“In everyone’s life, at some point our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful to those who rekindle our spirit.” --Albert Schweitzer

The Brink of Summer’s End: Travel Log Celebrating the Authentic Spirit of the Seasons 
By Jacques Fleury

[Originally published in Spare Change News and Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting You Authentic Self]

The noonday sun has mellowed. The laughter of children echoing in the playgrounds has dwindled. Soon, the chilly breath of winter will be upon us, fogging up car windows in the early morning and late at night. Yep, summer is practically over and for some of us, this glacial news is mighty sour. 

Now is a time to reflect on the last few months. Did you keep all the promises you made to yourself back to the beginning of summer? Did you take that vacation you’ve always wanted to take, talk to that cutie you’ve always wanted to talk to, read that book you’ve
always wanted to read, see that movie you’ve always wanted to see? 

Or did the summer days pass by you as fast as a NASCAR race car, drowning you in a smog of dust, confusion and missed opportunities? Well, you’re not alone. I did not get to do all that I wanted to do either, but I sure did as much as I could do and I don’t think it’s necessary for me to be hard on myself for the things I didn’t get to do and neither should you.

Then in late August, I decided to go on a road trip with some friends. We decided to tour some of the states of New England so that we can get to know other northern neighbors, each other and ourselves along the way. 

Driving down the countryside almost always leaves me mesmerized. The quiet dignity of the trees; the wide majesty of the mountains; the boldness and beauty of the sunset and the docile and gleaming offering of the moon. As we drive along the highways and back roads of New England, assimilating Chinese fire drills and switching seats
with one another, we talked about things that we normally wouldn’t talk about in any other circumstances. We spoke of our hopes and aspirations, joys and pains, unrequited loves, past loves, present loves and pondered about future loves that we hope would save us all during our lifetime. Sometimes, we didn’t even speak at all. We just drove and rode in silence or listened to the radio and the music of our hearts.

We drove up to Jeffrey New Hampshire so that we can climb Mount Monadnock, purported to be the second most climbed mountain in the world, second only to Mount Fuji in Japan. Climbing the mountain was both challenging and invigorating. I saw all types of people climb, young and old. But I don’t think I saw even one other Black person climb. I suppose hiking is not “a black thing”, but I was there to challenge this stereotype. I did get some malevolent (what
are YOU doing here?) looks from some of the hikers as well as some benevolent (welcome!) smiles. I decided to concentrate on the smiles.

I was able to find some time to be alone in the woods, to hear the sound of the heart of nature and so that I can feel closer to the creator. Having some quiet time to think about my life to me is
a great luxury. I was able to think about what I’m doing right and what I’m doing wrong.

Behaviors that I need to re-evaluate and behaviors that I need to celebrate. I thought about all the people in my life who contribute to who I am and I could not help but smile. I realized then that I
have a selective group of people around me who contribute greatly to who I am and who I’m becoming. I gladly let go of toxic relationships that threaten my progress and embrace new friendships that can only strengthen me. During my vacation, I also rediscovered the power of
God in my life, which forced me to re-evaluate my spiritual path.

Getting away even for a short time from my day-to-day life taught me something. It taught me that I could find happiness outside of all the “stuff” I have back in my apartment or all the accolades I often get from my community for being a writer, performer and Television
personality. Being away from all of that, generated in me a sudden epiphany. I realized that other than my God, I’m all that I need. I am self-sufficient. I don’t really “need” someone else to make me happy. 

I don’t “need” someone else to give me what I can give to myself: respect, love and attention. I realized that all one need in life is to be comfortable, healthy and happy. How can I expect someone else to give me what I can’t or won’t give to myself? I don’t believe in the
notorious saying “I’m looking for my other half” because I think that one should be a “whole” person first and naturally, if I know anything about karma, another “whole” person will find you.

