The second blade incident, as initially recalled

It started, I guess, the day before. I heard, from my spot making porridge (I subsisted almost entirely off of porridge) in the kitchen, an apocalypse coming down the back alley of our house. Only when it came through the back gate did I register what I heard: he was bashing fences, tipping over bins and grunting a lot. Watching him tip over the bins and bash the fence and grunt enlightened me.

“All right,” he proclaimed, but I was sure it was anything but.

And let it be known that, really, he was the serial kitchen offender. He’d bin what is left unwashed rather than deal.

“I’m sick of coming home from work – to this.”

I looked at my two dirty dishes, a bowl and a mug.

“I’m about to use the mug again.”

Tom’s four unwashed dishes stared at me.

“And most of them aren’t mine.”

“I don’t care. They’re there, aren’t they?”

“Yes”

“Exactly.”

It was resolved I would, post porridge, wash mine and some of Tom’s dishes, and any further infringements would be met summarily with a bashing.

I had D stay over that night, not just for safety. He took what I’ll call the squatters room. In the morning, we went drinking in campo. I got hungry, promised to come back and went home to snack on some mi goreng.

He must have heard my stumbling. R was in the doorway when I opened the back gate. I went to walk past him, but arrived only at him walloping me in the face, accompanied by some queer epithet.

I felt the blood flowing out as I looked him in the smile, screamed how I was gonna kill him. I knocked over a tin of paint (I was always finding paint), the contents weirdly coagulated and looking like toxic waste. On my way out, looking like I might radioactively mutate, I knocked over the bins, for both safety and synchronicity.

Then the tape skipped again. I was blurry at the bus stop, then the cop shop. They told me I’ve been stabbed and took me to hospital.

After a bit of waiting around, I went for a smoko. When I came back, they told me four hours had passed. I asked, “Really?”

“Yep.”

I remember, before I sat down, telling some strangers police did this to me.

I needed seven stitches. I got none. I was too scared of the needle.

Police said they would arrest him soon. I was too scared to shower at home. Police said they would arrest him soon.

I pissed in bottles of wine and barricaded my door. He woke me at four in the morning getting up for work.

For days, I lived like this.

I must have called the cops. They were there, but the evidence was cleaned, and R said he didn’t do it, which made it that was that, apparently. They told me, and I have A as my witness, that they thus wouldn’t investigate. I stormed out. “This is why people say fuck the police.”

I became good friends with Tom, but. After all, it wasn’t his fault.

***
Under the heels of silence lie the silhouettes of people-leaves. Where do we go grinding buried bones with our huge feet?

Air dancing snowflakes. The stone is snow. The stone is water. We are all dancers.

Fire in the eyes of a butterfly. A bonfire on which prospects burn. The fire on which dinner is cooked.

One day a man left his house for a shop and never came back.

***
Nobody was born killed.
Only the birds grimaced like tangerine skins.

Nobody was born.
New Year's magic frozen in the snows of time.

***
Five birds sit on a branch of one tree
One tree holds five birds

How many trees can the earth support?
How much paper is burned daily?

How many people got burned today?
God's assistant pressed the wrong button again

***
The flying bird is extinguished
The moon is fading in the sky
The candle in my heart melted completely

Morning begins

***
Fear of grass on cold lips
Spring sweetness of first kisses

***
feast for mother
memorial for mom
funeral for mom

who are we burying?
where do we bury?

we bury our childhood under a bush 
at the request of the mother

dead mother in the cloud –
smiling

***
the rebellious spirit in my stomach gurgles and begs for alcohol
dog catching snowflakes with tongue
christmas all year round
easter around the clock

***
we exchange skulls with each other like silence
our hands itch as if after the crucifixion
our genitals itch like a virgin virgin
birds above their heads turn into ticks on paper
the world is squeezing deeper and deeper into a gas mask

***
iron mosquitoes exhaust the body
wooden organs rot
brain cloud exfoliate
a church candle in the chest vomits 
the fire from which the future will be born

*** 
butterflies 
in the stomach 
die silently 
looking at the fire

***
i want the bird to die
then the military pilot will not go astray
then the nuclear warhead will fly where it needs to

shit

***
sky composed in advance gnaws earlobes
Icarus freaks out like an impotent before sex
kisses of air in the weather forecast are not foreseen
and the earth from below is hard as if it is not round at all

TRIPLES

 X X X

I wrote an epic in the air –

Like the legend of the proud birds;

Whoever reads it will burn…

X X X

My slice was sweet… slice

after slice they ate, slanderous slanderers,

my mouth is full of blood…

X X X

A world that grieves as long as I do,

No amount of grief,

As far as I’m concerned…

X X X

Drinking the warm blood of my heart

A Longing lies within me groaning,

Outside the country – inside…

X X X

Like a nail in my heart

He constantly bleeds, washes,

The memory of a friend does not rust…

X X X

Holding five babies tightly

The river flowed against the current

I am a passenger – who wants the right…

X X X

Of the suffering life I looked at their faces,

I wanted to cry for some reason…

X X X

I bit down hard on the cry of longing,

He didn’t jump out.

