Like the moon that shines through a dark night, Like a river full, its current bright, Like a springtime dressed in blooming grace — So would your mother walk this place.
She labors day and night, no rest, Wishing not for herself, but for her child the best. Hiding her greying hair with care, Still walking proud, with love to spare.
If only you knew, the heart she hides, The tears she swallows, the dreams she bides… She walks not for herself, but for you — Your mother, selfless, pure, and true.
Sevinch Kuvvatova was born on October 19, 2009, in the Qorako‘l district of Bukhara region. She is currently a 10th-grade student at School No. 13 in her district.
Do you know how many people around the world today prefer writing over speaking to express their thoughts? While oral speech and oral literature once prevailed, people later began using pictograms—symbols and drawings—as the earliest forms of writing. The benefits of writing for every human being are invaluable, and this has been proven throughout centuries. Writing is something we constantly do. Writing manifests itself around us in countless ways. A journalist’s speech on television is, in fact, a text first written and then transformed into oral discourse. The songs we listen to begin as written poetry before being composed into music. Posters, slogans, and advertisements on the streets are also forms of writing. Libraries across the world are filled with the emotions, experiences, memories, and wisdom that famous writers once poured onto paper.
The list could go on, but what has already been mentioned shows how vast the scope of writing is. What does writing give to a person? According to Harvard Medical School, keeping a journal reduces stress by 27%. One of its key benefits is that those who write regularly also develop clearer and more fluent speech. Writing is essentially thinking through letters on paper. Furthermore, research at Cambred with the emotions, experiences, memories, and wisdom that famous writers once poured onto paper.The list could go on, but what has already been mentioned shows how vast the scope of writing is. Whe, Chekhov, Lermontov, Jack London, Nodar Dumbadze, Gianni Rodari, Remarque, Agatha Christie, Abdulla Qodiriy, O‘tkir Hoshimov, and many others! Their unique works not only enriched their own minds and souls but also profoundly influenced humanity, shaping the knowledge, spirit, and worldview of future generations.
The first writing in human history—cuneiform—was inscribed on clay tablets with reed pens in Mesopotamia, mainly used for trade, accounting, and record-keeping. Imagine what a groundbreaking invention this must have been for early societies. Writing quickly became a part of everyday life.Through writing, events that occurred centuries ago, the lives of our ancestors, and great chronicles of history were preserved and passed down to us. For example, the epic Alpomish, the Epic of Gilgamesh, the inscriptions in Egyptian pyramids, and Zahiriddin Muhammad Babur’s Baburnama still provide us with rich knowledge of ancient life, customs, laws, and culture.Even today, people continue to write—so that future generations may learn, understand, and benefit.
In today’s world of advanced technology and social media, the posts people write online deserve special attention. A single error or poorly communicated idea can spark conflicts between nations. Conversely, well-expressed thoughts and clear proposals can unite countries, strengthen peace and friendship, and foster new partnerships.Writing is such a powerful force that it can move not only an individual’s soul but also entire nations—it can inspire, awaken, or, on the contrary, suppress.
The world-renowned Kyrgyz writer Chingiz Aitmatov, through works such as The White Ship, The Day Lasts More Than a Hundred Years (The Buranny Station), Farewell, Gulsary!, Jamila, and The Cassandra Brand, masterfully expressed human-nature relationships, compassion, humanity, and the power of dreams and hope.
Writing is happiness! It brings peace to the soul, clarity to the mind, and sharpness to thoughts. A person who can write freely and powerfully is an invaluable individual—because they can record truth, history, dreams, justice, and love. Writing demands great effort but also gives writers the ability to influence not only their readers but also the entire world.Writing is such a powerful weapon that it can assert its influence in any field. Whether in history, literature, and art, or in politics, international friendship, and peace—through writing, humanity always finds its voice.There are feelings and thoughts that are difficult to speak aloud, yet a person can capture and immortalize them through writing.
No matter how much the times change, even if perfect keyboards replace pen and paper, they will never replace the act of writing itself, nor diminish the power of heartfelt words expressed by the movement of a pen. Thus, writing remains the bond that connects humanity’s past, present, and future, uniting the inner and outer worlds of human existence.