We often get stuck in our lives when we practice the same behavior but expect a different outcome. Well you may be aware of the omnipresent saying: “Insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.” Well, I have two things to say about that! First is “be the change that you want to see” and secondly “when you change the way you look at things, the things you look at begin to change.” 

In other words, if your wish is to see the world as a friendly place then you have to try being friendly yourself. Yes, it is that simple. Because if you choose to see the world as a friendly place then you begin to look for evidence of that. However, if you choose to
see the world as a hostile place, then you began to look for evidence of that. It’s all about the way we think about things. 

My point is this: as the Autumn leaves change colors, you too should try changing your thought patterns by being the change that you want to see, by changing the way you look at things and I promise you the universe will change with you. Remember, keep your hearts open, have good intentions and everything will most likely fall into its rightful place.

Jacques Fleury is a Haitian-American poet, author, educator and literary arts student at Harvard University online. His book “You Are Enough: The Journey to Accepting Your Authentic Self”  & other titles are available at public libraries, The Harvard Book Store, The Grolier Poetry Bookshop, Amazon etc…

Palestine Wail by Yahia Lababidi

Yahia Lababidi’s new collection of poetry Palestine Wail offers a profound and poignant exploration of human emotions, social injustices, and the resilience of the human spirit. Lababidi weaves together themes of hope, suffering, and solidarity with a keen sensitivity that resonates deeply.

This is only a sample of poems to be found in this rich collection:

In the poem “Hope,” the poet redefines hope as fragile and elusive, rather than steadfast and unwavering. The imagery of hope being “slimmer than you’d think” and “out of breath” underscores its delicate nature. This nuanced portrayal invites readers to appreciate the quiet, enduring strength of hope, despite its vulnerabilities, while “Alternative Scenario” presents a powerful, hypothetical narrative of compassion and unity in the face of conflict. The poet imagines Palestinians and Israelis coming together in mutual support and empathy, leading to an eventual end to hostilities. This poem is a poignant reminder of the potential for humanity and peace, even in the most dire circumstances.

“Starving” is a stark and sobering commentary on the use of starvation as a form of punishment. The poem draws a parallel between the disciplining of children and the severe deprivation faced by Palestinians. The rhetorical question, “When did we learn / starvation is acceptable,” challenges readers to confront the inhumanity of such acts.

In “You, Again,” Lababidi delves into the introspective journey of a solitary soul. The language is rich with metaphysical musings and the struggle to find meaning and sustenance. The imagery of a “nocturnal flower” and the “whirring of the reel” evoke a sense of timelessness and introspection, creating a deeply reflective piece.

“Ode to the Children” is a heart-wrenching tribute to the children of Palestine. The poet elevates their suffering to a sacred level, drawing connections between ancient rituals of sacrifice and the contemporary plight of these children. The poem is a powerful reminder of the sanctity of life and the enduring strength found in the face of unimaginable hardship.

“Love That Makes Devils Weep” meditates on the transformative power of unconditional love and forgiveness. The poet envisions a scenario where one side in a conflict resolves to be entirely blameless, ultimately leading to the end of animosity. The notion that such purity could “make devils weep” speaks to the profound impact of love and moral integrity.

“Walls” critiques the artificial barriers that divide humanity, both physically and emotionally. Lababidi asserts that walls cannot contain the human spirit or prevent love and hate from transcending boundaries. The poem is a call for unity and understanding, emphasizing the limitless capacity of the human heart.

Palestine Wail is a masterful blend of lyrical beauty and profound social commentary. Each poem stands as a testament to Yahia Lababidi’s ability to capture complex emotions and situations with clarity and compassion. This collection is not only a literary achievement but also a call to action, urging readers to reflect on their own roles in the broader human narrative.

Richard Modiano is a poet, artist, and influential figure in the literary community. He served as the Executive Director of Beyond Baroque Literary/Arts Center in Venice, CA from 2010 to 2019. The Huffington Post named him one of the 200 people doing the most to promote poetry in the United States. His collection of poetry and prose, The Forbidden Lunch Box, was published by Punk Hostage Press in 2022.

