From the Memory of My High School Life

Shibganj is an upazila in the westernmost district, Chapainawabganj of Bangladesh which is bordered by India. This upazila is surrounded by the banks of the Padma and Pagla river. Dadonchak is a village in that upazila. My childhood and adolescence were spent in the campus of Adina Fazlul Haque Government College located in this village.

When I am going to sit for writing about something the memory of my high school life the situation over all the country does not go well. Political turmoil and chaotic condition grasp all around. Sonar Bangla, our country Bangladesh is covered with golden sight of the ripe paddy fields. Again we find peace and tranquility sitting under a large banyan, neem or mango tree to the vast green fields that looks like the green carpet covered on all over there. Once we called ours a riverine country but now most of the rivers and lakes have gone to dry and we suffer much from flood in rainy season and too much hot in summer season.

My secondary education life spent in this beautiful natural environment was a heavenly glory. The name of my school is Dadonchak Hemayet Memorial High School located in this village, Dadonchak. How nice the days I spent in the school with my classmates and teachers! All the teachers were very skilled to teach us. This school was established in 1919. Therefore, the event that the school students are going to celebrate the 100th anniversary, a few years later on 26 December, 2025, is a great expression of hope and a reunion and it will continue till 27 December, 2025. Among the many institutions, our school is one of them, founded by the renowned personality of the locality, Idris Ahmed Mia. Idris Ahmed Mia was a social worker, a poet and a political figure. Many Schools, a college, a PTI (Primary Teachers Training Institute) and some small industries had been established in this area by him. Over time, the small industries have now disappeared.

This school is located adjacent to Adina Fazlul Haque Government College. PTI and Primary School are also very close to one each other. The college had been nationalized in 1986 declared by the then President Hussain Muhammad Ershad. There are three Government institutions here. The college metioned above, Dadonchak Government PTI and Dadonchak Government primary school. At that time there were no facilities of paved roads, transports and electricity. Establishing such schools, college or small industries was a very difficult work. Idris Ahmed Mia, obtaining graduation with distinction from University of Calcutta, (a public university of Kolkata), India, as a heavenly messenger, in this dark and arduous area founded one institution after another to enlighten the people of this area for their welfare.

The days of building schools or any other institutions were not as easy as they are now at present. It is said that during the construction of this school, some miscreants burned down the school building several times. But Idris Ahmed Mia was an indomitable man. Nothing could shake him and finally he was able to establish the school. It is said that all the perpetrators later died of leprosy. Therefore, if the intention is honest, no obstacle can stop someone from doing any good deed. Idris Ahmed Mia was such a man who served the people of the society with all he had.

High school life is the golden period of anybody’s life. Nothing can be sweeter than recollecting the memory of the past specially the secondary education life. The foundation of learning is laid during this time. In other words, what one learns in life the seed is sowed in this period. This period is very important for a student to build up his/her future career. So in this time the students must be serious to read and write according to their daily routine and plan. After completing my primary education from Monakasha Primary School I got admitted into Dadonchak Hemayet Memorial High School in 1986. As a child I would understand very little about what I should learn and how I can develop myself with the learning process.

At that time the teaching staff of our school was excellent. Most of the teachers were skilled and would include themselves in the classes with excellent teaching quality. They had nice technique to engage the students with them. A very interesting matter is that there were three teachers in the same name in our school. Nazrul A, Nazrul B and Nazrul C. Nazrul A taught us English and Geography, Nazrul B Mathematics and Nazrul C Social Sceince. Our headteacher, Safiqur Rahman was a famous Mathematics teacher in this district. Faizur Rahman Bisu was also a very excellent teacher. Though he was a science teacher, he had a good command to teach in any subject whether science or arts or general knowledge.. My English primary knowledge was developed by Abdul Kader, another English teacher of our school. I also remember some other teachers like Mosharraf Sir, Rafique Sir and Kalu Sir etc. Many of them have died. May God’s peace be upon them.

The most interesting thing is that I find myself also a secondary school teacher as I followed my teachers in my school life. In this way, students of this school are employed in various sectors of the country, some as doctors, some as engineers, some as bankers, some as teachers in schools, colleges and universities, some as administrators, some as businessmen, some as non government employees, and many are employed abroad, transcending the boundaries of the country. Therefore, it can be said that every educational institution is a factory for building a nation. And every now and then the special moments of the school come to my memory when I stop my eyes or at my leisure. High school time is a very important time that all things we catch from our teachers established in our mind in such a way that it remains forever. Some of the advices of the teachers can never be forgotten. So, a teacher is like an ideal to the students.

