A plea

Beloved like my mother
God gave you to me
I live as your child
I give my life to you, my country.

Let me lean on you, my wing
I will say it will not pass
I am sorry for the ingratitude
I give my life to you, my country

Don't be offended by me
If you are sad, I will be the one
Do not be humiliated in the hands of Yav
My life is devoted to you, my country

My sister, brother, don't shed tears
I will never leave you
May the sun not leave your head
My life is devoted to you, my country.


Running to your service
Be the only one for you
Pulling out my heart
Homeland, I give my life to you.

I will finish it before I die
Yozai senchun epic cry
My eyes are a charm for you
My life is devoted to you, my country.

The throne of other countries is not needed
It's okay if I'm in your arms
A heart that does not love you is heartless
My life is devoted to you, my country.



Member of the "Yosh kalamkashlar" club of the Barkamol Avlod children's school, Kogon district, Bukhara region, 9th grade student of the 17th school in the district, "I bow to those who know you", regional stage 1_place winner.

The light of my eyes.

When an insect gets in my eye,

I said I will lift the world on my head.

Ojiza, the blind man now,

I felt how you live.

I don’t care for anyone like this,

I can’t see anything anymore.

Such difficult days at the beginning,

I won’t open my mouth to let him go.

Oh my God, because I have the light of my eyes,

I will thank you.

For keeping me healthy

I will say thank you a thousand times.

Ilhomova Mohichehra, 8th grade student of school No. 9, Zarafshan city, Navoi region.

(Photo of a Central Asian teen girl in a white blouse and black coat with dark hair up in a bun).

My dear teacher who made us dear!!! 

This day is in the bosom of a clear sky, 

Navo sounds very long, 

Thank you my kind teacher, 

For giving us your knowledge. 

This world is short, dear teacher, 

You teach the necessary subjects, 

I am great today because of you

Browsing books, the world of knowledge. 

You know me, hold my hand 

If I don’t come, you will wait for my way anyway

Sacrificed everything for me 

Like my mother, the world has swallowed sorrows. 

My dear teacher is as great as my father, 

I love you 

My teacher Madina is my best teacher, 

My blossoming spring, you sweet summer. 

I can’t live without you

One day I will definitely be like you 

People all over the world are envious,

I will send you flowers

You will always be in my heart, 

I learn a lot from you,

My body lives with you

My heart flutters every time I see you.

Sobirjonova Rayhona, a 10th-grade student of the 8th general secondary school in Vobkent district, Bukhara region. She was born in December 2008 in the village of Chorikalon, Vobkent district, in a family of intellectuals. Her parents supported her from a young age. She started writing in the 3rd grade. Her first creative poem was published in the newspaper “Vobkent Hayot”. She has also published extensively in Synchronized Chaos, India’s Namaste India Magazine, Gulkhan Magazine, Germany’s RavenCage Magazine and many other magazines and newspapers. She has actively participated in many competitions, won high ranks and many prizes. She is still busy creating.

Scribbles

[Written at a Boston-based writing group and included in Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self]

La vie

Ah, la douleur de la vie;
So sorrowful this life can be,
We live in a constant that is uncertainty,
Waiting to awaken each morning can be tiresome,
Waking from a nightmare can be winsome,
‘Til we see the dreadful daylight of reality!
Yearning to sleep;
Daring to wake;
What comes next?
Life is but a haste!

Bird Bath

The mockingbird emerged from its bath,
Singing while in sat on a raft,
Looking into the distant path,
And poised with some sass,
Swiftly flew off in a fit of wrath!

Insomnia

I dreamed I had insomnia
And birds of prey roamed
‘Round my sphere
My heart rhythm’s tachycardia
Abided in a bed of fear…
I dreamt I slept with insomnia
echoes of children
Resounded like nostalgia
My senses somewhat forlorn
Yearning for the years bygone
Wishing to wish away my melancholia
I dream of sleep
Awake I weep
I dreamt i prayed
My soul to keep
I fell asleep
Or so it seems
Wishing to weep
For my esteem
Alas to sleep
Perchance to dream…

What Place is This?

Surrounded by a shadowy grey environ,
Sitting cross legged on some ground,
Looking up in a circular motion,
I wondered why there was no one else around…
Yearning to hear a sound;
Something has blurred my vision,
Suddenly I hear a pound,
Could thunder be a thing I found?!
Alas…The dawning of my wakening,
I am living in a cloud!!!

