English Translation by Leidy Díaz Hevia, Cuba.

From the unpublished book: Cancers Like Plastic Flowers (2026)

Look at me, Homeland
and take my tears
to wipe away the pain
of your heroes.

Look at the streets
the palms, face down
children without horizons
alienated and in darkness
in front of a cellphone.

Look at me, Homeland
I survive point-blank shots
facing the sun
and without bars in my mind
with my flag in pieces
but on my chest.

Here I am in front of the lighthouse
my only rhetoric
−ours−
only
rhetoric
is to continue being free.

Free
without fear
without feeling embarrassed
for others.

Free
without a Homeland
that burns every afternoon
with great difficulty
in soot-stained homes
without the laughter of before.

Here I am
behind the fence
standing
surrounded by barbed wire
watching the paths
full of lovelessness
without the cowbell
because my freedom
flies over the world map.

English Translation by Leidy Díaz Hevia, Cuba.

Del libro inédito: Cánceres como flores de plástico (2026)

Mírame Patria 

y toma mis lágrimas 

para enjuagar el dolor

de tus héroes.

Mira las calles 

las palmas, bocabajo 

los niños sin horizontes

enajenados y a oscuras 

frente a un celular.

Mírame Patria 

sobrevivo a quemarropas

de frente al sol 

y sin barrotes en la mente

con mi bandera en pedazos 

pero en el pecho.

Aquí estoy frente al faro 

mi única retórica 

−nuestra−

única 

retórica 

es seguir siendo libres.

Libres 

sin miedo

sin sentir vergüenza 

ajena.

Libres 

sin una Patria 

que arde cada tarde

a duras penas

en hogares tiznados

sin la risa de antes.

Aquí estoy

detrás de la cerca 

de pie

rodeada de alambres

mirando los caminos

llenos de desamor

sin el cencerro 

porque mi libertad 

vuela sobre el mapamundi.

Yuray Tolentino Hevia (Güira de Melena, Cuba, January 31, 1975).

Poet, screenwriter, curator, art critic and producer. He graduated from the Bachelor of Sociocultural Studies and Art Direction. His work has been published in different magazines, newspapers and poetry and narrative anthologies in Cuba, Spain, Argentina, Francia, Indonesia, Chile, the United States, Italy, Puerto Rico, Alemania, Indonesia, Canadá, Colombia, República Dominicana, and Mexico. He has published seven books.

International Award “Tulliola – Renato Filippelli”, 2020, Italy. Mention of Merit in the III Edition of the International Poetry and Photography Award “Diversità come Ricchezza”, Italy, 2021. VIII Edition of the International Award of Excellence “Ciudad del Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis”, 2021, Italy. First Prize in Poetry of the International Contest of the Foundation Literary International (Cuba – Holland), 2021. Mention of Merit in the II International Poetry Contest “Poets for Peace and Freedom”, 2021, Italy. Since April 2018, she works at the International Film and Television School (EICTV) of San Antonio de los Baños as a producer.

Books – The Source of Knowledge

It is no secret today that the world can only be conquered through knowledge. The key to acquiring deep knowledge is simple—reading books.

We say, “Books are the source of knowledge.” This is an undeniable truth that requires no proof. A person gains knowledge through books, and their upbringing is shaped by them as well. When we young people read literary works, our worldview expands, our speech develops, and our imagination grows.

Indeed, books are the light of the heart and the wings of thought. In our culture, there are numerous proverbs about achieving great things through reading books.

However, in today’s world, almost no one reads books anymore. Everyone is busy with their phones…

A large portion of books nowadays consists of e-books. However, the unique pleasant smell that books give off cannot be found in electronic versions. Moreover, it is hard to replicate the mysterious rustling of a physical book in its digital counterpart. In my opinion, it is better to print more physical books.

So, tell me, which version of books do you consider to be better?

Bonu Jurayeva was born in 2011 in the Bukhara region of Uzbekistan. She has a keen interest in reading books and performing poetry. Her articles have been published in international journals, and she continues to explore various literary genres and contribute to the world of writing.

COMEDIA

Leopard, lion, and bitch-wolf

hunger for my soul. Virgil

saves me and takes me to Hell.

lovers, poets, craps players,

roisterers, and blasphemers

are assigned vicious circles.

Many of my friends are there.

