Dream

Dream is a condition of mind
I really feel anxious when I miss to find
My family members expect that
I would be a doctor
But it is a major fact
If I become a teacher
It is the step of grandmaster
Everybody wants to know my dream
But I say, it is future stream.
Different people, different dreamer
Always moving with their fervor
Dream is not remaining on the bed,
It will be gained with farfetched
It needs to face the reality besides imaginative
Hence, it's going on the proceed.

Nurujjaman is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj,
Bangladesh.

After the Wake (originally published at The Gorko Gazette)
 
Yellow wallpaper  
peels 
behind faded pictures 
in dusty frames,  
falling to the floor  
in ashen drifts—ephemeral— 
of births and wakes, 
stabbing  
to the heart 
like first kisses 
or cold sips  
of Orange Crush 
but dulled 
from memory  
(and time) 
like giftless Christmases  
and old calico,  
drying on the line. 
What ghosts roam these halls, 
haunting bowls
of waxed fruit
and glass doorknobs,  
lingering ‘round chicken coops,  
dust bunnies, 
and jelly jar glasses 
like palls 
or the bitter of burnt almonds. 
As a pale pink echo 
of rose 
peeks through the air’s must,  
a voice whispers, “Remember this. Now,” 
leaving me to chuckle and smile. 
 
How silly it is to mourn life as we live it.  


Indigo (originally published at San Antonio Review)

The curtains pull ‘cross the landscape behind my eyes—the way they do on days like this—emerged from sleep, from splashes of water in the basin and black coffee past a sugared tongue. Silently, I praise drip-dried epiphanies that swirl and stir beneath drowsy lids, over smoking toasters and morning papers, rousing consciousness with gentle shocks like chewing aluminum foil and the last lick of a taser’s kiss. There’s a blue sky outside. A blue blue. The bluest blue. The kind of blue that bruises the sky before its skin splits, (re)submerging us with splashes (more) of an angry rain that dismantles but doesn’t drown, diminishes but doesn’t destroy. Indigo is its color—Indigo, the King of Blue.

It’s a violet field, trampled by God’s thumb and the hard souls of saints, raining down blessings of sweet water—like napalm set aflame by the perfumed blood of petals—upon waking earth and trees, parking lots and sidewalks, and skin, leaving scars and cold scorches and ghosts. It smells like cuts and mud and shit. It smells like indigo—Indigo, the King of Blue.

Longing is deep for the cold comforts of my walls and drawn curtains. The cool blazes of artificial suns in every room. The scent of dog and recycled breath coming from the AC. But I hear the call of the rain (I always do, it seems)—for all it takes and gives, for the cold it brings and the loans it calls in—and it draws me back, again, again, and again—a shade haunting the pane.

Today, I feel indigo—Indigo, King of the Blues.


Slam! (originally published at The Gorko Gazette)
 
Disturbing white calm, 
lightning strikes  
conjure storms 
in coffee cups  

and sleepy inkwells, 
baptizing words 
in snaps  
and rolling alliterations— 
obliterations— 
of sweet ether 
and strums 
of liars’ strings. 
Drops 
of fire 
on wanting eardrums
(and moistened seats)
sharpen sterling tongues
like whetstones
to a razor’s kiss
for a night’s slice
and dice.
How cuts flow, sweetly.



Sour Grapes (originally published at DED Poetry)
 
Crumb’ling truths 
and destinies, entwined, 
fray 
and crumble  
to dust 
at the speed of 
rushes o’ blood 
to cuckolded cheeks, 
boiling tears 
and setting fire to the rain, 
melting  
souring  
this love— 
a wounded fruit—like  
ice cream 
left 
in the sun 
too  
long. 


Last Rights of Fire Thieves (originally published at Fahmidan Journal)

Moments
before the viewing,
before your newfound family piled in
and my aunts and uncles, dear (long gone
since the judge’s decree), 
the black hole 
between 
us
collapsed 
upon itself
to the silent ring of destiny
and cruelty of crossed stars.
How small (so frail) you seemed,
since Fate’s last kiss upon our lips,
like lint on God’s shoulder
or a water-colored echo 
of giants.
And angry. So angry,
you were, to give up the ghost
with a scowl I’ve long since seen
no mortician’s palette 
could ever begin to stave.
Funny
how true nature 
rises 
past the crud—a soured cream—
when one 
decides, finally,
to get out of the way.
But,
here we are, again,
this time trading secrets,
eating crow
cold to the bone. 
I’ll keep yours
behind our brown eyes,
‘hind latches and catches,
lock and key.
I’ll hold them close 
like babes and beatitudes—
bullets and blood clots—
if you’ll keep mine.
Just look at us, 
a couple of fire thieves,
carbon copies 
left out in the cold,
forever looking,
looking for warmth, 
forever looking 
where there ever was none,
forever looking
finding none.

So, 
this is “Goodbye”—
maybe 
“See you later.”
Don’t try to find me
(There’s no point, 
now.)
and I promise 
I won’t call.

