FOUR SEASONS WITH DEAD LEAVES…
Passed four seasons with the dead leaves,
Which season we have expected other than this,
Why haven’t we bloomed in any season?
Why have all of them hated us,
What bad evil have we done to them while,
We were busy with ourselves and the world?…
Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey and five years in Ukraine. Currently lives in Switzerland. Married, mother of five children. It was not possible to publish poems and translations written by the poet in the next ten years.
Filthy Game of Sun and Water
Filthy game between Sun and Water,
Has sharply started severely;
The conspiracy of witch Air
Who is the protagonist by blowing madly.
Innocent Earth shivering with fear.
Water trying to sink the Sun into his strong current with his wet hand
Trying to extinguish sunshine.
For Water raging earth's heart turns into flood land; blacken the whole world with thick darkness.
Rising up high, Sun attacks mercilessly -
Like a thirsty bitch quaffed water as wine.
By sipping with greedy lips;
Soaked the heart of Ocean-
Aridity grasped the whole Earth's throat.
Cracking sound of breaking World is heard.
Ah! lovely mother Earth misusing as a center of a battle ground
Filthy game of Sun and Water.
Aklima Ankhi, poet, storyteller and translator from Cox'sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh. She has a published poetry named "Guptokothar Shobdochabi" written in Bangla. She is a post graduate in English Literature. As a profession she is a Lecturer in English.
My School
The name of our school is Harimohan Government High School.
This is one of the biggest and oldest schools of Bangladesh.
A place of pride for the students.
The school has a great reputation.
Reputable for us.
We have gotten the school,
By a great person’s contribution.
His name is Harimohan.
He was a big landlord,
His full name is Harimohan Mallik.
The school has many great achievements.
It has been considered the best school of Rajshahi Division in Nineteen-Eighty-Seven.
Our school has many co- curricular activities.
Scout, Red-Crescent are worth meaning.
The students of our school are very smart than the other schools.
The teachers of our school are very skilled than the other schools.
The technologies of our school are very advanced than the other schools.
So, I feel very proud to be a student of this school.
Don Bormon is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Across The Rift
We constantly try to go across the rift
If only we get accepted by the hand
Our land is green but still we leave
Moving over to find greener pasture
If there were no airplanes
Some would go across on bare feet
To a place the mind paints as good
Risking the quotidian lives in a desert.
Sabrid Jahan Mahin is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Energy
Energy, the name of my friend
An excellent room to live in the soul
How exciting! I live and die
The taste of the fruit I enjoy every morning
Or like the rose I frequently run and lost in fragrance
By kissing and hugging connected in the magic bond
Always infatuated by
No more suiting than this mystic drug.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
27 July, 2023Sheikh Russel in Memory
It was 15 August night, 1975
Darkness and panic seized around
Here and there blood was rolling on
Stained on the wall and floor
In the 32 Number House at Dhanmodi
10-year-old Russel cried out in fear
"Take me to my mother"
Russel sobbed on
"We are taking you to your mother"
The assassins fired him bullets soon
The little boy, the innocent cry
The lovely flower face fell down to death
It was raining then
Today the rain pours in every Bangalees' heart
The sound of bullet still rebounds ----------
The people of Bangladesh stand up with a vow
"Amar Sonar Bangla, Ami Tomai Valobasi"
I love you through all.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
12 August, 2023
The Farmers of Bangladesh
In Bangladesh's fields, farmers toil,
Planting seeds, working the soil.
Day by day, under the sun's ray,
Growing food along the way.
With weathered hands and hearts so true,
They make the land come alive and new.
Harvesting dreams from dawn to dusk,
In their hard work, they put their trust.
Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Welcome home teacher!
Welcome home teacher!
You showed me the way
Always hold my hand,
The science you taught
Welcome home teacher!
You are always new
We will keep your honor up,
Thin pencil eyebrow,
Welcome home teacher!
Asking how you are
Seeing your student
I will wait and laugh
Welcome home teacher!
I was surprised that you came
Your face is like a crescent,
You have so many words,
Welcome home teacher!
We get one and four
We are still young
Mother of us all,
Welcome home teacher!
Tanvir Islam is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