Shahnoza Ochildiyeva
2nd grade student at Uzbekistan Journalism and Mass Communications University
Globalization and National Identity: The Choice of the New Generation
In the modern world, the word globalization is no longer an abstract concept. It is the reality in which we live, study, and dream about our future. Borders between nations are gradually becoming symbolic, communication technologies connect people from different continents in a matter of seconds, and cultures are interacting faster than ever before. For today’s youth, globalization offers a wide field of opportunities: access to education abroad, cooperation in science and business, cultural exchange, and broader horizons for personal development.
Yet, behind these opportunities lies a serious question: what will happen to our national identity? When global trends dominate social life, there is a danger that unique traditions, languages, and customs may lose their value in the eyes of the younger generation. A young person may easily adopt international fashion, foreign languages, and global lifestyles, while sometimes forgetting the songs, proverbs, or traditions that shaped their own nation’s spirit for centuries. This creates a paradox of the 21st century: while the world is becoming closer, it risks becoming more uniform and less diverse.
However, globalization does not have to be the enemy of national identity. Instead, it can be an opportunity to present one’s culture on the international stage. Youth who learn to speak foreign languages, master modern technologies, and travel the world can also become ambassadors of their traditions. They can introduce their national literature, music, and art to foreign audiences. In this way, globalization becomes not the loss, but the expansion of national identity.
The new generation has the ability to integrate into the global society while keeping the roots of their homeland strong and alive. The choice, therefore, lies in the hands of young people. Do they want to become passive consumers of foreign culture, or active protectors and promoters of their own? Will they let globalization wash away their uniqueness, or will they use it as a bridge to tell the world who they are? This is not just a personal choice; it is a historical responsibility.
In conclusion, globalization is not a force to resist, but a process to manage wisely. The new generation must build a balance: to accept global values like cooperation, innovation, and tolerance, while at the same time preserving the priceless wealth of national identity. Only then can they ensure that the future world is not a monotonous place, but a colorful mosaic of cultures, where every nation’s voice is heard and respected.
Dildora Khujyazova (born in 2005) is from Khorezm region, Uzbekistan. She is currently studying Geography at Urgench State University. Dildora is passionate about writing, journalism, and research, and she has authored several scientific articles. She actively promotes honesty, cultural dialogue, and youth engagement in her community. Her aspiration is to study abroad and represent her country through both academic and creative achievements on the international stage.
closed off from humility and the equality of grace.
You could have left without letting me know
you never had my back, that you were always
back there, clawing with judgements,
grievances.
You could have just left without the
tongue-lashing psychological deception,
just turned away without the gutting,
flipping all those years of friendship
on their side, upside down, lying
like liars do with complete certainty,
no remorse or self-doubt,
amputating any devotion
I had left for you,
boiling its remains
on a rack of putrid oil and extremes.
Walk away, dragging this downed horse behind you,
into the thorny bramble of your defiant prejudice
into the fantasy of your less-than-holy paradigm, broken.
II
Broken Glass
Coward,
keeper of a false fixed star,
keeper of many truths,
knower of none.
Coward,
throwing glass into my garden.
Brutal, unnecessary cruelty so you can
own the platform as you leave,
nose stuck high in the air,
hands cleansed of any doubt or wrongdoing.
Coward,
incapable of walking through the mire
hand in hand, of not letting go and trusting love no matter
the centipedes writhing, the small gnawing things
and the larger creatures that scare. Incapable
of owning your own transgressions, or prioritizing
love above your frightened soul.
Coward
cussing a friendship because you quit,
cussing and lying and tossing the broken glass
from your high and mighty mountain.
Coward
with blood on your hands,
who must turn back as you leave,
thinking you’ll say your piece,
but really just recklessly, heartlessly tossing
broken glass.
III
Getting there
I am almost on the other side
(one day, second day)
where forgiveness collides
with terrible truth,
where pain is overcome with pity,
releasing my shield and cry
for human justice.
Quickly through the process
after the breaking of the sun,
after seeing the secrets you stand behind
to prop up your persona, after still,
your deliberate hurt was hurled, and after that,
ending it with pat-on-the-head platitudes,
even still, I forgive you.
