The researches of our great-grandfather Mirzo Ulug’bek made great changes not only for the scientists of Uzbekistan, but also for the scientists of the whole world. The whole world knows him very well as a historian, scientist, great astrologer, astronomer who determined the location of 1018 stars. Muhammad Taragai, grandson of the great general Amir Temur, was born in March 1934. He was the eldest son of Shahrukh Mirza, and he was called Ulugbek as a child. Later, this became his main name. Young Ulug’bek was interested in science as a child. He was a learned boy in every field. That is why our grandfather Mirzo Ulugbek was appointed governor of Movarunnahr and Turkestan at the age of 17. As a king, Ulugbek ruled the Timurid kingdom for almost 40 years. During this time he made many creations. He pats the head of the people of knowledge. A number of mausoleums and madrasas were also built during the reign of Mirzo Ulugbek. At the same time, he built the Ulugbek observatory in Samarkand.

    As an astrologer, he is able to determine the location of 1018 stars and the length of an astronomical year of 365 days, 6 hours, 10 minutes, and 8 seconds in his observatory. The scientist collected the most unique masterpieces in his observatory during his reign. He also read a lot. One of the great works of Mirzo Ulug’bek is the astronomical table called “Zizhi jadidi Ko`rogoniy”. Our grandfather Mirzo Ulug’bek inherited 4 unique works: “Zizhi jadidi Korogoniy” – on astronomy, “Tarihi arba` ulus” (History of four nations) – on history, “On determining the sine of one degree” risola” – about mathematics and “Risolayi Ulug’bek” – works about stars. “Zizhi Jadidi Korogoni” was edited by Thomas Hyde in Oxford in 1665 and by Edward Ball Knobel in 1917. During the reign of Ulugbek, many works were translated from Arabic and Persian into the old Uzbek language. The rich library he established had more than 15,000 books. This is a proof of how much the scientist was reading. Unlike his grandfather, Mirzo Ulug’bek preferred knowledge to wars. For the sake of science, he was ready to abdicate the throne if necessary. He always visited the observatory when he was depressed, where he liked to study astronomy. Great thinkers and scientists gathered in the observatory. He treated his students like his own children.

However, such a scholar, the king, was killed by his own child. Mirza Ulugbek never wanted to fight with his son for the throne. He knew that his grandfather, Amir Temur, did not stay forever, and the crown and throne, which was not loyal to him, was transitory. But Abdulatif, the father’s son, did not understand this, and as a result, he declared war against his father’s corruptor with the emirs who would immediately turn away if the kingdom was shaken. Ulugbek agrees to abdicate without any war. Not because he was afraid, but because he did not want to fight for the throne with his child. He just wants to sit in his observatory and study science. However, Abdulatif, the son of Padarkush, who was blinded by the crown, wealth, and kingdom, became a slave to his own lust and even raised a sword to his father, organized a conspiracy against his father on October 27, 1449 and A navkar named Abbas and an amir whom Ulugbek considered loyal, and then an amir who went over to Abdulatif’s side, were killed by the hands of the Sultans. This is how the life of Mirzo Ulug’bek, an enlightened king and a world-renowned scientist and astrologer, who wisely ruled the Timurid kingdom for about 40 years, ends in this way. Only a calm flowing stream and a gentle wind will silently witness the death of a great astrologer…

However, revenge is right. The emirs who betrayed his father also made trouble for Abdulatif himself. In 6 months, the rulership of Padarkush’s son, not only his kingdom but also his life, ended. Abdulatif managed to do many bad things in this short period of time. He had his brother Abdulaziz executed, destroyed the observatory, destroyed books.

However, Mirzo Ulug’bek’s beloved and loyal student Ali Kushchi fulfills the will of his master perfectly. A day before Mirza Ulugbek left the throne, he assigned such a task to Ali Kushchi. That is, he says that the rarest books in the observatory should be preserved and hidden in a safe place until the time of peace. Ali Kushchi hid 16 chests of books in the “Dragon Cave” known only to him and Mirza Ulugbekkina. Even after the death of his teacher Mirza Ulugbek, Ali Kushchi was under strong persecution, which caused him to sit in prison, but even so, he was always patient and kept the books and some of Amir Temur, who was hiding with him, and He did not tell the hiding place of the jewels given to be spent on the path of knowledge. Mirza Ulug’bek and his student Ali Kushchi and some loyal students of the master thought about the fate of the next generation and made sacrifices. The greatest wealth left by our grandfather has reached us because of this incident. Mirzo Ulugbek thought about the fate of his treasures until his death. We are still learning using the kirobs left by our grandfather Mirzo Ulugbek. It is necessary for us to be a generation worthy of them, feeling the need to preserve the books that have been preserved for so many years.

