Broken nose by the kick has the power of moving air.
Great soul beat is in the ribs.
Piercing thorn on legs can walk shedding blood.
Although eyes acts blindly has a little eyesight.
There is no distaste in outspoken tongue.
Earth, how much reassurance of competency
you need to love you!
Believe me earth, I have come here to love you only.
Illiterate wood craftsman who is irresistible lover from whom has taken the first lesson of love.
His beloved has taken knit stitch artistic flower of love with her generous skillful hands.
Earth, believe me or not
In my life lessons, have learned to love you.
Aklima Ankhi, poet, storyteller and translator from Cox’sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh. She has a published collection of poetry named “Guptokothar Shobdochabi” written in Bangla. She is a postgraduate in English Literature. As a profession, she is a Lecturer in English.
Contrary To Your Synchronisation
On an opposite-word-
in-your-heart day
I stravaig, my consciousness
enunciating 'Darkness'.
It is mere a word.
The sunny day highlights
an army of ants locomoting
a green yellow leaf
up the tired stones of a temple,
another century for the deity
waiting for that single leaf full of glow.
My tongue hopscotch the word.
A crow turns its head.
"It's mere a word." I explain.
The Ecosystem of Faith
On my palm the circles
of perforated clouds
highlight myths and illusions.
The future, I read, chokes
in the red smoke. It began
even before past was conceived.
I trowel in ripe soil at the base
of a rescue-plant. It is my support tree.
It is the excuse to live, read my hands,
yawn and stretch my summer arms.
The fingers reach for the sky, lies,
and the promises of a cleansing dream.
Goose
1
This, a good place to begin
the circle, dear jogger, opens up
the park and the morning.
You should not stir the goodness
or the goose.
The skein of the waterfowls are scattered
in the pasture.
Today's mood made them shells holding
a hollowness and a howl for the sea.
2
When the exotic wings glide in
the park the goose fights for her
boundary at first.
Zen eventuates. She settles between
the flocking birders and the winter's
slaty sun.
We, the local walkers, already gave her
pet names. The goose stare hard
with its hundred names, native pride,
doubting vigilance.
Kushal Poddar, the author of ‘Postmarked Quarantine,’ has eight books to his credit. He is a journalist, father, and the editor of ‘Words Surfacing’. His works have been translated into twelve languages, published across the globe.
SILENCE
Silence in me
strikes in lightnings
of the sky, too gray
and destroys my accumulated
fear in the years
of non-belonging.
Silence in you
does not know my fears
and gets lost in the words
of unknown people
whose hands cannot
touch the softness
of our hearts.
Don't let me stay silent
because my love is
louder than your smile.
The loudest one.
LIFE
This life is
soaked with tears
and the words are too small
to pronounce
all life in an instant
and my love
hidden in the corners of solitude.
This life is
soaked with tears
and the pain of the past
is stronger
than the impending ecstasy
in the kiss of the night
and my escape is stronger
than the strength of your will.
This life is
soaked with tears
and the joy gets crushed
by the sorrow of the
desperate and disbelief in a
new longing.
This life is
soaked with tears
but today there is a smile
in my eyes
so don't walk away
from my smile .
Don't let the grief
to put out these embers
at least sometimes
when I forget
that this life is soaked with tears.
HOPE
I would like to take
the paths of new hope
and erase my footprints behind
me because your escort is
superfluous before the rising sun.
I would like to walk
the land of solitude
for years
and walk on
the silence of the
pathlessness liberated
of all your words and
deeds. I would like to be
born again
bathed in purity
of my soul
and stand
in front of the starry sky
as a newborn.
And pardon
my rude words
and be patient
because my loneliness
is your loneliness, too.
You are my other self.
You do what I am afraid of.
Jasna Gugić
Translated by Anita Vidakovic Ninkovic
Jasna Gugić was born in Vinkovci, Croatia. She is the Vice-President for public relations of the Association of Artists and Writers of the World SAPS; Global Ambassador of Literacy and Culture for the Asih Sasami Indonesia Global Writers, P.L.O.T.S USA the Creative Magazine Ambassador for Croatia; and a member of Angeena International, a non-profit organization for peace, humanity, literature, poetry, and culture. She is also co-editor of the anthology, Compassion—Save the World, one poem written by 130 world poets.