I am almost there, I pray to be there, in spite of
your attempts to drown me in false accusations,
in spite of your attempts to undermine my autonomy.
I say, so be it, I am almost on the other side,
sensing a freedom, an inspiration
clearing the thicket of your malice,
almost healed of your viper-tongue lick,
your sticky twisted back-flip truths,
spiritual elitism of the highest order.
I am almost there, and I am feeling good,
relieved, now away from your succubus suckling,
away from your tight-grip surrealism,
distorting clean lines, bright glowing rivers
and intimacy.
I forgive you. I forgive your incapacity,
your hard didactic tongue.
I forgive your small circle land, retreat
from a faith that holds faith no matter the outcome,
that part is easy.
But your foul lying insults
as you turned away, are harder to bear.
I will get there,
I will not carry you with me –
not your soiled diaper dripping, not a single
attempt to condemn me,
or the labels you blew towards me,
blew, night wind cursing, blew
into nothingness.
IV
A Dead Man’s Pockets
Petty, trust snapped
a killed bug on a windshield.
Into the grave, folding, four-fold,
soot in the ears, on your eyelids,
and your poison almost run through.
You lost me long ago, your spell thinned out,
held no power or impact long ago but I thought
love existed between us still, thought
respect existed between us,
that we were more than a bowing down
to your sure-fire claims.
On my side it did.
I cared for you, wanted your dreams
to glow and be more than you ever imagined,
when all you wanted from me was
obedience to your cause.
As long as I just kept my place,
just below your shoulder blades,
we would be fine.
Why can’t you love?
Why the subterfuge madness
parading around as absolutism?
Why couldn’t you acknowledge
my side, apologize for your
terrible accusations, bend a little,
suck in your puffed-up ego a little,
make room for someone other
than you, your way,
your branding rod?
There are more birds in the sky
than there has ever been,
more spark in my fountain than
I have felt for while.
Clarity is shameless,
a stream that rides, collides
with the rusty metal haul,
goes around it until it becomes one
with the waterfall, a cleansing continuum.
V
Touch
The first touch was bitter,
tantamount to an attack, deception
from a vantage point
of spiritual superiority.
The second touch
was touching a tomb, still full
of stench though the flesh had rotted long ago –
just dry bones barely
a full form.
The third touch
angered, like when a snake
snatches a fledgling, angry
at the innate brutality all around.
The fourth touch
was perfect, a release
from the swing-seat of darkness,
a blessed gift that came
at the first touch –
consciously cruel, compliant
to the sway of a lesser self.
VI
Small Moon
A small moon melted
fleshed out a sure-footed sacrifice
but changed directions, too quickly
into the direction of a red star.
Then her heart was burned, crispy
and crumbling, no more a perfect circle,
drooping on one side, gravity became queen
of her false crescendo song.
Hiding her deformity in the dark red burn,
hoping no one could see her misshapened side,
which she tended to only in hidden rooms,
chanting for a cure, bandaging her bloodied side
to try and form again that perfect circle.
A small moon strained to keep her crust,
could not resist flinging curses from her
cavity craters as she went out, could not accept
her time had come, that in the end she never had
a compact core or a solid truth she could rely on.
VII
Ribbon
It is ok to still love you
though our personal love has been
caught by the fishing net,
drowned by the struggle.
It is ok to want you to be ok
and even thriving on a splendid mount,
trailing through the forest.
Though your axe came down
in a forced entanglement of muscle
and sinew, although you have failed me
and hurled enmity into my spine,
in a sharp take-me-down twist
that wanted to leave me maimed,
it is ok.
I am ok and I still love you,
not for what we were but
for who you are, now,
a person trying to
seize for yourself a homeland,
believing you are doing the right thing,
believing your betrayal was a necessary closure.
Closed now and I am ok
and I still love you
over here where we will never meet
in this life or any life again.
Allison Grayhurst has been nominated for “Best of the Net” six times. She has over 1,400 poems published in over 530 international journals, including translations of her work. She has 25 published books of poetry and 6 chapbooks. She is an ethical vegan and lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com