                 Bahramova Ifora Sunnatillayevna. She was born on August 2, 2008 in Kuyi Chirchik district of Tashkent region. Currently, she is a student of academic lyseum Tashkent state of University of Uzbek language and Literature. She is also a member of the “Parvoz” literary circle organized by Nargiza Asadova, a member of the Writers’ Union under the Lower Chirchik Hokimation. Her poems and stories have been published several times in district newspapers and magazine “Gulkhan”. She is  the winner of the Republican stage of the “Story of the Year” competition and several other competitions.

WATER

So this is what 
we need to survive.
I’d have said blood,
the red stuff that gushes out
whenever I cut myself.

But, if water it’s to be,
then at least I can turn on
a tap anywhere in the house
and it does flow.
It even flushes.
And it spins like crazy
in the washing machine.

I do drink the stuff 
from time to time.
Like a penance.
For the stuff is the ultimate
in tasteless.

But the flowers seem
to like it.
As do the birds.
And it keeps me clean.
So it’s definitely 
a player in my love life.

And I must confess
that I have this
romantic attachment to rain.
Inside is never cozier
than when it’s pouring 
on the outside.

My lover and I 
sit by the window,
watch it bucket down. 
We sip our wine
in full view of the weather.
A great Chablis gives water 
something to aspire to. 



CURFEW NIGHT				

Real Gothic night.	
Cops are circling like vampires.
Kids are in their virgin clothes,
t-shirts, jeans, grins on faces,
dirt under nails.
Transylvania Main Street.
Ignore the Hardware store,
the McDonalds, the movie house
showing adult romance.
Be afraid. Tremble.
Feel your clothes on your skin
and your skin on you.
You're on foot, in summer garb,
even though the knives of Autumn are out.
And the cops are Winter grim.
"Why aren't you at home?”
The river's gray and sour.
Lights betray the garbage of civilization.
A bar shakes like ice in a glass.
Here men gather for protection.
The grim adulteress approaches
each in turn like a song from the juke-box.
Cheap lyrics are Shakespeare to a drunk.
Cops don't bother them.
With the right uniform, the perfect fangs,
drunks could be cops themselves.
But the kids are without rooms,
without ceilings, alcohol, cheap talk
and last year's orgasms.
They're as vulnerable as burgomaster's daughters
in the twilight woods
crossing the shadow
of the crumbling castle on the hill.
They try for the rhythm of grownups
but end up darting here and there
like sting-less wasps.
Any lighter and the breeze has them.
Any smaller and they fall through
the sidewalk cracks.
Meanwhile, Dracula has had his donut.
Count Yorga has parked and dozed enough.


Time now to sate the hunger	
or push some weight around.
"Hey there. What are you up to!"
Kids stop in their tracks.
The cops’ “Go home”
is up-close and sharp.
Kids feel like 
they’ve just been bit.



JOSEPH

Joseph was as slow at realizing the truth
as he was getting up in the morning,
and, even when he did arise, 
his brain took its time registering 
the purpose of all that surrounded him
from the ceiling to the walls, 
to the floor, the stairs and the coffee pot.
And that’s why he didn’t realize, until midday, 
that his wife, Anita was not in the house.

And then, only at twilight, did Joseph
find the note she’d left on the sideboard.
He didn’t read it until it was time for bed,
when he was so drowsy, 
he had a hard time deciphering
the meaning of “I’ve left you.”
And her mention of another guy, Andrew,
who was twenty years younger,
had him shaking his head,
and saying, “I don’t know any Andrew.”
He fell asleep without even noticing 
there was nobody under the sheets with him.

Joseph dreamed that night of a tennis match
where his opponent was a much younger man
named Andrew with a strong serve and wicked backhand.
The only one in the stands was his wife.
Andrew totally destroyed Joseph in straight sets
and the victor flung his racket high in the air in celebration 
then ran off the court and into the arms of Anita.

When Joseph awoke next morning
and, after his mind and reality got in synch,
he looked in the mirror at a plumpish, 
long-faced, gray-haired reflection,
muttered to himself, “Joseph Andrew Sullivan, 
you’re sure not the man you used to be”.



IN TERMS OF AUDIENCE

Far out in the waves,
you screamed 
as an undercurrent 
took hold of your foot
and pulled you under.

Flapping arms 
and kicking feet
propelled your body
out of danger
and into calmer waters.

As you coasted on a wave
back to shore,
you began to imagine 
throngs of people
awaiting you there, 
welcoming you back to life.

But fat man on the beach
was all who noticed you,
and not while you were 
in danger,
only as you made your way
out of the waves,
and strode up the beach.

His belly was 
bright red and as round 
as a prize-winning melon.