Yahia Lababidi’s Palestine Wail is available here.

The Majesty of Allah

In the silence of the morning dew,
Allah’s light comes breaking through.
In every dawn, a promise clear,
Of love divine, forever near.

The heavens vast, the earth below,
Allah’s grandeur in every flow.
From mountaintops to ocean deep,
His presence in our hearts we keep.

The stars that twinkle in the sky,
A testament to the Most High.
In constellations, bright and far,
We glimpse His wisdom, every star.

In the flutter of a bird in flight,
Allah’s wonders come to light.
In nature’s song, so pure and true,
His artistry in every hue.

Through every challenge, every test,
Allah’s guidance is the best.
In shadows cast and sunlight bright,
He leads us through the darkest night.

The Qur’an’s verses, rich and wise,
A beacon under open skies.
In every line, a truth profound,
In Allah’s love, we’re firmly bound.

The call to prayer, a sacred sound,
In every heart, His love is found.
We turn to Mecca, hearts aligned,
In Allah’s peace, our souls are refined.

In every act of kindness shown,
Allah’s mercy is clearly known.
In charity and humble deed,
We plant His love, a precious seed.

So let us live in faith and grace,
With Allah’s presence in every place.
In every heartbeat, every breath,
We find His love, that conquers death.

Gulsora Chiniqulova was born in Qoshiribot district, Samarkand region. She purchased a course on “Rebuilding a Relationship with Allah” in 2023, and as a result, she performed Umrah and Hajj pilgrimages for free and lived in Mecca for 4 months. She completed an SMM VIP course with a positive outcome and received a diploma. She also completed a computer and Photoshop course and she is currently working as a security guard.

The Doctor Is In

There was no Grace in the late afternoon. The ordinarily green, groomed lawns were typically filled with the laughter of children. Not to say the little ones were absent from expressing their imaginations in play, but instead the yards were in disarray. For she wasn't to be seen. The afternoon just wasn't the same. No energetic wave. No smile. Not even a story from the adventures of her youth, as she usually provided just after exiting her car. The neighborhood had grown accustomed to her car turning the corner just three houses from her driveway and thereby illuminating faces like sunshine in spring. But she was late. It was dark. The sun had set on another autumn evening. The streets were vacant, but there was vacancy in her heart for those she missed. However, all the children were summoned by the twilight which just passed before she walked home from the nearest bus stop. A streetlamp flickered until it reached its full illumination.

There was Grace. The other passengers on the bus had never seen this new face. The interior lights flashed on as the bus driver exclaimed his disgruntled opinion about his employer and wondered how the lights worked after their lengthy disorder. The typical non-conversational atmosphere was broken by the first person who mirrored the silent salutation of her smile. The surrounding passengers were enthralled by the tale of the Great Physician -- a story she often relayed to new people in her travels. It gave them something they usually had not experienced.

She made her way up the path toward the front door of a beautiful multi-gable home situated on the left of a sleepy cul-de-sac. The motion sensor of the front porch did not trigger the light. She trembled for what was to come. She pushed away her fear and fumbled for her keys. She sighed with her head cocked back to seek relief, she took a deep breath which exhaled into a prayer. The porch light flooded her vision which restored the smile in her heart. Just as she crossed the threshold, a darkness challenged her resolve. A hidden front of heated verbal assaults and icy secrets in constant retreat, lay in wait. 

The air was stale -- not a scent of any culinary preparation. Despite her fatigue, she offered to anyone in ear shot, "What shall I make for dinner?"

"Go ahead, make my day." Her husband swore at her with his usual fiery finesse while flipping channels with a grimace locked on his face, like that of Clint Eastwood. He had been out of work for years, but it hadn't taken long for him to labour his hand toward the bottle. One, already emptied and filled with cigarettes, now displayed on the end table next to his recliner. He sunk in the dank room. Once used to entertain friends and family, it was now his lair -- his dungeon.

