A goat in a cup of tequila
Like a mother of a soldier who is scared of military mail that can disturb her on a quiet night
My heart keeps shaking from the moment you were gone
I lost my secret satisfaction
With whom will I talk now about my neighbors’ missing cat?
Who will believe me but you?
When I say a hungry squirrel’s eyes, only look like a hungry squirrel's eyes?
Who cares about the travail of words that embodied the trembling of the fingers that stuck this goat into the bottom of this cup?
With whom she will share her pent-up screams
While she -without ears -stands in a cold glass void?
And before all of that,
Who can accept a drink of tequila in a cup with a goat standing inside it other than you?
Faleeha Hassan is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.
She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is a Pulitzer Prize Nominee for 2018, and a Pushcart Prize Nominee for 2019.
She's a member of the International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020, and the Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021). She served on the Women of Excellence selection committees for 2023, was a winner of a Women In The Arts award in 2023 and a Member of Who's Who in America 2023. She's on the Sahitto Award's judging panel for 2023 and a cultural ambassador between Iraq and the US.
For many people, work is more important than family. Of course, the owners of every profession it is, be it builders, teachers, engineers, servants, doctors, salesmen, entrepreneurs, in any situation. they spend time on work. Most people find different ways to look for a job; they carefully check the place where they are going to work, they study in training courses, some people in some tofi become incapacitated for work due to some random events.
People with such a factor love their work, their profession, they work with pleasure, even if they work all day, there is no fatigue at all they are the best in their field, and with this they feel happy, and they never work under compulsion.
In 2010, Marcy was named the best teacher in New York. This woman was recommended to become a dean of the university. But she only chose her profession, she says that she likes her profession, she just enjoys teaching. Marcy did not regret her decision and taught for many years. Another celebrity is also asking him to demote his position. the reason for this was that the management activity started to prevent him from showing his creative potential.
Charles Kettering, the exponent of showing his creative potential. Charles Kettering, the founder of the ignition contact system, was the vice-president of the company ‘‘General Motors’’
You should always be able to set a deadline when you start something, that is you write down the clock with the exact date time.
Learn to praise. Get along with your team at work. Learn how to motivate each employee for their work according to their personalities.
Keyword: General Motors, President
Introduction; You should always have friends around you who are highly knowledgeable and are always working on themselves, and you should have a teacher who is a master of your craft.
What you should do
-to be the best in your field
-to approach work with responsibility
-you should always communicate properly with other people
-you should do something useful without wasting your time
-you should have a good relationship with your partners
-you must be able to take risks in any aituation
– always make a good impression on the people around you, make an effort
-be loyal to your work in any situation, don’t give up your work
-creating an atmosphere of professionalism
-order, respect
And always evaluate yourself when you go to the street or to work, pay attention to your appearance. And be able to earn the trust of your friends at work, have sincere conversation with customers, respect the listener, do not interrupt him or her when he or she speaks, you can speak after the end of rakat speech
-be bold,determined,responsible and enthusiastic.
Take the initiative to make your work interesting.
Do not be afraid of difficulties. Be independent to yourself, problems don’t let it happen. Always listen carefully when meeting with partners. Because it helps you.
-be a good listener, the ear will protect you from falling into awkward situations. [Frank Tiger]
What should you focus on
-don’t be impatient, always listen to your interlocutor’s opinion.
-do not be indifferent to your interlocutor
Conclusion; In short, if you are always responsible for your work and love your work, you will always achieve results and you can sign contracts with many partners. Making the right decision will always benefit you and those around you.
Then everyone will approach their work with sincerity like you.
Recommendation: pay attention to how you spend your time, write down your daily plans and put them into practice, and you will achieve quick and easy results.
And read every job responsibly, don’t make mistakes when submitting the job application.
-assign employees based on their beliefs and abilities.
Books to read:
-how to climb the career ladder
[Dale Carnegie]
-a book of modern manners of a man who knows the eye of work
LIFE AND AFTERLIFE
Life after life, birth after birth
We are rolling here
carrying all the passion
All the miseries and small happiness
in our lonely breasts.
