Throwing Stones...
The janitor sweeps the long streets,
A pile of firecrackers one by one.
Long live aro broom - endure,
My heart is full of tears...
The janitor cleans the long streets,
Put aside - the scumbags.
I'm trying not to be sad,
So many stones thrown at my life?!
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.
A place where spring has turned into dreams
The white look of the morning in my window,
The sun of my heart rises from afar.
There is beauty in this world,
Spring is on such a fire.
The place where tulips bloom on the shores,
This world will be more beautiful.
Wake up early, look at the trees,
Spring is on such a fire,
Spring is quiet in the bosom of dreams,
There are moonlit nights.
When I open my eyes everything is bright
A place where spring has turned into dreams.
No need
I don't listen to gossip.
It's a shame now.
No unnecessary words,
For my happy living.
Dear friend and brother,
Kindness is the best friend.
share your love
Always you always always.
When I look in the mirror, I see my reflection,
He tells me only the truth.
I will not give in to the test of life,
I don't know. I will never rest again.
Zarnigor Ubaidullayeva Azizkulov, daughter of Ilhomjon, on January 29, 2005 Born in G’allaorol district, Jizzakh region. Currently a student of the 11th grade of school 54.
The girl was waiting for a taxi at the station – in a hurry and impatiently. At that moment, a small, slightly old car stopped. The girl ignored it and asked:
– Will you move to the bright future, the city of love?
– Yes, I will pass only through the path of knowledge, sister.
– No, thank you, this road is rough, I will a have trouble.
The car left. Another small old car came after him. Disgusted, the girl turned her face away and asked:
– Will you move to the bright future, the city of love?
– Yes, I will pass, my sister, I will take you through the vocational path.
– No, no, no! Thank you, there are many difficulties in the career path, because the road is bumpy.
He waited for a long time. At that moment, a car was seen in the distance. It was a large, beautifully decorated, tall, luxurious car. The car stopped in front of the girl. Girl:
– Will you move to the bright future, the city of love? – she said, shaking her hair beautifully. Then the young man laughed and said:
“Sit down, we’ll go right there on the way of peace and happiness.” The girl shyly looked at the ground, then got into the car.
They would go down the hilly road and have a sweet conversation. the girl was very happy: “Now I will walk on a straight path and easily find my happiness.” Suddenly, the straight road in front of them turned into a crooked, bumpy, potholed, uneven road, there were more and more large stones, and the car could not move. No matter how hard they tried, they could not advance any further. Then the guy took the girl out of the car and said:
– Now we can’t go this way easily. It is late. There is only one destination waiting for us – this is the destination of travel. Now let’s go for a walk. If we endure hardships, we will surely reach the destination of happiness. otherwise, there is no going back… and moving forward is difficult.. Let us go …
: Nurmamatova Oygul
Student of the 8th “B” grade of the creative school named after Ogahi
I was born Nurmamatova Aigul in Khanka district of Khorezm region. At first, I studied at general secondary school No. 38 in this district. my desire to write poems appeared in the 5th grade, at that time my poems were published in the newspaper “Khonka Yelyti” and in the magazine “Maktab Gunchali” and in 2022
My poetry collection “Armughan” was published. After completing the 6th grade, I was accepted to the creative school named after Ogahi in Khiva district with good marks. I started participating in the “Nasr” club there. at that time, my stories and drabbles were published in many magazines, including “Gulgunchalar” magazine and “Ezgulik” newspaper. 2023 My short story collection “Book of Life” was published. Thank God, I am taking both directions together! I am currently the winner of several competitions and a student of the 8th “B” grade of the creative school named after Ogahi. I create under the pseudonym Oygul Sanat
+
The man who tries
fights his own expectations
LOVE has this
The bird who flutters
first born of its nesting days
has wings in anticipation
Our Love sings
from parents warmth
Tune these expectations
LOVE has this
Fallen, born to fly
Own the comfort
A dawn has no limits
LOVE
A fallen catches life's birth
A time to sing
LOVE has this
♡
............
by John Edward Culp
Friday morning
February 16, 2024
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
the right to die
there's this woman
complaining about
pain and all these
broken bones
she thinks she
needs therapy
of some kind
the therapist is
telling her what
they could do
for her
part of me wishes
the therapist would
offer her the right
to die
------------------------------------------------------------
it was better to be realistic
i remember
when i was
younger
i dreamed
of marrying
a beautiful
black woman
and making
our dysfunction
a superpower
that was going
to destroy the
world
i'll never forgive
my parents for
telling me it
was better to
be realistic
no wonder my
imagination
carries a strong
sword of revenge
--------------------------------------------------------
that likes to play with knives
another night thinking about death
following the wrinkles on your face
and trying to remember which ones
are scars
your left big toe always hurts
in the rain
last time you ever went drinking
with a marine that likes to
play with knives
and all the memories of the pool
halls
all the free drinks
as no one could touch you
when you got going on any
of the tables
driving home like a dumbass
feeling great but always sleepy
nothing quite like waking up
right before that exit sign gets
too fucking close
some think you are lucky
others tend to think you are due
we're all going to die sometime
might as well have a few fucking
stories along the way
-----------------------------------------------------
trying to be civilized
a couple inches
of snow on the
ground
a few days ago
i was in the store
in shorts and a t-shirt
wait ten minutes and...