She dared not ask the status of her vehicle's replacement -- the one her husband loaned to a so-called friend who was equal in inebriation to his own. Instead, she asked her husband, "Where's Crystal?"

"Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer," he half-fired another heated metaphor reflecting the current programming. The rest of his superlatives riddled down the front of his t-shirt. 

"Drake. I calmly asked a simple question. May I please receive a civil --"

"Say 'hello' to my little friend!" He violently interrupted as he swung the back of his clenched claw in the direction of her face. He missed his intended target as he was barely able to rise from the cage which had trapped his mind as well as his heart. Concerned the same disease had seized her daughter, she gazed from the edge of the room down the hallway. Her daughter leered in returned. 

"... you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!" Her daughter was an astute apprentice of her father in the art of profanity. The darkness already soaked into her wardrobe, her hair and around her eyes, which reflected her opinion of the world around her, and overall. "Houston, we have a problem," she exclaimed. There was no turning back from these words. They both cried. Each of their tears reflected differently. The adolescent's tears instantly chilled.

"May I have my cigarettes please, nurse ..." Drake loved to fire that insult at his wife. It was one of his ways to make himself feel he was better than her. She was a doctor -- a well-respected psychologist. He once held a high office. Now, in a crazed state he stumbled out of his chair -- just as he had fallen from the chambers of court -- toward the study adjacent from where the three stood. With his blurred vision he examined the plethora of framed diplomas and scholastic achievements. He hurled an empty bottle into the room. He missed again. His words were true in aim, but not entirely in content. Law had failed him, and he failed the Law. He falsely accused his wife of healing others over her own family. She knew he exchanged the word caring, as his tongue tripped over his teeth. Her expression betrayed her heart.

The charge and response did not go unnoticed by their daughter. "Exactly. There's no way to win." Crystal's opinion of her dysfunctional family ranked at DEFCON 2. This was no game. Like her father, her poison was not only the bottle. But another escape route existed. Undiscovered. Her room was always locked – as was her heart. Negotiating at this point seemed futile. 

There was Grace. She remembered the story, the gift of the Great Physician she recently relayed to those on the bus earlier. Those who would listen. Listen, and hear. The story of dire importance amid an explosive environment. The same story she told to her family in the past, years gone by. The same story her mother passed down. But not everyone receives this story as a gift. The gift of healing. The gift of peace. "What you want is temporary. What you need is permanent. But it takes time," she pleaded. "I'm not a magician," she cried. It was the most she was able to say without interruption in a long time. Nonetheless, as she began to add, "Please allow --" her words were met with frigid ferocity.

"What we’ve got here is failure to communicate," he slandered her good name.

Crystal outperformed her father and invented her own style of profanity. In cracked vulgarity she haphazardly stung her mother's heart with an icy response as she stormed back in the direction of her room, "Strangelove, or Strange! Will someone call a doctor!"

There was Grace. In a house with two others, she stood alone. Her tears fell short to warm the heart of her daughter. Her husband plastered to the wall in seared rage. She turned and faced the light streaming from under the back door. She softly whispered as she wept, "The Doctor is in."

Secondary Light

(ladybug auspicious, ajna awakener, skate the night, the lady guru is around, for she lives in Electric City)

where is the secondary light? I used to have two. by this I mean lamps. no, three. one was green and one was orange and one was blue but with a white light and built w/a stone base. that lighting was better. the world it illumined more mysterious, the hard edges of reality faded, like in certain good dreams or possibly astral, other world lands filled w/feral reeds dancing for a cosmic breeze, and I stand w/canines beautifully alone, seven of them,- and there was, I was thinking, no end to the lands,- they are literally infinite in all directions. we begin walking, and we are happy beyond the world, a fine and wonderful and boundless joy. 

which brings me to the dream. 

but first the ladybug. a ladybug visited me in the middle and midst of the long lonesome cold dreary winter. it just was there on a wall beside a rosary I bought long ago in Mexico. 

decades and the ladybug.