With so much pain and remorse
Forgetting everything about the real truth
With so much pain, so many miseries.
We wallow in mud and mire
Without thinking about our true nature
Our original mission.
We forget that we are a guest
For the time being
In this mortal field.
We have to leave this place one day.
Our mission here is to earn a divinity
Which is the only thing we will carry
to the other world.
Our mission is to achieve
divinity during this lifetime.
Our mission is not to amass material wealth
fame and ephemeral properties.
But the permanent bliss and happiness.
It will pass this mortal hemisphere and will be radiant
in the other world free from all
bondage of material field.
SOFT GAZE
I remember meeting with you was accidental.
It was a nice coincidence.
Now I could not think of a life without you.
God has sent an angel like you.
To set my life purposefully
Thus you have become an essential person to me
I know what I have gained.
Need not to elaborate
Sometimes life changes so quickly
through companionship
A sweetness of life has begun with you.
One thing is sure, there is a flow of verses.
And you have become the theme of my poem
For, you yourself is a beautiful poem.
With your nice eyes and cascading hair
And flower-like soft gaze
RHYTHM
Everywhere Nature is smiling with a rhythmical spell.
Everywhere is heard its supreme music.
As Nature opens its face in the eyes of the dawn, the leaves and creepers dazzle in aureate sunshine.
The dew drops glitter like pearls in the grass.
The birds flutter in the sky in groups with chorus leaving their rhythmic verse in the breast of time.
The buzzing of bees and insects creates a magical rhythm.
The flowers in spring dance in the sweet breeze in a rhythmic way.
The whisper of the vernal wind is mesmerizing and enthralling.
The rustle of branches and leaves is soft and vibrating.
The flower opens silently with a rhythmic note creating a soft vibration in the air.
The sea with its dancing waves creates a beautiful symphony all the time.
It vibrates the shore enlivening, and invigorating the pristine earth with new energy and life.
The magical autumnal moon looks enchanting. In the rainy season, there is a beautiful movement of the clouds.
The raindrops create a rhythmic sound on the leaves and creepers.
All the heavenly bodies like the sun, stars, and planets all exist and move in a rhythmic vibration of forces.
The eternal subtle relationship between different creations is called rhythm and they cling to each other.
BOUNDLESS LOVE
I have visualised the glory of boundless love in you.
Your eyes gleam of pure love.
That never wants anything in return.
I appreciate your belief in love.
If love is lust, the essence of love is lost.
In love, we just maintain a makeshift way.
It ends with a casual life.
In most cases, love is not transported to a superior level
Love dies much before it blooms.
It dies with the disappearance of the body.
It destroys in body's level.
Love ceases its divinity.
Bio
Maheshwar Das is a bilingual poet, translator, editor, and story writer. He writes in English and Odia language.
He has been pursuing his creative writing for the last twenty years and has authored more than one thousand English poems. All of his poetical exposition centres around Nature, God, love, and relationships. Some of his poems have been translated into international languages. He has co-authored three English anthologies of poems with his two friends. Besides he is the co-author of more than fifty English anthologies of poems of many literary groups.
He holds the degree of M.A. in both Economics and History. He has accomplished a Ph.D. degree in sociology from Utkal University. He also holds a law degree from M.S. Law College, Cuttack. He hails from Mallipur in the district of Cuttack, Odisha, India.
His English poems have been published in several national and international journals and Anthologies and have gained worldwide appreciation. He has received so many accolades from various national and international literary groups. He is a recipient of the Gold Medal award from the World Union of Poets, Rome.