You envisaged it
winning the blue ribbon
at a harvest festival.
You wanted to applaud
but you checked yourself.



JAKE AND THE CIGARETTE MACHINE

Jake needed a cigarette badly,
so he put his money 
in the nearest machine,
though it didn’t carry his brand.

But when he pushed the button,
nothing happened.
It took his cash all right
but no pack popped out below.

“Damn,” he cried out  
before waylaying some guy 
who worked at the place.
“I don’t got the key,”

the employee said.
“Write down your name and number 
and I’ll give it to Artie
when he comes by next Tuesday.”

Jake was in a rage, grabbed the guy 
by the collar, screamed, “I’m dying for
a fucking cigarette!”
“I’d give you one of mine,” said the other 

through his violently restrained
vocal chords. “But I don’t smoke.”
That’s when Jake clocked him
in the jaw, then grabbed the 

nearest thing to come to hand,
a fire extinguisher. flung it 
at the cigarette machine
with such force, the front 

caved in, cracked open, 
spilling cigarette boxes everywhere.
Jake breathed a sigh of relief.
Violence had been good to him,

calmed his nerves, satisfied cravings.
He left without taking
the freebies scattered across the floor.
He no longer needed a cigarette.


John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in New World Writing, North Dakota Quarterly and Lost Pilots. Latest books, ”Between Two Fires”, “Covert” and  “Memory Outside The Head” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in California Quarterly, Seventh Quarry, La Presa and Doubly Mad.

Maurizio Brancaleoni is a writer and translator. 

His poems / haiku / short stories / pastiches have appeared in several journals and collections. 

He manages “Leisure Spot“, a bilingual blog where he posts literary gems, reviews and translations.

“Uno o l’altro verso tante direzioni comunque”, the original Italian version of the poem published here, won second place in a literary contest on “the new places of contemporaneity” in 2015 and was published on the website of the poetry zine “Versante Ripido” (“Steep Versant”).

My heroes -parent (poem)

I'm alive with their bless, 
They always teach me goodness. 
They are extremely kind to me, 
I know, they are my kindness.

If the problem come to me, 
Dad and mum together me.
They fight against enemy, 
My parent hero for me!

If I am sometimes sick, 
They will cure my pain.
They think of us even, 
When they are sometimes sick. 

Life is always different, 
Sometimes I win or I lost. 
But in all situations, 
Support me - only parent!

Abdullayeva Feruza Hikmatullayevna was born on May 27, 2006 in Surkhandarya region,  Sariasia district. She study at secondary school number 12 . A number of her articles has been published in international collectings such as ” Kavya Kishor”, ” Synchronised chaos “, ” Classico opine” .

Business and its types

Zulayho Sultonaliyeva, daughter of Sultonaliyeva Zulayho Sherzod

Jizzakh branch of the National University of Uzbekistan named after
Student of group 131-23, majoring in economics (by industries and sectors)

Abstract: The official rules of business are the procedure for conducting business established by legal documents and state regulations. Informal rules are rules that have not been established by law, but have been preserved in the form of custom from time immemorial. The rule of words and honesty can be included in these sentences Key words: business, enterprise, businessman, property,
money, economy, agro, finance, commerce, Trade, organization, businessman.

Market economy is based on business. Business is an English word (bussines) that means work, activity, occupation. Business is defined in economics as follows.
“Business is an economic activity aimed at the risk of certain people or people united in an enterprise-organization, and is aimed at profiting from it or withdrawing money from money.”

Business is also called entrepreneurship and entrepreneurship. In a broad sense, business means earning money, making money. But this is not earning money in any way, but earning money by
engaging in work that benefits people, relieves their needs, and relieves their pain. Money can be made through extortion, racketeering or fraud, but this is not a business.

Business is commercial work, that is, work for money, not for free.
But business is different from working for hire. A businessman, that is, a businessman, has his own work, he is independent, has his own capital, he puts it to any work, he is not dependent on a boss. A
hired worker does not have his own work, he works for someone else, he is not the owner of capital, he is dependent on the employer.

Entrepreneurship arises when there is creativity in business. For example, land, money, the owner of a house or car becomes an entrepreneur when he uses it himself to provide services or
create products. The owner of the property is engaged in the rental business, but is not an entrepreneur. There are also rich people who get rich from the interest on their money or lend their money (often currency) to usury. These are also wealthy businessmen, but not entrepreneurs.

Business is, first of all, making money by engaging in legal, authorized work. Depending on your character, business will be open – legal and covert – illegal. A licensed business is legal, it is conducted openly. Open business is an activity that makes people’s lives prosperous. Clandestine business is business that is prohibited by law. An example of this is the drug business and the arms business, which harms the health of people, especially young people, and makes them feel bad.