 I think it is auspicious. and the dream is also…

big strange city, lit up at night, many many sections, perhaps miles long and wide, think Blade Runner meets Wizard of Oz meets The Rolling Stones music, and I am skating on roller skates fast and well, downhill, but not too steep a hill, experts following me that see me and it’s my first time but I can skate fast and they notice.

after perhaps five sections I meet the strange lady eclectic who is the leader, a leader in that faraway section of the odd metropolis, she talks to me briefly. I was there to get salt and vinegar chips of all things, for my beloved and the leader lady’s people couldn’t help me but she threw over a bag but it was a strange unknown brand to me. 

these are not the right snack, I tell her. 

she says, oh ya?- and we begin talking. 

she is beautiful and powerful and dressed in business attire a black skirt and white blouse, and asks if I want my third eye, the ajna-psychic chakra,…touched. 

I say yes. 

She touches it.

For about ten seconds. 

I suddenly see rural pastoral scenes like a highly advanced animated art form moving fast, and in one a duck chases after a bike going from left to right on a property and the scenes and the feeling is that it is free spontaneous living alive not contrived and it has a high energy. everything is in green blue and black. 

the lady stops and says to return later. but she speaks. like anyone. doesn’t use telepathy though I am sure she could. 

I go back to where I came from amaz-d,- to find Tara. I find her finally and tell her I have to go back to see again the lady that touched the third eye for she had said to come back again. 

there are people on the outskirts of the city. 

walking. 

talking. 

people being people. 

Tara says ‘If you must-‘

a luke warm response. 

and I go back again. Or try to. the strange lady is halfway there,- waiting, leaning against a wall. she knew I was on the way think. – and smiles and is happy I am on this way- and turns to have me follow her. 

she is somehow a part of my people spiritually but knows much more than I, at least about that strange city of electric light. 

I am skating. 

I yell out w/ joy at the top of my lungs at how fast and free I am going amidst those places, primal great real real real real real joy. I jump and fly through the air for a bit. 

but then I go where I should but can’t find her. I keep looking, scrambling. she is not reliable. but I don’t right off want to admit it to myself. 

something is wrong. 

why does this have to happen like this?

that whole place is hard to navigate. 

a security agent at a check point stops me and says something. I can’t hear him. I 

think I am in trouble though have done nothing wrong. 

He repeats ‘zoom’. 

I ask, ‘Zoom?’

‘You should zoom,’ he says. 

I say, What?- and he says then, ‘…zoom,…it’s what is written on your bag so you should do that.’

I wasn’t really aware I was carrying a

bag, but he was right. 

Like a white duffle bag or duffle bag type thing. but the same route is taken to further off, like an arcade type setting. I see someone I think could be her, that looks like her, but when I get closer it is not.

disappointment. 

no other would do save for she. but she is nowhere to be found that strange gifted chakra lady, that master of third eye manifestation and manipulation. 

though there are many people around, everyone is a stranger. 

I go back. 

I find Tara. 

But it’s not before a long journey, to parts of the night electric city that don’t work- like an escalator that doesn’t function. And the people walk on it knowing it hasn’t worked for a long time and that part of the city is on the outskirts, not as interesting. but the people take it literally in stride. 

Tara wears white. 

we begin to leave, and i steal a glance back. I can see that in many parts there are so many lights that you’d think day was breaking or dusk had barely begun. 

they must hum like a spiritual download but I can’t hear them then. 

and i knew, as in reality, that it was still night. where was the electric city? Electricity spells electric city. that is strange. was it real, was it imagined, or somewhere in the middle somehow?  was it on an astral plane? why did it feel hyper real,- and who exactly was the ajna awakener?

I longed to know the answers even before I awoke. 

then the dream vision ended. 