I wriggle in my bed while being painfully aware that I won’t be getting even an hour of sleep. 3:56 AM. The darkness outside is mingled with the silence inside and the punitive stillness amplifies the intensity of my dejected feelings. It’s my third consecutive day without a single milligram of Buprenorphine running through my bloodstream. During the last few years, Bupe helped make my life more liveable, though certainly not worth living, acting as a pharmaceutical substitute for heroin, succeeding methadone in many countries around the Western world. After almost 4 years of use, the“miracle drug” that would allegedly bring revolution in the field of heroin addiction treatment became my trusted companion. However, my new “friend” proved to be a highly demanding one as the urgency to score Suboxone (brand name of Buprenorphine in Greece) is as rigorous as that to score smack. What mostly helped me when it came to Suboxone was the fact that each 8mg tablet contained an additional small amount of naloxone that rendered heroin use a lost cause. Simply put, even if you used skag, you would feel little or no effect at all. – It wasn’t my choice to cease my daily suboxone habit. Free will had absolutely nothing to do with it. It was forced on me by my own father. The betrayal stung more than anything and his voice still dilates and contracts inside my head in an endless refrain; It’s for your own good sonny. This time we will do it right. Let me help you. Please don’t hate me. I’m not the enemy.” His short spiel was outrageous per se, however, the conclusive prodding not to hate him further expanded the boundaries of ludicrousness. He invaded my privacy and stole my stash, consisting of 4 8mg Suboxone tabs, a respectably sized bud of premium pot, and some stray benzodiazepines, and then locked me in my room. I became a prisoner in my own house. – What made me even more livid was the fact that my dad’s callous act was both unprecedented and so out of character for him. Usually, it was my mother who advocated in favor of such kind of radical “solutions” that would supposedly make my problems fly away more easily as she fervently proclaimed so many times in the past. But him? It was inconceivable. Even though, in general terms, he was always kind of distant and avoided in-depth discussions and confessions with his two sons, he was a man who had limits in his behavior. By that, I mean that he knew to respect other people’s space and freedom, always opting for discreet and tactful interventions even when things went seriously pear-shaped. Interfering was not a trait that characterized him, that was what one of the things that I’ve learned about him since I was a little kid. Of course, none of the above thoughts made my predicament feel even a tad less excruciating. Contrary to the common belief, Buprenorphine withdrawal is several times harder than that of heroin. It’s a long road as the reverberations instigated by abstaining last for more than a full month. Plus, the intensity of the effects made the torment that laid ahead of me seem something analogous to Jesus’s sufferings. At least He had a plan while my suffering seemed to defy reason, mainly because it wasn’t my conscious decision. The thought burned my innards with fever-like fire.
– I occupy a minimal space behind a double-locked door and my only luxury is the tiny WC in the adjacent room that will undoubtedly prove to be a life savior when diarrheas kicked in, a few days later. Oh, and I also have access to the balcony that stands several feet above the ground, its height leaving no room for thoughts of escape. I shut my eyes tight as if that would help me get a bit of rest but to no avail. Another white night. ——————————————————————————————————————————– Day 6. I’ve become a good friend with the toilet bowl. Either shitting foul-smelling water or throwing up vile excrement, sometimes the one after the other. It’s even harder than I expected, and that’s strange given that I was braced for a hellish ride. Neither of my parents made their presence known after day 1. Nobody talks to me. Nothing breaks the complete radio silence. My chance of survival seems to be hanging from my ability to find things, and I mean anything, to focus on, to forget myself even for a while. Much more than the physical sickness, opiate withdrawal is a cruel mind game in which the opponent is omnipotent and relentless, never allowing moments of respite for the afflicted. I try to watch TV series, crime fiction mainly, on Netflix and similar streaming platforms but nothing can hold my attention for more than 7-8 minutes. Then, the all-too-familiar veil of darkness falls and covers my mind and soul, leaving me feeling cold and alone. ———————————————————————————————————————