Jacques Stanley Fleury is a Haitian-American Poet, Author and Educator. He holds an undergraduate degree in Liberal Arts and is currently pursuing graduate studies in the literary arts at Harvard University online. Once on the editing staff of The Watermark, a literary magazine at the University of Massachusetts, his first book Sparks in the Dark: A Lighter Shade of Blue, A Poetic Memoir was featured in and endorsed by the Boston Globe. His second book: It’s Always Sunrise Somewhere and Other Stories is a collection of short fictional stories dealing with the human condition as the characters navigate life’s foibles and was featured on Good Reads. His current book and hitherto magnum opus Chain Letter to America: The One Thing You Can Do to End Racism, A Collection of Essays, Fiction and Poetry Celebrating Multiculturalism explores social justice in America and his latest book, “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  along with all other previously mentioned titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, Porter Square Books, The Grolier Bookshop, Goodreads, bookshop, Amazon etc…  His CD A Lighter Shade of Blue as a lyrics writer in collaboration with the neo-folk musical group Sweet Wednesday is available on Amazon, iTunes & Spotify to benefit Haitian charity St. Boniface.

Waves ripple

The dark and the sea

spray surrounds us

as a salt water

sky burst would

We can hear

the rocks below

breaking open

the energy of tides

exhaled from within

plosive as the wind

Iridescent

eyes of wild animals

amid the rain forest

trees

the real ones

and the imagined

carved from wood

or hewed from stone

All the paths forward

are overgrown with

mutating plants

stinging weeds

and poison ivy

pointed stalks

glow-in-the-dark

earthworms are trail

markers showing us

the way

Overcome by weariness

while walking without

a clear sense of purpose

or direction

we sit where the deer

lie down

feel our dreams

become an invasive species

inhabiting all

the exposed places

in our bodies

Lying still is

impossible

Our skin moves

without us

The transition from

sleeping to waking

is inseparable

are two indistinguishable

states

while walking

we enter a maze

of feeling

that seems to be

a physical one

where paths intersect

and lead nowhere

We wonder if there

is a center

if the center will hold

Feral

Other than the argot

infused standing

water

we have had nothing

to eat or drink

for days

Now we know

how it is to be

feral

unsure of what

or when we will

eat next

or if we will be

eaten in turn

We are reluctant

to gorge on wild

fruits and berries

having heard stories

of those who ate them

went mad

and died

We wonder now if any

of the stories

we have heard are true

Demeaning the Dramaturg

We will have to wait

for the second act be-

fore anything of import

happens. The open-

ing is purely scene-

setting, inserting a

whiff of color to whet

the tongue, a round of

self-aggrandizement

to pleasure the author.

Under armored

Born

without a

larynx she

could not

call out

to say

she was

drowning

so signed

frantically &

invented

swimming.

Word marinade

He took the word

& left it overnight

in a marinade. Soy,

grated ginger, a

thin-sliced bird’s-eye

chili that he’d picked

from the garden just

that morning. Made

no difference to the

meaning, to the re-

sonations; but, oh

boy, did the kitchen

stink & produce a

steady flow of words.

The / I Ching / in the Fall

There is a

continuity

in the

natural

order. First

the leaves

fall & then

the stems

that they

were form-

erly part of.

Some temp-

oral over-

lapping. The

stems lie

in the pool,

on the path.

Yarrow stalks.

Cast &

counted. Con-

fusing hex-

agrams. Too

many answers.

Too few

questions.

You / could have / knocked me down

The ridge of up-

right hair made things

easy for. Distinctive or

prominent, given to

a number of

guests & held

in a public

manner. Gorilla war-

fear. Gratifying. But

only to those who were

affected by some terminal

payment. The remainder

reluctantly signed

their names to a petition.

The second autumn of the Blockade was coming. Our second house was also bombed. Since it was made of wood, it burned down to the foundation. Not only clothes and some other things were lost in this fire, but most offensively, almost all our family photos and some documents – everything that was saved in the spring from the Petrograd apartment.

After that, we lived with some relatives of my father for a while. I don’t remember this period so much, although it foreshadowed the end of my blockade story.

It happened in a completely ordinary way. It’s just that one day after school, my father told us:

– Volodya, Alexey, we are leaving.

The mother and sister were already aware, the youngest was unconscious after another illness. And we lost contact with Ivan and Leonid a few months ago.

We decided and were going to drive fast, literally during the day. That’s how the Blockade and my childhood in Leningrad ended for me. I didn’t know if I would come back then or not, what my life would be like next. But there’s something left in that city, maybe it’s a part of my soul.