Golam Rabbani was my class friend from grade six to ten and we we came out with success obtaining first division in the SSC (Secondary School Certificate) examination in 1991. Now, at present he is the Headteacher of this school. I congratulate my friend for his being a headteacher of this school. And I hope that he may lead the school in such a way that every student may see the bright or glorious future in his/her life. Just at the moment I am going to finish the writing, the sun is rising and I can smell the scent of the roses in front of my childhood home in the air. Love you the past, love you the petals of the roses.

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

Be brave woman

You are human you are worldly,
You are matriarchal, you are infantry.
You are strength and courage,
You are the first dawn,
New lining if you want.
just want to wake up
Conscious in attitude.
Speak out against brutality,
Scream against injustice,
Women need unity.
Need women awareness camps,
all around.

Date: 25.11.2025, India

Short biography: Amb. Dr. Priyanka Neogi from Coochbehar. She is an administrative Controller of United Nations PAF, librarian, CEO of Lio Messi International Property & Land Consultancy, international literacy worker, sports & peace promoter, dancer, singer, reciter, live telecaster, writer, editor, researcher, literary journalist, host, beauty queen, international coordinator of the Vijay Mission of Community Welfare Foundation of India.

Nigina’s Arrival from Mars

Early in the morning, Nigina’s mother entered her daughter’s room to wake her up. But Nigina was not there. Thinking she might have woken up early, her mother searched every room in the house and even the garden. Although Nigina rarely played with the neighbors, her mother still checked their homes — but no one had seen her.

By the time she reached the school, it was clear that something extraordinary had happened. The rocket was missing. Even more shocking was the huge hole in the school roof, which left everyone frightened and confused. But among Nigina’s classmates, fear mixed with excitement. The rocket they had built was not a toy after all. It was real — powerful enough to fly away. This filled them with pride and amazement.

No one could explain how a school project could reach another planet. No one knew where Nigina went. Her mother was worried, the teachers were confused, and her classmates were completely lost. The rocket was gone, the roof was destroyed — and Nigina had disappeared. For everyone, it became a mystery.

News about Nigina spread quickly — first across the town, then throughout the country. Journalists and scientists arrived from everywhere. They visited her school, her house, even the backyard. People who knew Nigina gave interviews, eager to share their thoughts. The whole country wanted to know: Where was Nigina? What happened to her? And how did she fly a real rocket?

Meanwhile, Nigina sat inside the rocket cabin, writing down her thoughts. Time felt strange to her — almost frozen. She explored the strange planet around her and was amazed to see sunflowers growing on Mars. Their leaves were purple, and the seeds were much larger. Curious, she tasted one and smiled. “It tastes good,” Nigina whispered.

Nearby grew banana and coconut trees. Just as she reached for a banana, something struck her hand. Startled, Nigina ran back into the rocket and peered out the window, trembling.

A sudden cry echoed outside, frightening her even more. But moments later, she saw a pile of bananas gently placed near the rocket.

It was a monkey — trying to make friends.Nigina’s fear melted away. Soon, she and the little monkey became close companions. She named him King of Space. With her new friend, she explored Mars freely. They walked along a silver river where fish sang songs, and pink-feathered ducks swam gracefully. Fields of chamomile stretched nearby, while red butterflies danced above them.

Nigina had never seen such a beautiful place. Everything felt magical — as if she had been born again.The King of Space gave Nigina a glowing butterfly as a gift — its soft red light brightened even the darkest night. She also met a frog who spoke twenty languages, a chameleon-cat that changed colors, and a magical plant called the Knowledge Leaf. The monkey handed her one of the leaves and said:“Keep this with you. It knows everything. When you are lost, it will guide you.”

Nigina wondered how easily she would now answer all the questions in her classes back on Earth.She left paper, candy, glue, and other little gifts for her new friends.

Then came the time to say goodbye. In the middle of the night, the rocket landed gently on her home’s roof. Her mother was awake — waiting. They embraced tightly. From her daughter’s eyes, the mother could see that Nigina had changed forever.