Day 10. More or less, the same in terms of symptoms. On the noteworthy side, my traitor of a father deigned to address me yesterday. It was noon and I was lying in bed, not because I was tired but mostly because I couldn’t do anything else. He first called my name two times and when I didn’t reply, he softly knocked on the door as if not to intrude. What a barefaced hypocrite. He first takes away my freedom and dignity and then pretends to be civilized. Anyway, I moved closer to the door to minimize the distance between us. I wanted to shout and be heard: “Get away you spineless son of a bitch. You were always a coward, but it seems that aging took away what was left of your wee balls. You pray that I die in here before we meet in person. You better watch your step from now on” As I ended my short tirade, I thought I heard him sobbing behind the door. For an instant, everything faded into the background, and I was transported back in time: strolling with Dad in a flashy European capital city, eating in fancy restaurants, and loving each other unconditionally. But the moment didn’t last long. It never does. I kept on: “DON’T PLAY THE VICTIM, YOU HEAR ME? I’M THE VICTIM HERE.” He didn’t utter a single word and I heard his loud steps retreating towards the kitchen. ——————————————————————————————————————-
Day 13. The downward spiral is in full swing. Things are getting worse day by day instead of the opposite. There are moments that I feel like losing my mind for real. My thoughts are meandering around like kites floating in the murky sky and my mind moves in endless circles. A primordial angst has nested in my heart, a voracious beast claiming more and more room to occupy. For a moment, I thought that I heard someone hovering outside my room’s shut door, but I can’t tell for sure. It could be my mother. She has been keeping silent for nearly two weeks, a new record for her. She was always the most
talkative compared to my dad, always proclaiming her fragility and neediness, a textbook case of what is known in academic circles as martyr complex. Growing up in such an environment, it’s no wonder I quickly started searching for happiness in all the wrong alleys. Ideally, I would like my father to be able to express his inner sentiments, something closer to my mother’s temperament, and vice versa. I would prefer her to be less dramatic and more sensible. My laptop is on 24/7, mostly playing movie soundtracks and chill/dub music mixes as I can’t for the life of me concentrate hard enough to watch something even remotely coherent. Sweat is gushing from every pore of my body and the acrid stench makes the stuffy atmosphere in my room even more appalling. ———————————————————————————————————————
Day 21. Some of the physical symptoms begin to ease off but the confusion lives on. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder back in 2013 after experiencing alternating stretches of depression and hypomania. So, apart from my long-standing career in various chemical substances, I’ve also been on triple medication for my condition for more than a decade. I resolved to make a little experiment: I upped my dose of Zyprexa, an anti-psychotic drug with sedating effects, hoping that it would help me relax a bit and make time pass a bit faster. No luck. The tension within my head is almost palpable; something ravenous inside craves to get out. The thought crosses my mind for the first time even for just a nanosecond, but it does. What if I jumped off the balcony? Was it so sure that I would break a leg or something worse even? But it’s not necessary to be so serious. Even a sprained ankle would mean that I wouldn’t be able to take a single step. I get out there to re-check the distance separating me from the pavement. Too high. I quickly forget it and struggle to move on with my new daily “routine”. ——————————————————————————————————————-
Day 23. My father comes at my door early in the morning during one of the rare times that I managed to doze off for a few minutes. I wake up in irritation and go straight to the door, ready to launch another jeremiad against him. He takes his time before uttering: “Dim, how are you? I hope that you’re finally starting to feel better. Did the diarrhea stop? What about your spirit?” My spirit… What a load of crap. How did he imagine I was feeling? In top shape and vigorous? The sickness is eating me from the inside, I wanted to yell. Almost despite myself, I adopt a more neutral tone, however brimming with sarcasm: “Great dad, great. I’m thinking of taking up writing again, now that I feel so spiritually virile. Don’t listen to those who say that suboxone withdrawal is a bitch. They are a bunch of morons. Ok now? Are we good?” He sighs loudly and I sense that he is searching for the right words to say: “Listen, sonny, you may think that what I did is atrocious and perhaps you are right, but I can think of no other way to save you. Understand? Save you. You are my son and I’m willing to do anything, and I mean anything, to see you standing on your own feet. You can’t hold that against me.” I suddenly feel so tired. I don’t answer him and head back to my bed. ———————————————————————————————————————
