Eva suffered many misfortunes in her childhood. She endured even more discrimination and humiliation. She channeled that hatred into fuel, throwing herself into her studies.
Eva consistently ranked first in her class, earned scholarships through graduate school, and landed a job at a top-tier company. But that’s where she stumbled. She couldn’t keep up with the workplace relationships. After much turmoil, she quit the company.
Eva had become distrustful of people. She enrolled in nursing school and became a nurse. She ended up working on a cancer ward.
But physical labor didn’t suit Eva, and she couldn’t bear the bullying from her colleagues at work. She fought desperately against the urge to cling to someone. She was also exhausted by the constant stream of patients being wheeled in, only to die.
One day, Eva heard the words of a dying patient. Before passing, they invariably confessed their sins and expressed gratitude to many people. There were no exceptions. Knowing this, she found the courage to love.
Eva learned the strength of the power to love and the weakness of the power to hate. Eva realized that most people in the world did not know this. She came to know that humans are born only to die. Eva succeeded in living, loving others without hating them. And Eva is everywhere, living with a smile on her face at all times.
1998 Rekitei Shinei Award winner in Japan. 2021 Arab Golden Planet Award winner in 2022, Awarded the title of Doctor of Letters from the Arabic-speaking world in 2023 My poems are published in Orfew.al magazine in Albania. Also translated into Italian in 2024 My poem is published in the Daily Global Nation in Bangladesh. My poems published in Samantaral Bhabna, India. Interview with an Algerian newspaper is published. My poem is published in Greek Police Magazine. Received a certificate of honor from English poets. Published in a Korean magazine. Published in Koltaka jishu International Poetry Magazine, India. My poem is published in a Greek e-magazine. My poem is published in the Barcelona Literary Magazine. My poem is published in Poetry Planetariat, a Nepalese poetry magazine. My poetry collection is published in Bengali-speaking countries. Three of my poems were published in India’s Half-yearly magazine. Three of my poems were published in the Raft of Dreams Literary Magazine. My poem is published in Hyperpoem Anthology, founded by Alexander Kabishev from Russia.
Do you think clowns also have problems and pain of their own? Do they cry at night like we do? Just like a coin has two sides, I believe people think differently about this. Some say, “Of course, they do — after all, they are human too,” while others might say, “Why would they? They make us smile, so they probably don’t have any pain or problems.”
From my point of view, I believe that clowns may have even more pain than we do, yet they are braver than us. Why, you ask? The reason is simple. We only carry our own pain and problems (sometimes those of our close ones or relatives). But what about them? We all know that psychologists and doctors feel their patients’ pain and live with it as if it were their own.
Clowns also have patients — they are just called differently: “the audience.” Clowns heal even more people than doctors and psychologists; or rather, they prevent people from getting sick. Whether we want it or not, when we see them, a smile appears on our faces. And every smile is a step toward a healthier life.
Let me tell you a story.
One day, a patient came to see a doctor. The doctor asked him,
“Please tell me, what is bothering you? What are your complaints?”
The patient replied,
“Doctor, I feel unwell. I can’t enjoy life anymore. I suffer because I can’t forget my pain. I’ve lost my appetite — I can’t even swallow a piece of bread. Images of hungry, half-naked people don’t leave my mind. I can’t sleep until morning; I shiver with cold as if I’m living through their suffering. When I hear news about crimes, I feel as if I’m guilty too. Laughing? I’ve completely forgotten how to laugh. I don’t smile anymore, doctor. I can’t laugh. If you don’t help me, I’m afraid my condition will get worse.”
The doctor examined the patient carefully, placed a hand on his shoulder, led him to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and pointed toward the street. There was a circus poster with a clown’s picture on it.
“My dear,” the doctor said, “do you see that clown? Every evening he puts on a wonderful performance. I advise you to go and watch it. You’ll forget all your suffering, laugh freely, and leave your pain behind. Your heart will feel light, and there will be nothing left of your illness.”
The patient lowered his head, sighed deeply, and said quietly:
“Doctor… that clown is me.”
Mutaliyeva Umriniso Rahimjon’s daughter was born on 14.01.2011 and currently lives in the Tashkent region of Uzbekistan. Umriniso is a proud model of behavior, intelligence and knowledge at school. She is interested in mathematics, Russian, and English and is studying them. She has also participated in science Olympiads and won honorable places. Umriniso is also engaged in creativity. Her creative works have been published in prestigious American magazines and she has been volunteering for several organizations. In her free time, Umriniso also plays tennis, checkers, reads books, and draws. She has many goals and she is taking steps towards them.