They greet me with tears and prayers

and swear to elect me mayor

when I move to their precinct.

And we huddle over drinks

and brag about past high jinks.

And Virgil grows quite distraught.

He regrets what he has wrought,

and he checks his sundial watch.

“Come,” he says, “it’s time to go!”

I agree to leave, just so

I’ll be back some tomorrow.

SUN RA, NIGHT

The passion becomes precision,

silent organs suddenly articulate,

our jazz exact,

universe complete.

An ingenious engine,

gladly self-winding,

perpetrator of Being–

sex is that loving violence

that screws time’s ingedients

(wasiswillbe)

into a Reality

that’s the matheme of poetry:

the science of intimacy with

the alchemy of Romance-myth.

And of existence–

we are the masterpieces!

The electric youandme

moves together gloriously,

excalibur-in-stone machinery

that’s the index of our style,

the evidence of our skill.

Amply blest,

an amethyst,

we are the levee

against the tsunami’s

approaching closing fists–

isn’t there enough madness left?

The solution is more sex!

BODIES WE LOVE

Is that thumbsup we hold in trust

actually just a making-the-fig?

Which vistas shall we later see

as caricatures,

which oaths are mere gestures?

The withinness of the present

obscures tomorrow’s withoutnesses.

The hidden shall be open then

and the bodies we love, no longers

(and no longer even memories).

Yesterdays are the only forevers.

RELOCATING?

Della Street’s behind me,

need a new address.

Lois Lane? Is it Etta Place?

No service road can be an I-.

I KNOW MY PLACE

The metropolis and the ghost town,

the ecosystem and the city:

My world is a paradox of orthodox and strange,

an environment of blend

that reconciles divides.

The academy and the stockyard,

The industrial plant and the garden

share their universe

with quarks and galaxies.

They bridge chaos and constitution,

balance ocean mountain desert plain

glacier volcano,

combine/contain actions and emotions,

reconcile all us doubters and cowards.

The legislature and the prison,

the gymnasium and the ashram

have equal weight and heft.

They refine and define,

blur boundaries,

apportion my lot in space.

ON RETURNING HOME ANEW AFTER HALF A CENTURY

where ghosts and memories forever reign

everything/nothing is still the same

strange faces on familiar names

changed functions for famous frames

remembering unremembered chimes

but the sky! the sky remains

Dark clouds cover my sky,

As if my heart has shattered into pieces.

It waited for you, hoping you would return,

But you will not come back.

Proud, graceful gazelle,

Those gazelle-like eyes once enchanted me.

Tell me now, what should I call you?

A cruel, unfaithful, heartless one?

Your lashes like sharp spears,

Your brows dark as the night,

Those cherry-like eyes of yours—

Thoughts of you

Never leave my mind.

I love you,

Yet it means nothing now.

You are you, and I am me,

Our paths have long been separated.

The pain of separation never fades,

The fiery flame of love burns my heart.

A trembling has covered my whole being;

My heart has stopped—

It no longer beats.

In my veins, it feels as though

Not blood but emptiness flows.

This world has become too narrow for my eyes.

The sky belongs to the stars,

The tree to its roots—

But for me…

Nothing truly matters.

No, it does matter.

My heart longs for a cure.

Otherwise, what use are

All these riches and possessions,

All desires and ambitions?

I only wish to be loved.

Yet you left me.

Still, despite everything,

I will wait for you.

Even if you are not mine,

Just be happy.

You have forgotten me—

My gazelle-eyed one, my sweet-spoken one.

Until my very last breath,

I will love you.

And for your happiness,

I will keep living and fighting.

Sevinch Rustamova Shukhrat qizi was born on October 13, 2005, Kashkadarya region, Uzbekistan. She is currently a third-year student of the Faculty of Medicine (Med-01U group) at Kimyo International University in Tashkent.

She has participated in several international Olympiads and has a strong interest in poetry and literature. Her poems and creative works have been published in international anthologies in Egypt and Qatar.

In addition, in 2025 she took part in an International Anthology in Turkey, where she presented her creative works and delivered a speech on an international platform.

Furthermore, her scientific articles and theses have been published in a number of high-level academic journals. She also actively participates in national conferences and scientific forums, contributing to academic and literary discussions.