Day 26. I wake up in the middle of the night and I go out to the balcony as if I’m in a trance. I look down once again. I don’t know why or how but this time the altitude feels less intimidating. Perhaps it is possible to make the bold move. Am I going insane? The question churns in my mind but does little to eradicate the compulsive thought. I go back into the room and sit in front of my ailing laptop’s screen. I strive to figure out the right keywords to put into the search engine in order to learn something valuable, something helpful that would provide me with the mandatory courage to act on my idea. Alas, zero. I lay down in my bed and close my eyes. ——————————————————————————————————————— Day 29. Today is the day. I only managed to get one and a half hours of poor sleep and when I saw my dilated eye holes in the mirror after another bout of vomit, I was shocked. There is no hope, period. I flirt with the open balcony door for a long while and then I start taking baby steps to the rail. When I finally reach it, I look down for the last time. It is now or never. Luckily, I had some money hidden for a time of need and if I could jump and walk away-relatively- unscathed, I would be able to go downtown to score some Suboxone. As I’m striving to calm my nerves, I hear my father’s voice coming from somewhere afar: “Dim, please have patience. Only a few days are left. Soon all that nightmare will look foreign to you.” I hear his words but don’t register them. I’m ready. I take a last deep breath. I’m ready. ——————————————————————————————————————– – THE END
Dimitris Passas is a freelance writer from Athens, Greece, and the editor of the online magazine Tap the Line (www.tapthelinemag.com), in which he reviews books, movies, and TV series while also featuring articles, news, and Q+As with authors and artists. His academic background includes bachelor studies in sociology and a master’s degree in philosophy. His work can also be found in ITW’s legendary magazine The Big Thrill and various online platforms such as DMovies, PopMatters, Off-Chance, Loud and Clear Reviews and others. His latest book reviews have been accepted for publication in esteemed literary and film journals like World Literature Today, American Book Review, Alphaville, Bright Lights Film Journal and Compulsive Reader. Dimitris’s short and flash fiction, as well as his CNF pieces, can be found in various literary magazines such as Litro Online, Maudlin House, 34th Parallel, Memoir Land (“First Person Singular” series), Litbreak, and several others.
Epic of Love
The depth of your eyes is endless
There is a vast sea
I lost there in my every breath
I touched the waves of the sea
I want to be a boat of your sea
I want to be a sailor of the ancient sea.
My heart is a hut
It is poor and tiny
The space of your heart is great
It is greater than hundred worlds
It is full of dream and liquid love
I want to be a dreamer
I want to be a true lover
I want to swim in your love sea.
The flagrance of your breath is sweet
It is sweeter than all the flowers of the world
It is unconditional and true
I wan to touch your breath
I want to take a bath with your breath.
The rhyme of your voice is pleasant
It is more pleasant than the verses of my poetry
It dances the air surrounding you
I want to be a listener of your voice
If you are mine forever.
I want to stop writing poems
As, you are the epic of my love.
You have a soul that connects me
When l saw you first but that was not first inside me
I conquered you before your heart bit.
Loyalty
- Hello
- Hello, how are you?
- I am fine thank you very much. I thought I would call you in the evening. I congratulate you on your birthday. Happy eighteen years.
- Oh, thank you. When will you come back? Matchmakers are coming to our house.
- You know I’m on a business trip now. I will leave as soon as I finish my work. Can you promise to wait for me?
- Understood. It’s been twenty years since she said, «Ok, I promise to wait for you.»
The woman’s eyes were still staring at the misty distance of the long endless road.
The young man had a car accident while returning from a trip and left this world already.
Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntosporlasletras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korablznaniy» and «TalentyRossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global
coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «KayvaKishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina's «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.
I'm sorry mom...
I made mistakes before I could go far,
I put lies on the end of the truth.
I know I hurt you
I'm sorry, my dear mother.
I said sweetly to another,
When it comes to you, I'm back.
I'm here to apologize,
I'm sorry, my dear mother.
I'm trying to please everyone,
Your heart is fine, look, I'm fine.
I'll come back to you,
I'm sorry mom, I'm sorry.
Daughter of Ilhomova Mohichehra Azimjon, 7th grade student of Zarafshan city, Navoi region, school No. 9.