My mind wrestled itself, pinned ‘tween Law and Gospel, Vision and Division. And pondered my place within the world — a time to remember? To dismember?
And then I heard, inside, Jehovah: “Wisdom is your recognition that midgets and giants are members of one family. And the pierced are the parents of the whole. This saith Allah the LORD.”
(A disputatious bluejay argues over the head of the wheelchaired woman.)
And then I heard from inside, Allah: “The dark and the light, the female and the male, the hallowed and the damned — and the wide and varied spectra between — all inhabit the same castle hovels, eat identical fruits and breads, fill their mutual lungs with the same necessary air. They live only to die alike. Thus saith Buddha the LORD.”
(A frolicsome collie is crushed beneath the wheels of the speeding Mercury.)
And the, from inside I heard Buddha: “Siblings are the sinister and the sincere. The thankless are inseparable from the sanctified. The unhurt and the maimed share one body after all, hidden by illusions of skin and gender, atlas and caste. Thus saith Krishna the LORD.”
(A gynandromorphic monarch flutters to the patient finger of the eager child.)
And then from within came Krishna: “The ancient one was an infant once, just as the babe shall one day age. Nights belong to insomniacs and narcolepts alike, and the sun is owned in equal measure by the famous and the nameless. Thus saith Ra the LORD.”
(A jet fighter scratches its vapor fingernails against the cloudless sky.)
And then I announced to myself:
Mankind is a patchwork of the alienated and the integrated.
Of the squandered and the saved.
Of the vicious and pacific.
Of the sane and the imbecile.
Of ensultaned and enslaved….
And Heaven the shared possession of our various souls, demarcated by social lines and by lines within our minds.
Mother earth
The earth whispers to the universe ''don't hurt me ''.
With trees, barks, waves and sunshine bearing witness.
It pleaded in soothing, calm voice.
Yet the universe take charge, it was offended by the comment.
It says '' I'm not hurting you I'm saving you''.
Oh that's an irony!
How could you be claiming to save her when you are busy taking what she loves an cherishes the most.
When her first child the soil loses purpose by you burning it,
' we are looking for treasure' a biased point you always try to make.
When the rock is suffering from your excavations, yes there's a fortune there.
When bloods shatters and run down the water banks, and your waste moves faster than the waves.
When you were busy cutting trees, it tears thicker than the gums you use to hold things together.
When it confident was hitted in the ass
It courage is melting like a magma
It looses it comfort at your mercy—holding your feets begging for survival
Her pride was like that of a dust
Your ego was boosted what a macho man you are.
You didn't just hurt her, you destroy her.
Just like a horny dog wanting to have a taste of the honeypot ey
She cried she pleaded till the tears dried like an abandoned pond.
Like that lake that now resembles valley, like a godforsaken shrine
And now when she takes charge, punishing you for your crime.
You started playing victim's card—what a manipulator you are.
You worried when rain doesn't drop, blaming it on her
When it was your flames and fire that stopped it.
You cry when the temperature rises to 44 with no trees to seek refuge to.
We chant an anthem of climate action every day but we ignored it
We raise actions on plant trees while the ones in our neighborhood are dying
When our land have become barren and no drop-not a single drop of water can make it alive nor fertile.
Then we are busy playing hunger games, with zero point or a merit to win.
When you start running after her family asking for forgiveness, they said '' No there's a fortune there, go eat it''
Then now you remember that '' you can't eat your cake and have it''.
Crying won't solve any problems you have, you created it so you have to pay for it.
It's high time we start been intentional with what we do and say.
We can't be hiding behind the screen saying we'd change the world when we can't change ourselves and the way we think.
We can't be climate change activist when waste flooded our homes.
Our rooms smells like garbage
Our drainage have to turned to refuse
Change starts from me, so let it rises from here
Let's stand up and take action in our hands,
Let's start building a greener environment
Let's dispose our waste properly
then may be may be the earth will heed to our calls
And the climate will be friendly to us all
Khadija Ismail is a student of Medical lab science, a Hausa novelist, writer, poet, essayist and content writer. Her works centres on society and romance, she uses words to address issues like GBV, Mental and public health. She is the writer of Nisfu Deeniy and Wani rabo. Her work will be published in Yanar gizo anthology.
You can connect with her on Facebook as Khadija Bint Ismail and Deejasmah Writer on Instagram and Tiktok.