The last important award with a single nomination for Croatia was awarded by UHE – Hispanic World Writers’ Union – César Vallejo 2020 World Award for Cultural Excellence.
Jasna is a multiple winner of many international awards for poetry and literature, and her work has been translated into several world languages. Her first independent collection of poetry was published in 2021, a bilingual English-Croatian edition, entitled Song of Silence. She lives and works in Zagreb, Croatia.
Many of her poems have been translated into several foreign languages and are represented in joint collections. Her poems have been published in magazines in the USA, Spain, Greece, Italy, Russia, India, Syria, Denmark, Brazil, Mexico, Bangladesh, Serbia, Albania, Nigeria, Belgium, China, Chile, Nepal, Pakistan, Korea, Germany and etc.
Her poems are published in so many world-famous print and electronic magazines, journals, websites, blogs, and anthologies like Spillwords Press – USA, P.L.O.T.S. The Creative Magazine – USA, Mad Swirl – USA, WordCity Literary Journal – USA, Medusa’s Kitchen – USA, Atunis Galaxy Poetry – Albania /Belgium, Lothlorien Poetry Journal – UK, Polis Magazino – Greece, Homouniversalis – Greece, Chinese Language Monthly – 中國語文月刊 – China, Eboquills – Nigeria, Azahar Revista Poetica – Spain, Sindh Courier – Pakistan, Magazine Humanity – Russia, Entre Parentesis – Chile, Daily Asia Bani – Bangladesh, Bharat Vision – Denmark, Litterateur Rw, Dritare E Re – Albania, Literary Yard – India, Gazeta Destinacioni – Al bania, The Moment International News – Germany, Kavya Kishor English – Bangladesh, PETRUŠKA NASTAMBA, an e-magazine for language, literature, and culture – Serbia, Güncel Sanat magazine – Turkey, Cultural Reverence, a global digital journal of art and literature -India , A Too Powerful Word – Serbia, Magazine Ghorsowar – India, Al-Arabi Today Magazine, Magazine Rainbow, Humayuns Editorial – Bangladesh, Himalaya Diary – Nepal and Agarid br. 24 and 16, Online newspaper NewsNjeju, Korea, Willwash. wordpress blogzine – Nigeria
So got to = after turning left on the daily morning’s walk across town to the great big mysterious quasi-archaeological dig-site, onto which we volunteered a year, there’s a mile or three left to go /pins & needles/ over here where everyone coming and going so often remark of the slight smell over here. So slight, that some when first smelling it, stop—to see, then to say, What is that smell? But now, no. Now there’s nothing. Then, when they start walking again, there it is; again; ‘e again; a nag of a smell, so faint it can’t be, and so odd that to smell it, one needs to stop trying to, but that’s not enough, no no no NO. Can’t even be thinking of it. Got to ignore it, but that’s hard to do, because once its been smelled, it’s remembered as the worse smell ever and gets connected in tight with this—eh, how’s it best characterized, yes—this metallicly tasting looking and smelling rot of a place we go past daily, here. And, so. There it is. Just a smell but that’s ‘lso more than a smell. It’s a taste. And a feeling. All up down and up. ‘nd each day got to rush past there several blocks. Trying not to look over ‘cross ‘ll the slime-baked formerly Main street flowing at the black squares and rectangles which used to be storefronts before time piled up, broke down, and rolled in and over smothering this whole town’s Main street neighborhood down. Can’t run stores in this smell—what smell, we smell nothing—oh just wait for it wait, and they wait—no no no, we smell nothing—can’t place it can’t touch it just walk faster past it—sorry, we don’t get it ,why’d all these stores shut down—never mind! Turn around, move away, shift gears toward what’s next, that’s the dig-site no not the smell hitting out from behind no, the dig-site, yes. Reaching there’s what’s important b’ slow down hey now, no—there it is ….. turn around =+= no—yes—oh, at lastarriving at the site where the dig’s ongoing, forget everything now that = There’s Crockett, u’re partner. Get your scraper. Get your tools, and, go down next to Crockett and start in on the scraping of long-buried but not no more so boards, rock, steel plating, and big tables down what they say they’ve learned of by all the scrapings done already before {or after? What? Before is after? And after is before? Pity the language the way we torture it down so unjustly, class. Pity it pity. God {sign o’ the cross please} pity it it’s been murdered down so what torture what torment = do experience those + + who never experience to die :plaster: } So thus once back in place thus thus scraping down th’ ‘eelactical dig, say mildly the usual t’s, what’s always to say, o’er to; Crockett.