Types of business differ depending on what kind of goods and services are created as a result of it and in which field it takes place.
Business types are divided into Agro (agricultural) business, Financial business, Medical business and Industrial business, Show business, Travel business, Trade business, Sports business.

The more types of paid – commercial activities there are, the more types of business there are, and the scale of business expands.
Not everyone is engaged in business, but those who have the ability to earn money. Spending money is possible for everyone, but finding money and increasing it requires a unique ability. This is called
entrepreneurial ability. Nowadays, only 5-8% of school graduates go into business. People engaged in business are different, for example, the first type: Individuals, that is, those who do business with
themselves and their families.

The second type: those who do business as part of a community or as a partner. Third types: State business – doing business on behalf of the state. A sole proprietorship is the most common and most inclusive type of business that relies on private ownership. Business in the community has also developed. State business is limited and kept in very important areas.

Business cannot be limited to production enterprises and farms, because wherever there is money to be made, there is business.
Paid universities (for example, Harvard University in the USA), colleges, schools, hospitals, theaters, concert halls, movie studios, sports clubs are also engaged in business. Sports clubs receive money by showing sports games and fights, sell the right to show them to television companies, receive a share of the money wagered on them, receive money for advertising, train and sell athletes (for
example, a rich football club buys a good player for 20, 50 and even 90 million dollars takes.

So, whoever has the opportunity to earn money, will be engaged in this business. But they are busy with business to different degrees.
Summary; Although there are many people engaged in business, not all of them become businessmen (or women).

A businessman is not a person who engages in business occasionally, for fun or to earn additional income, but a person who is permanently engaged in this business, who has turned it into his
profession and devoted his life to it.

References:
Olmasov, Ahmadjon.
Fundamentals of economic knowledge: (Textbook for academic lyceums and vocational colleges) – T.:
Publishing house named after Gafur Ghulam, 2008.-144 b
2. https://uzinterbiz.com
3.https://uz.atomiyme.com

Goran Tomic is a Collisionist Autodidact Artist from Sydney, Australia who has exhibited his collages, video installations and performance art over the past 25 years. Raised on Rauschenberg and born posthumously he Flaneur’s the urban decay searching for his Wilderness robe.

Trapped in the Blinding Contrails

a star has jetted down the sky,
drowning me in its blinding contrails,

my legs flail in their search for footholds, 
but they sky holds none.

weathered scrolls with evanescent words map my cavernous world,
ruling out the life my heart considers a cocoon.

i seem to be lost on this winding path,
despite the plethora of hands pushing me forward.

being myself isn’t an option when my life
is a totality of my predecessors’.

my struggles in the contrails are measured by perfectionist eyes.
let me out of the sky, find me somewhere beneath the earth.

i wish to be a lone ‘one’ and not just a product of one and one,
i wish not my life to be thrown into the mausoleum of my predecessors’.

and while I stay adrift in the skies tonight, i try not to drown my successor
in the blinding contrails i leave behind.



What Father Calls Language

I come from a corner of the world
where you have to clip the wings of your words with scissors
so they don’t fly from your throat
into your audience’s brain through the wrong hole.

Father says I don’t have to move my lips
before the words ooze into my listener’s brain
because language isn’t what I speak or write,
it is that which revolves in my head.
unsaid. unheard.


When it Climaxes…

my eyes widen, the cornea stretches,
the brown pupils growing rounder and larger,
multiplying the proximity between the eyelids.

my lungs call for air but air seems to stop moving
at the vestibules of my nose.

the airs on every part of me arise like soldiers
responding to the call of duty.

my right hand, despite being shackled by my wristwatch,
flails freely in the air, the popcorn in the captivity
of its fingers roll backwards, finding the way out,
while the left one grasping the popcorn cup remains immobile in the air.

my legs are caged in my canvas shoes,
rooted to a spot like the iroko.

a piece of popcorn awaiting its fate
-- to be crunched to death by the ruthless molars
and drowned in the sea of saliva that flows down my belly --
drops back into the cup, followed by
a drop of saliva that my tongue catches mid-air.

my eyes dart left & right, front & back,
searching through the myriad of faces that swarm around me,
for whoever might have seen me drool.
but none! everyone else suffers this fate.

my eyes fly back to the huge wall before me
where the pictures move, move & move again.

that’s a huge plot twist, i must confess.


When Love Beckons

follow with your head and not your heart,
cause the heart is a fool that makes too many mistakes
that put your poor head in trouble,
and let it resound through the chambers of your ventricle 
that love is but blind,
so keep your eyes open,
as you traverse the realm of love,
so you don’t crash into the disaster that shatters your heart.