Unwelcomed Farewell 

Ahmad Al-Khatat

When you articulate nothing at all
My heart becomes an occupied city 
With the noise from the rockets, not birds 
The clouds drop blood on my fictional planet.

The blue skies open its chest to those fireworks 
I look at those happy faces, lovers kissing lips,
and pretty dresses. I am sorry darling for loving you 
-without the ability to cover up my lousy tears.

Do not shatter the windows of daylight’s nostalgic 
Open the door of unwelcomed farewell before they bomb us
Hit me with an axe before the death scrapes me 
Wear a dress to reunite with my defeated spirit.

I am still awake, and I want more colours of happiness 
I want new syllables to run over my refugee's tongue
I also desire some pulse to hear with my ears and eyes
-closed at my imagination cuddling with you all night long.



Untouched Fleshes
 
How long will I love you woman
Your scent will wear your breath
With eyes like the sun, I am nervous
about my unfinished, and undreamed joy.

My enemy washes my blood of his hands
Looks into me! burns my past and presence
We breathe heavily as unpleasant summer rain
She screams, apologizes, and tears like a paper boat.

Those silent moments have not spelled a word,
His empowering face still seems like a deadly river 
I search deep in his eyes for untouched bodies 
She stares at the sky for several hours, asking 

-for a cigarette. I wonder what she would do if 
I stop her from smoking and kiss her truthful lips
Will he hear us and sends his tainted fingerprints-
on my abandoned skin then I question my freedom.

She holds my hands and doesn't let me go away, 
She says that her family owns an apology for me, 
My watery eyes stop from aiming at the blank sky, 
I love you woman, but I miss those untouched fleshes.




The Price of Humanism 

Who is going to make the best offer for the price of humanism?
Who is going to buy humanity in one click!
Who is going to auction our rights and principles?

Money buys happiness for some people
Greediness and selfishness are invading their black hearts
Kindness sips liquors with a freedom of speech

While the real speech is waiting on his death role
It’s ridiculous how hard to cleanse our hearts and souls

Most of the goddess cottages are with wrongdoing prophets 
who fight the believers who spell God with their accents?
I'm sorry my child, humanity judged you before you are born 

Who will wipe your tears? like the way your mom and I did 
Recall that you are free and don't belong to any privileged class.
Lift your head to the sunshine and be proud of your values. 



Ahmad Al-Khatat was born in Baghdad, Iraq. His work has appeared in print and online journals globally. He has poems translated into several languages such as Farsi, Chinses, Spanish, Albanian, Romanian. He has published some poetry chapbooks, and a collection of short stories. He has been nominated for Best of the Net 2019 and was also nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2020.

The Christmas!

The once-in-a-year event
The opportunity to reach out to others in need
The period of typically exchanging gifts
The time for streams of carols and celebration songs
The date where all bunnies, mistletoes, trees and decorations are fully permitted
The occasion where there is sober reflections
The space of exploring sales of goods and services
The point where decisions and actions for the coming New Year are taken
The era where the savior of the world was believed to have been birthed
That’s The Christmas!

Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand. And Eternity in an hour. — William Blake

This month, our contributors dig deep within themselves or into the details of their craft in order to understand and explore larger themes.

Tohm Bakelas travels through cities with old buildings weathered by time. He’s a hardworking artist in proudly workaday cities.

Tony Brewer digs into ordinary life: houseplants, dead batteries, date night in a small town, to show that these things matter and can be a jumping off point for thought.

Michael Todd Steffen’s piece echoes centuries of literary history in the whir of a laundromat, while Jim Meirose’s wordy mix evokes the drama of brass music. Joshua Martin breaks up words, evokes emerging oblivion, like waves crashing at sea, and Sayani Mukherjee’s multiple metaphorical vocalists come together in unison for peace.

Mark Young crafts poems through a technical process that each have an element of surprise encounter. Andrew Cyril MacDonald’s work looks at what comes after the encounter, the fading embers of passion and connection.

Sara Sims’ ekphrastic poetry inspired by public sculpture art highlights the power of communication and understanding.

Dana Kinsey explores and highlights the creative processes of raising children, teaching, and writing through a surfeit of clever words. Sarvinozkhon Olimova celebrates being true to the creative process.

John Tustin illuminates the preciousness and the struggle of relationships, battered by outside forces of conflict and racism. Mohinur Askarova relishes the energy of young love while Ilyosova Zukhraxon communicates love and respect in a poignant piece about her mom.

John Edward Culp highlights the need to stop and step back from one’s ego at times to have an authentic experience beyond oneself.