Crockett.
{eh, scrape. Eh scrape eh scrape and—eh}
Eh, Crockett! Another day another fifty cents, eh? Good morning.
Hey.
The walk down I rushed it over. Rain looked up there like it’ll be-being to come down hard today. Do not like to be drenched. You?
Nope. Do not like to be drenched.
Yah (in time with the soft scraping o’ both o’ theirs raspertools) It was one of those—no, but more properly said say it is one of those days where looking out says back, umbrella today—no, yes, uh? You know?
Yes.
And its like—hey yes bring an umbrella the sky’s really up saying that but what if its not needed and then after arrival it just this “cumbersome nuisance”’s got to be stored up for the day someplace. Know what I mean?
{scraped dust pellets drop steadily to the catch-tarpaulin, below}
Sure. But it didn’t look like it might be raining today out o’er my sky. But I start in from that different direction from you. Guess that’s why. Eh?
Yah. Guess so. Any findings yet today?
Who knows. gasp /cracker/ who knows /yes/ who can ever know and /switching fast to say something else that’s not leading to the same old why are we bothering with all this when we know damned well that that that th/{cut} gasp /crackers/ thank God for the holding back of the back on which it’d be written/like it always/gasp gasp awkward suddenly yes next to the Crockett scraping out of unison with their scraping gasp because as it does gasp as it always must + being a law of nature as it is + gasp gasp it becomes silly in the extreme to be scraping in unison when we the big boths of all of the uses here volunteering at this site know it’s just based on some myth of the jungle upon which no sane person would generate so much sweat so much strain of the jungle after about a half hour gasp some’s saying telephone pole lot up there where :those flats where they tore down what the say was a factory you know /gasp/ how much money’s locked up in those poles /damn/ : I was reading up on that you know it really gets to me somehow look at all /that waste/ all those fallen scrape scrape scrape trees its a field of corpses don’t think so well think about it a field of the corpses what dies for no reason /strain/ in the belly of the break tent a little after ten /sitting/ with that my same partner all the morning {spouting hall off ‘bout a’ noosed up all nooooosed up noooooosed up ‘n nooooooooosed up some big sweet Willy gotcha! /f’ter all mem-mebra zats woosh it got ‘lready approximated woosh / sat down finally at the bench by the door to the tent, and immediately felt a mild breeze waft o so cooly over their clammy arm-sweat so they pushed over a bit to get out of the flow of it and having successfully milded all this down they chatted brightly over some crackers in bags, and two full-up waters.
plank
So. Got any plans for the weekend? Or just taking it easy.
I don’t know. I usually don’t plan out ahead that way. Y’know?
Ah. Guess so. /bag chips-crisp back, swallow bag chips-crisp back back back, swallow back unless they come get me say we got somebody in need of a good scare—come and see me—you know /what the hell what/ I’d go get that done if the pay’s right {don’t ya know} or if /what the hell wait/ they came ‘round saying come quick, right now—we got somebody held down needs a big hot flat spanking /huh/ I’d go and do it and probably a bit faster than when I went just to scare the crap out of someone /what the hell wait wait what the hell hell wait wait wait/ cause this time they pointed out they got somebody held down and you know as well as I do that when they say they got somebody held down the one held down’s most likely fighting to get up and the pressure from th’ under-one trying to get up ‘gainst the up top trying to hold down can’t go on forever nothing like that can it’s a knife-edge of balance, its like a new element so exotic, it’s like seventeen baseballs stacked with no props at its like falling alive hey, there’s not much time left so so, no. I don’t have any plans for the weekend. I usually don’t plan out ahead that way. Y’know?