it's a town of rednecks
trying to be civilized
hard for them to imagine
anything but white people
around here
i always laugh when i see
the few asians or the couple
of blacks that do live here
hoping it becomes more
and more
having grown up in a very
diverse situation in this state
i understand how diversity
can expand your brain and
teach tolerance and
understanding
of course, why would these
white fucks ever want that
they have what they believe
is utopia
of course, you have to explain
to them why the schools need
money
and why the roads don't get
paved just because
------------------------------------------------------
drive a mercedes
wake up in the middle of a nightmare
and realize you have never felt better
death is as natural as a sunset
as a flower drying up in a desert
but your controlled existence in
the suburbs taught you were special
and special people never die with
jesus on their side
hang out with the lost souls long
enough and you'll come to
understand
that jesus died on the cross so
your pastor can drive a mercedes
it isn't so much about heaven and
hell as much as it is about getting
every last cent into the collection
plate
trust me
they will warn you
that you always need to be
on the path
greatness never followed someone
else's footprints
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Asylum Floor and Misfit Magazine. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
Stalingrad
During moments I yearned for forests grown for me alone,
Caressing them in a dream,
I could sense the throbbing of the heart
Hidden beneath my ribs to bless my journey.
Summoning me with a pulse that he recognizes in me.
I heard the noise of abandoned smoke from a moment of care
Join with me,
Forcefully traversing desires to the hidden-most one.
My spirit swung toward him,
Creating a tingling
On lips that devour breaths alive.
I felt ashamed,
But the eye,
In moments—I scarcely know what to call them—that took me on another route
Toward the television, saw warplanes . . . spray death on them.
At that moment,
The fire of machine guns raked all the bodies,
And another fire raked my body when I trained my eye on him
Hesitantly inclining his head
Toward a shoulder unaccustomed to the secret of the stars of war
Or to insomnia.
Oh . . . . I leaned on it!
1
And when he caressed a dumbfounded person
I felt his fingers like coiling embers inside me.
Bashfulness seized the excuse this caress gave . . . and vanished,
Eliminating distance till the two of us were one.
And the eye—he moaned: May love not forgive her the eye—repeated another evasion
Toward a drizzle of men flung about in the air by just the rustling of a pilot penetrating a
building
To fall on screens as the debris of breaking news.
But his breaths . . . shattering the still down of the cheek,
And turning their picture into mist as
Eddies of the screen’s corpses . . . varieties of death that they brought them.
The spirit that became a body,
The body that was sold for the sake of a touch,
The eye that was concealed in his image
And that approached the firebrand of conflagrations.
Everyone drawing close to everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone.
But the thunder of their machine guns splintered them:
Corpses piled on corpses,
I mean on me,
The eyes of those in it were extinguished.
2
They slept in a trench of silence.
My eyes’ lids parted in a wakefulness obsessed with them.
I rose … and embraced the chill
That the screens brought me in commemoration of Stalingrad.
………………………………
Translated by William Hutchins
She 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 the Pulitzer Prize Nomination 2018, PushCart Prize Nomination 2019.
Member of International Writers and Artists Association. Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020,
Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021) One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023 Winner of women the arts award 2023
Member of Who's Who in America 2023 SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
Life is more precious than we think. We need it every day. The events and events we see affect us in different ways. During our life , we face a lot of obstacles and depressions, we lose our loved ones. As a person grows up, his experience increases . He behind to see the worries of life. Now when I was just two steps into school , I started having dreams, and as the years went by, my dreams grew bigger and bigger instead of coming true. Then I thought, is it possible to make a personʼs dream come true with only good intentions? However, I dreamed, but I did not work accordingly, and I turned 14 in the blink of an eye. Then I realized that the more effort he makes , the more results he gets , and I started to work. I learned to set a goal , not a dream .
Of course, my teachers at school were the reason for this , and I became very interested in mathematics, and I worked on planning my future. I think that people around us should be unimportant to us , because they are only distractions. We should live only with motivation. We should not ignore things that inspire us . If we afraid to do it, then we should definitely try it. Of course, inattentiveness does not mean not listening to everyoneʼs opinion, but realizing who are our loved ones. The more knowledge we gain, the more we will achieve our goals . We must follow the path taught by our teachers and parents, only then will our destination be clear.
Mahammadiyeva Elnura, a student of school 68, Kashkadarya region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. She interesting table tennis
: Nurmamatova Oygul