MY AGRARIAN UNIVERSITY

Around it lie the hills and gentle plains,
Gardens and orchards spreading like domains.
Far mountains seem so close, within our sight,
In this fair land stands Agrarian bright.

Professors and lecturers teach with care,
Guiding students to knowledge rich and rare.
From Mother Earth they gather harvests grand,
My Agrarian that trains the farmers’ hand.

Supplying people food both pure and clean,
Devoting lives to this profession keen.
Healing the animals from illness and pain,
My Agrarian where zooengineers gain.

In every herb they seek a healing art,
From nature’s gifts they guard the human heart.
Descendants of Avicenna’s wisdom sure,
My Agrarian where biologists mature.

Reaching out hands in friendship far and wide,
With Hungary in joint education tied.
Its fame has reached the Ministry above,
My Agrarian that welcomes you with love.

My name is Ibragimova Orzigul Sharobiddinovna. I was born on January 5, 1990, in Uchko‘prik district of Fergana region. Currently, I am a first-year student in the Zooengineering program at the Agrarian Joint Faculty of Fergana State University.

I am married and I have three sons. My achievements today are largely due to the great support of my father Sharobiddin, my mother Muxabbatxon, and my husband Zafarjon. My family members and close relatives have always been my support and encouragement. Since my childhood, I have been writing poetry, and I sincerely express my gratitude to my teachers who have helped me grow and develop on this creative path. I would also like to express my special thanks to the Dean of our faculty, Sh. Mamajonov, the Deputy Dean for Spiritual and Educational Affairs, Sh. Mamurov, my scientific supervisor B. Boboyev, the Deputy Dean for Women’s Affairs, M. Yusupova, and our tutors for their constant support and guidance.

Stacked chairs & a regime change

Shirley Temple once said “I’ve 

led three lives,” a phrase not

to be confused with the story

of the FBI agent who joined 

the communists. Is said that

it was the FBI who funded the

U.S. Communist Party because 

there were so many agents 

signed up — 1500 out of 10,000 

at one point — & because they

were actually employed by the

Feds, they regularly paid their

dues. I can’t find anything Miss

Temple had to say about that.

In vain

I am spending my days — & nights —

either reading books, journals, & news-

papers, or watching free-to-air tv plus

everyone of the streaming services we

subscribe to, searching for an ending 

that I can pilfer. Certainly some of the

things I come across set off a certain 

frisson, but the ancillary requirements

tend to negate them as possibilities. As

example, I do not have five centuries

to get myself into the state of being that

is deemed necessary to reach Nirvana.

Meaning I’ll be going to bed hungry 

until the middle of next week at least.

The wars of the Hoecks & the Cabbeljaws

The dead woman appeared un-

harmed. Two young children 

wrapped in plastic were also at 

the home. A recording from the 

driver’s own car was taken into 

protective custody & confirmed 

that the suspect, renowned for 

playing complex women on the 

stage, faces an extortion charge. 

randomized eccentricities

Orbital eccentricities roam the

streets on foggy nights to see 

what the latest fashions displayed 

in shop windows are. But since

Rome wasn’t built in a day, they

are still there the next night, like

cats caught in a blackberry patch.

Late-stage excitation often results.

A line from George Lucas

The term “race records” was coined in 1922.

Policy disputes play on. Energy costs are

a significant concern. It’s my first time in

therapy, & we are very pigeonholed. If you 

don’t fit in that box, then it’s time to flip the

script. Politicians have scapegoated hand-

made artisans for decades. Record labels no

longer view music as a vital creative force 

& offer such shifty deals these days that art-

ists will never be able to make money from 

them. Backing bands are now made to stand, 

remove their headwear, refrain from talking. 

Photos c/o Jacques Fleury

Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured Haitian American Poet, Educator, Author of four books and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His latest publication “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self” & other titles are available at all Boston Public Libraries, the University of Massachusetts Healey Library, University of Wyoming, Askews and Holts Library Services in the United Kingdom, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc… He has been published in prestigious publications such as Spirit of Change Magazine, Wilderness House Literary Review, Muddy River Poetry Review, Litterateur Redefining World anthologies out of India, Poets Reading the News, the Cornell University Press anthology Class Lives: Stories from Our Economic Divide, Boston Area Small Press and Poetry Scene among others…Visit him at:  http://www.authorsden.com/jacquesfleury.–