The Fall of Aryantha

Long time ago, there lived an emperor named Zylo who ruled Aryantha. Aryantha was the largest empire in Africa and was well known for its dominance and strong army, which had gone into several wars and conquered other smaller kingdoms and empires.
Zylo was selfish and filled with pride. He had a lot of wives, including the wives and daughters of other rulers he had snatched. He named himself 'The God of Africa' with the intention to overthrow and rule over the continent at large. However, Emperor Ludiar of Shakkiraa and Emperor Pailomen of Gajida were opposing forces who stood firmly against him. Aryantha was situated between two other great empires: Gajida from the West and Shakkiraa from the East. These were the only obstacles preventing him from carrying out his evil plans.

Emperor Ludiar was a young man who inherited the throne from his late father, who was killed by Zylo some years ago. For this reason, a strong enmity was created between Ludiar and Zylo. Ludiar vowed not to rest until his father's death was avenged. Therefore, he united with Pailomen and rulers of other empires whom Zylo had offended in one way or another.

Lecias, the first wife of Emperor Zylo, was not comfortable with his idea of keeping so many enemies. She advised him not to continue being a villain, but he failed to listen. "You see, your neighbors are now against you. They might all one day rise for your downfall," said Lecias. But Zylo laughed and said, "For centuries, Aryantha has remained the greatest. My father was the greatest emperor during his reign, as was his own father. And for this reason, I shall hold onto their legacy. Trust me when I say, my foes will rise a hundred times, but they all shall be subjugated."

"Your forebears led Aryantha through the right path; they created peace, not war," Lecias mentioned. But all her words fell on deaf ears.

With desperation to be called a god, Zylo decided to send his army into the spirit world to steal the sacred scripture, which contained sources of spiritual powers and secrets of the gods. Lecias tried her best to prevent Zylo from carrying out such a decision, but her efforts were futile as Zylo was too stubborn. He, therefore, sent half of his soldiers, including the strongest warriors, into the spirit world and happily waited for their return to become a supreme being.

This made Lecias very worried about the outcome. She knew that Africa would surely face a massive tribulation if Zylo succeeded. So she decided to stop him.

While Zylo was relaxed and patiently waiting for the return of his soldiers, Lecias went to Shakkiraa to see Ludiar. Ludiar and his kinsmen were having a meeting at the royal chamber when they were informed by the guards that Lecias had come to see him. "Let her in," he permitted, and she was brought in.

"What brings a doe into the den of a hungry lion?" Ludiar questioned, and one of the chiefs commented, "Perhaps she has come to be devoured," and they all burst into laughter.

"I have come to you with good news," Lecias began, and the chiefs started whispering among themselves. "This could be a ploy. She looks so deceptive, she is a real enemy and not worth trusting."
"You may proceed," Ludiar told her, and she exposed Zylo's plans to them. "I think this is the right time to strike," she concluded.

"Why should we even trust you?" Ludiar asked, and she spoke again, "Zylo is my husband, but he has taken the wrong path. I cannot sit back and watch him ruin the world."

With these and other convincing words, she was able to win the trust of the Shakkiraans. She pleaded with them not to harm the innocent during their attack, and Ludiar gave her his word, promising not to hurt children and their mothers. He also assured her that she would be protected.

Ludiar took the information to Pailomen, who was glad to hear it. A spy was then sent into Aryantha, and he confirmed that the message was true. Being convinced, Ludiar and Pailomen wrote letters across the neighboring regions for a conspiracy against Aryantha.
Reaching the spirit world, the gods warned Zylo's soldiers to return home in peace, but they were determined to accomplish their mission. So they started a battle they could not fight. The gods were extremely powerful; they rode on chariots of fire, and their forces were irresistible.

Zylo's soldiers faced woe at the hands of the angry gods. Their weapons were of no use, as they were given no chance to fight back, even though they made worthless efforts. The strongest warriors became cowards, running away for their dear lives but finding no escape route, and they were all destroyed.

One night, while Zylo was asleep, dreaming of becoming an unstoppable god, he was woken up by a loud trumpet blown from afar. In the old days, such trumpets signified the call for war. At this terrible moment, Lecias was nowhere to be found. Zylo looked from his castle and saw thousands of burning arrows flying into his palace. He was overwhelmed with fright, knowing that he was now powerless.

It was a very bad night for Zylo because Shakkiraa and Gajida united with other nations, forming a strong army that surrounded the whole of Aryantha, leaving no escape route.
Now, reality brought a nightmare to Zylo's face. With his naked eyes, he watched the arrival of his doom, yet he was unable to wake from his slumber. His army tried to fight back, but the power from the opposition was higher than theirs. Soon, parts of the palace were set ablaze and crowded by enemies. Zylo had no choice but to fight for himself since his soldiers could no longer keep him safe.

He swung his sword and took down the first group of soldiers that came his way. Then, another group attacked him, but he was still strong enough to defeat them until Ludiar and eight giant warriors surrounded him. Ludiar's eyes reflected ire and hatred as he stared at Zylo.