I remained still. ‘Remember remember remember,’ I told myself. ‘What were the curving streets I had skated down made of?’ some had interlock brick, I told myself,- yes I noticed that. and the buildings?- how about them,- every different design one could think of,- even an architect, I reminded myself,- yet I didn’t remember anything too high, more than say,- five stories. and more- beyond words also- the feeling,- the connection w/the guru, if she was a guru- master of some sort. and the fast skating, a certain freedom even in a strange place. 

and a thought…hadn’t I deserved to skate like that, having skated my whole youth and adolescence in real life from age seven or eight onwards?- nothing it seems, but skating. I had began not being able to hardly stand on skates, and by the end I was usually the fastest skater on the ice. 

‘Remember remember remember, because even when you think you have remembered everything or much,- there is often or perhaps always something recalled that you had forgotten. The bigger the chunks of dream you remember,- the more chance you have of arriving at some other memory within the chunk, around the chunk….’

I even tried to re-enter the dream. a long time ago, I could often to this,- by quickly forcing myself back asleep. I must have done it thirty times successfully through those past years. 

but i couldn’t do it this time. 

some skills you lose.

hopefully others you gain. 

and I breathed deeply then the fresh air from the close open window, air clean and against logic and reason, full of the good and robust and coldish night. I felt a tinge of sadness as the dream slipped away further from me, and more sadness when the FEELING the dream brought began to recede further and further. 

I had always wondered where dreams went when we left one another. 

And I had always had the idea that it would be interesting to view one’s life in dreams from birth to death, a biography and chronology of dreams. 

I stood and looked out the window then. 

some streetlights lit the world somewhat and softly. bits of snow wafted down if you looked a little closer, like some invisible or hidden  someone was up there just a above the electric light dropping handfuls of it. 

I liked the bulbs and glow even if I didn’t love them. 

I guess they would have to do as secondary light until I found a lamp again. 

~~~

Uber Alles

Ha!
Germans’ children’s
toys are weapons of war
and the cuckoo
mustache
adorning
the upper lip
of their women
run little flame
light
burn
live!
sweep all
clean
my little 
Hitelburger
in the real
Olympics
world conquest 
in war!




Real Man

So humble
I didn’t know
or remember
to worship
adequately
my father
as a God.
I do not think
he would approve
however.
Thankfully.


When Did You Stop Beating Your Olive Tree?

Life is like a message
in a bottle telling
you there will be
thunderbolts
and you’ll be
happiest just
before you die.

My Teacher
(To my teacher Nozima Qodirova)

You are the joy of my beautiful life,
Your words, the motto in my strife.
May your flower-like face always be bright,
My kind teacher, Nozima, is a guiding light.

For us, you gave your knowledge freely,
Gathering flowers from paths thorny.
Your entire life you dedicated,
We stand tall, by your love elevated.

Today, everyone knows my name.
Your hard work brought me fame.
The world recognizes me today,
Thanks to the efforts you displayed.

You spread knowledge without measure,
So students could grasp its treasure.
Your hair turned gray with time,
Ensuring we remember every line.

Your pupils eagerly attend the class,
Slowly learning maps and paths.
Joyfully they approach the globe,
Lessons pass smoothly, hope in strobe.

So many years have flown away,
No one forgets our teacher’s sway.
In everyone’s mind, the names remain,
Columbus, Khosrow, Bellingshausen’s fame.

A thousand thanks I say to you,
For filling my life with joy so true.
In every task, with Allah’s aid,
I’ve understood your worth, never to fade.

Every step, I remember you,
My teacher, you are healthy and true.
With open hands in prayer, you stand,
Supporting me with a guiding hand.

You made me who I am today,
My pillar, Nozima, come what may.
The healer of my wounds, you stay,
My solace, Nozima, every day!

Sobirjonova Rayhona was born in Bukhara, Uzbekistan. Currently, she is a 9th grade student.