The door returned to my heart…

X X X

Like the cry of stones I didn’t feel a harmonious song

To the taste of my heart…

X X X

Dust of life sprinkled on my face,

My hair has become an earthy color,

My forehead hung in my eyes…

X X X

A thousand tricks in his eyes,

With a smile on my face,

Dunya Spreads wrath on the earth…

X X X

The heart sounds like an old door,

Pushed by the winds of hope,

Like a deserted farm – there is no sound around…

X X X

A world with a stone heart and iron hands In

the grip of his cruel palms Gjijimlaran

The beauties of my youth…

X X X

It didn’t even rise above the ground

A nation born to its dream,

Leaning lower and lower…

X X X

The world is full of grace, the word,

however Even the word LOVE

He couldn’t warm our hearts…

Shamsiya KhudoynazarovaTurumovna (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.

How can young people change the world?

“Young people do not know what they want, but they are determined to get it,” those delightful words spoken by Federico Fellini. We know that young people never stop trying, they don’t stop even if they don’t have the desire, the means or the experience to realize their ideas, and that courage will lead to great achievements in the future. Young people have ideas, creativity and incredible energy to change the world for the better. Through their encouraging innovation and imagination, young people have enormous potential to solve
problems and create positive social change in the world.

Many young people strive for inclusion, which means, the process of actually integrating people with physical disabilities, including people with illnesses or mental disabilities, into the active life of society, which, in our opinion, directly creates happier societies, many young people are changing the world towards the best by working towards solidarity in areas such as the economy, the environment and education. This is happening on a large and small scale, with
some young people volunteering tutoring services for students in need, and young climate change activists calling for support for workers who will inevitably be hit by the economic changes associated with climate change. All of this is happening in the context of everyday teens and young adults becoming increasingly aware of how we suffer and how we care for ourselves, which leads to our concern for others and the world around us.

Also in our country there are a large number of young people who make a great contribution to changing our lives, we call them volunteers, they give all their strength to their peers, the elderly and everyone in every region and city of Uzbekistan. help people in need. In a way, it reinforces people’s love for each other. In my opinion, young people are already contributing to changing the world for the better.

Dear President Shavkat Miromonovich Mirziyoyev proposed to name the 2023 “The year of caring for people and quality education” This allows us, young people, to reach the peak of new knowledge, to discover new sides of ourselves. Not only this year, on the contrary, many opportunities have been created for us to gain knowledge. As the first President Islam Abduganievich Karimov said, the future of our country is in the hands of the youth. We can create convenience for ourselves by extensively studying the computer technology and IT field that has entered in recent years, that is, we can reduce the labor force by inventing a better form of robots developed in foreign countries.

Young people are not only the leaders of tomorrow, but right now they are making a great contribution to the world around them. We young people are living in a very advanced time, we are facing new innovations, we are using new technologies, teaching methods and many other high level innovations. Nowadays, young people are developing very fast, so I can say that we can make big changes in our lives.

Although youth are changing the world for the better, I think there are still destructive forces on earth today. We know how hard we sometimes work to take better care of ourselves and others. We will never be able to achieve the ideal state of the world, but each of us has the opportunity to have a good time every day of our lives and change the world for the better. All this is in our hands.

Toshmatova Madinaxon Kodirovna
Student of Namangan State pedagogical institute.

BOOK OF POETRY

Imagine the day of justice
The time is quiet and infinite
Nobody can be seen anywhere
The desert-fish flies in the sea of sand
A vast emptiness touching the doomsday
Nature trembles fearing the fog.

Look closely, a poet stands alone
In the north-eastern horizon
You may think he holds his fate in hand
But I swear that God knows
It is his dearest book of poetry.


FREEDOM

I read and write in my own language
I learn from the school of trees and plants
Even the ants and birds understand my meaning.

Just as King Solomon understood the essence of grasshopper
As Buddha knew the rewarding of man based on his karma
All animals seek freedom and the religion of venting their opinion.

I am walking after putting my two lips on words
I am swimming on the words all through my life.

--

Rezauddin Stalin is a very famous poet in Bengal.
He was born in 1962 in Nalbhanga village of Greater Jessore district and won many local and foreign awards including from the Bangla Academy. His poems have been translated into 42 languages. Along with poetry he has established himself as a successful media personality sharing his thoughts on various social issues. 

Modest Proposals

Open your heart and embrace reality 
Break your cocoon and hold the baked sun
Don't suck the last point of dream
Don't attack your fate as a doll in a lap
Read and read the philosophy of love
Make a history of your own.

Open your eyes and invent possibility 
Break the icy land and touch existence 
Don't forget that life is a question
Don't spend moment in vain
Enjoy the beauty of struggle
Pick up happiness in simplicity. 

Open your earth with love and hospitality 
Build your heart with humanity 
Open your mind with a mirror of satisfaction 
See the reflection of love and love
kiss the crown of happiness in everywhere 
Paint whatever you like with the colour of life.

Unavoidable Fate

You remain awake with antique thirst of Sindh
River as you are like ancient inscription of Indus Civilization.You stay up like Harappa or Mohenjo-daro with the ruin of drought and flood. 
Hold the evergreen Banga land by the affinity of Prowess  Burg Civilization. 
Sail the Sampan of Bay of Bangle on the Abysmal eyes  Like river.
The water of amazed Brahmaputra increases Thirst by the harvest of Sindh's semen  wants to Make an orchard with jubilant Catkin on her River basin. 
Elegiac flute of yellow leaves from the forest of Banga land for the destructive civilization by The rodent devours of nature as her falling in Drops is like as her unavoidable fate.


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.