"Zylo of Aryantha, your teeth have bitten more than your tiny mouth can chew, and today you shall pay bitterly for all your sins," said Ludiar.

"Little boy, your father was wiser and greater than you, yet it took just a single drop of sweat to wipe him off. So what makes you think you can overcome me?" Zylo uttered proudly.
"The lion is strong indeed, but when angry hyenas fall out in good numbers, then the lion's pawns become powerless," said Ludiar, and the fight continued.

Zylo fought with all his strength and killed six of the warriors before Ludiar finally managed to knock him down. Yet he refused to quit even at the point of death. Despite all the cuts and stabs from Ludiar, Zylo kept struggling, hoping for the return of his exiled warriors, whom by then had all perished in the spirit world.

Lastly, a broad smile ran across Ludiar's face as soon as Zylo took in a deep breath and ceased to shake. "Father! It is finished. Your son has fulfilled his promise. Here lies the lifeless body of your murderer," he shouted out, referring to the spirit of his late father.

The defeat of Zylo was indeed a happy moment for all his enemies. All his remaining soldiers surrendered and were captured, but mercy was shown unto them, so they were not killed.

All the kingdoms and empires that had been taken over by Zylo were returned, together with every stolen property. The prisoners and slaves were set free, and the main lands of Aryantha were shared equally among the surrounding empires that took part in the battle.
However, for the sake of Lecias, the people of Aryantha were not enslaved, but they became minor indigenes of various empires, except for Lecias, who was well honored and made the prime minister of Shakkiraa.

The Wee Hours of the Morning 

The wee hours of the morning, 
Awake and softly singing 
Remembered love songs 
Roosting in the rafters 
Of my romantic soul. 
Coming from the drowsy land 
Of faraway misty realms 
Of reality, mixed with dreams. 
Sparing me not his smiling lips 
His ringing laughter; his salty tears. 
I quite float away on beams 
Of shining-eyed happiness 
Total recall of whispered love words 
The raspy breath of morning 
Caressing my ears with eager joy. 
Is it any wonder that I lie awake 
In the wee hours of the morning; 
Joy of memory rising to the rafters 
Where all my longing goes to roost 
On the early morning sunbeams 
Pouring through the wonder 
Of every dawn I spend with you. 



Dreams Remembered 

My dreams dog the heels of evening shadows 
Darting in between the threads of moonbeams 
Descending on the paths of twilight’s ending 
As the familiar stars of midnight whisper 
From the faraway nocturnes of my girlhood. 
Faint are the crescendos the Meadow Lark sings 
Through the feathery realms of dandelions 
Caught on the passing wind of Fairy wishes. 
Softly sing the memory of embers burning 
Where the long dead ashes of youth lie cold, 
Fading in the curling smoke of lost hope 
Pressed between the pages of love poems 
In worshipful beauty of a tender heart’s caring 
That love would come and never grow old. 
Alive, the belief that dreams came true 
In the shaft of Holy sunlight streaming 
Through the stained-glass windows of youth 
To touch the pious head of the girl I once knew. 
If dreams could take me back to that golden time 
On wings of light; it is there I would gladly fly. 



Annie Johnson is 84 years old. She is Shawnee Native American. She has published two, six hundred-page novels and six books of poetry. Annie has won several poetry awards from world poetry organizations including; World Union of Poets; she is a member of World Nations Writers Union; has received the World Institute for Peace award; the World Laureate of Literature from World Nations Writers Union and The William Shakespeare Poetry Award. She received a Certificate and Medal in recognition of the highest literature from International Literary Union for the year 2020, from Ayad Al Baldawi, President of the International Literary Union. She has three children, two grandchildren, and two sons-in-law. Annie played a flute in the Butler University Symphony. She still plays her flute.

Nature 

Everything in nature -- seen the feature. 
Birds fly in the sky, 
Mountains are so high.
Trees are green, 
Water so clean. 
Never betrays
It always gives us right way, 
Don't try to play with it.

Abdullah Al Mamun is a student of grade 7 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Uzbekistan is a country known to the world for its interesting places of Samarkand, Bukhara and Khiva! The national dish of Uzbekistan is certainly Pilaf. Pilaf is loved and eaten in almost all regions of Uzbekistan.

The method of its preparation is different depending on the region. But the sweetest Pilaf is definitely prepared in teahouses and wedding halls of Tashkent city. Come to Uzbekistan and eat Pilaf, you won’t regret it!

Queen of Epic

You are the greatest epic 
I have written with love and love. 
The words are unseen 
The language is dumb 
The words are dreamy
The verses are virgin. 
Nobody can read it,
 Listen it,
 Or understand it. 
But I read it,
 Listen it,
 And understand it. 
I and you are the characters
 I am the real hero
 You are a dream girl.
 I have conquered everything 
But time is the main villain. 
I shall beat time
 And Conquer dream
 One day dream will not be dream
 You will be mine
 The Epic has beginning but no end.
 Oh! the queen of epic,
 Come and touch love land. 
My love land is for you
 Without you no epic is epic
 Without epic you are not Queen.