lebanon, and grew up in Queens, NY.