Ridwanullah Solahudeen links faith and desire in a paean to spiritual love, while Michael Robinson reflects on the spiritual sustenance he receives through the compassion of Jesus. Ike Boat shares highlights of his broadcasting career amplifying messages of faith, while Chimezie Ihekuna admonishes us to remember the meaning of Christmas throughout the year.

Amuda Abbas Oluwadamilola describes his poem as reflecting how “religion is an opiate” in his country. While a comment on the specific dynamic where he lives, the piece seems to reflect the broader tension between faith that inspires and liberates and beliefs that become a comfortable distraction from important work.

Gabriel T. Saah writes of the political and human struggle in his home country of Liberia through the metaphor of a single injured woman, while Patricia Doyne uses the language of children’s books to critique dangerous immaturity in adult leaders. Awodele Habeeb renders violence and oppression through the metaphor of wolves, while Mahbub relates the comfort found in personal relationships in a world afire on many levels.

Z.I. Mahmud addresses themes of belonging and migration in his essay on Tennessee Williams’ play A Streetcar named Desire. He seems to have sympathy for an unusual character who is removed from the drama’s everyday world and lives within her own imagination.

Ilyosova Fatimakhon knows where she belongs, as she exults in both her native Uzbekistan and in the joy of reading.

Christopher Bernard contributes a piece on the “opposite of politics” as other writers turn towards personal matters of the heart.

Aeesha Abdullahi Alhaji reflects on loneliness, being cast out of relationships.

J.J. Campbell speaks to the quiet despair of aging and loneliness, while Ian Copestick offers up humorous takes on what we value in people and how and why we compare ourselves to others.

Hannah Greenberg shares a fresh set of her nature scenes, still and tranquil water and lily pads while Shakzoda Kodirova sends us an ode to the beauty of a rose.

We hope that you enjoy each submission like the petals of Kodirova’s rose, considering each piece and leaving comments and thoughts for the creators. Thank you for participating in our literary community.

   To lessen is
 the lesson 

   feeling is enough 

My preference is
 Yours as I stand aside 
   and have an enjoyable 
     moment of my own 

 I have a feeling 
   As seeds of
      Hope take Root 
To find me 
   Ready to Appreciate 

      To lessen is
    the lesson 

My mother ❤️

The pain of the world,
You swallowed, too, my mother .
The caregiver also did a great job,
Without a bone, Mom.

Well you go ,
Let's face it. 
The world without you is dark,
Light and sun you, mom.

How upset I was to you,
I'm sorry, if you can.
Life with you,
You have all the - all the power!

You call me my flower,
You are a basil, a lollipop.
If two worlds are not found,
Without my paradise you, my mother

✍ Ilyosova Zukhraxon

steel city

flowers bloom in steel city 
where the allegheny and 
the monongahela rivers
meet to form the ohio 

we walk through 
ghost neighborhoods 
turned into public parks 
where police watch 
my friends and i under 
the approaching noon sun 

no longer a smoking city, 
the mills are razed but
the cancers still linger


 
ukanhavyrfuckincitibak 

the flames from 
the cuyahoga 
still burn more 
than half a 
century 
later

and the ghosts 
cleveland claimed
are still dying
after all 
these 
years—

known names
with snowy faces,
their shadows grow
fainter in the april sun 




 
12 hours to lawrence, ks

4:11am and cold snow 
sprinkles on cleveland,

we drive into the night
where life sleeps and
the highway is empty 

billboards preach religion 
and rest-stop lights
scratch the skyline 

we wait for the sun to rise 
to see the future 


 
we survived i-70

846 miles from 
cleveland to lawrence 
to read at a dive bar that 
cancelled the show without 
telling anyone… met with empty
eyes and confused stares that 
purchase everyone a round 
from the lone man sitting 
at the bar because he 
doesn’t wanna see
any shit go down…
thanks man, i
guess. 

A rose 

You are the epitome of beauty.
The king of flowers is the rose.
Bringing joy to the surroundings
You open rose.

If I see you, it's mine
My dust will spread.
My heart is full of joy
It opens, rejoices.

Your fragrance is all around
Gives a lot of joy
My mother who loved you
Their hearts will light up.

Your colors are also different
Yellow, pink, white, red
Always be like this
The king of flowers is the rose !

✍️ Shakhzoda Kodirova

Shakhzoda Kodirova was born on May 20, 2007 in Navoi. From a young age she was fond of literature. She started writing stories and poems when she was ten and her poems have been translated into many languages and published in many countries, including Uzbekistan, Germany, America and Belgium. She is a booklover and coordinator of Girls’ Voice. Also she is an official member of GFS and an ambassador of the Iqra foundation. Her first book My Grandfather’s Garden has been published in Uzbekistan. At the moment she is an editor of Germany’s Raven Cage magazine and of Synchronized Chaos, and she is am ambassador of the IFCH and SPSC foundations.