The news of her return spread quickly across the city. Reporters lined up to speak with the girl who had visited space. Her photographs appeared in the city center. But for Nigina, fame did not matter. What mattered were the friends she had made on Mars.Every night, when she looked up at the stars, she felt as though they were waving back at her.

Nigina wrote down everything she had seen — the rivers, the glowing butterflies, the magical plants — so others could learn about the wonders she discovered. She handed her classmates shiny stones she had brought from Mars and said she was proud of their brilliant inventions.   

Story by Asmonur Rajabboyeva

English Translation by Shuxratova Nilufar

Shukhratova Nilufar Azizbek qizi was born on March 31, 2013, in Uchqo‘rg‘on District, Namangan Region. She completed her primary education at Secondary School No. 31 in her district. Currently, she continues her studies at the Ishoqxon Ibrat Creative School in To‘raqo‘rg‘on District.Despite her young age, Nilufar has achieved several accomplishments before the age of 12. As a young translator, she has translated many short stories from Uzbek into English. Through each new translation, she continues to develop not only her language skills but also her creative thinking and literary abilities.

One of Nilufar’s greatest dreams is to become a student at Harvard University, one of the world’s most prestigious higher education institutions. From an early age, she has been strengthening her passion for knowledge, language learning, reading, and creativity, moving steadily and confidently toward her goal.Her teachers and relatives describe her as intelligent, hardworking, inquisitive, and highly responsible. Every achievement Nilufar attains is a strong step toward her future success and greater accomplishments.

Meeting Myself

A door unknown

You are led inside

To where night has yet to fall

In There, you meet yourself

You tread along a steep, winding mountain path

No flowers in sight, nor does it lead to the other shore

With threads of thorns

Weave an indescribable language

November 30, 2025

I AM STILL A CHILD… THERE

I am still a child,

Running after a butterfly

That escapes the light of my hands.

I laugh,

And the fields laugh with me,

While the sun dangles

From the braids of time.

I draw on the soil

A tiny house

Whose windows all open

Onto my little festivals.

I gather pebbles,

As if filling my pocket

With tiny stars

That stay awake with me until sleep.

I ride the wind

And shout:

Hurry…

I want to outrun my shadow.

My knees get dirty with mud,

And I laugh even more,

As if the earth is embracing me,

Whispering:

You grew up… yet you did not grow old.

I run,

And my laughter follows me,

Tangling in the air

Like the strings of a kite

Afraid to fall.

I catch the rainbow,

And swear

I was not dreaming

I was only stretching my hand

A little further

To touch the impossible.

And to this day,

Whenever I close my eyes,

I see that little girl

Running toward me,

Saying:

Come…

The play is not over yet.

BEYOND PRESENCE

There would be no shadow

Had things not remembered their first light,

And I would not write you

Had absence not awakened me

With a sound resembling the soul’s return to itself.

In the space where time does not exist,

The question walks barefoot,

Searching for a meaning

Like a pulse without a body,

Or a dream

Unsure whether it is seen,

Or merely recalls having seen us before.

There,

Where the beginning meets the end,

Silence rises like an ancient sage,

Smiles at our bewilderment,

And says:

“Everything you lose returns,

But in a form you do not recognize.”

I sit within myself,

As if listening to a breath

The soul retrieves from a depth

Beyond life and death,

And beyond the notion that the universe has a face

We see only when we close our hearts.

And in the moment when thought becomes weightless,

And pain turns transparent,

I understand that presence

Is not what we live,

But what passes through us

And leaves its trace,

As if it were the only truth

That never grows old.

 

Taghrid Bou Merhi is a Lebanese–Brazilian poet, translator, editor, and literary figure whose voice has become a bridge between cultures across the Arab world, Latin America, Asia, and Europe. Born in Lebanon and residing in Brazil, she has built a distinguished career marked by linguistic mastery, artistic depth, and a commitment to intercultural dialogue. Fluent in multiple languages, she has translated 49 books and more than two thousand poems, articles, interviews, and critical texts, making her one of the most prolific Arab translators of her generation.

Bou Merhi is the author of twenty-three books spanning poetry, short stories, essays, and children’s literature. Her works—known for their lyrical intensity and philosophical resonance—have been translated into forty-seven languages and included in over two hundred international anthologies. She has participated in nearly fifty global anthologies with poems and reviews, and her contributions frequently appear in international magazines, newspapers, and literary platforms.

Her editorial experience is equally extensive. Bou Merhi serves as President of CIESART Lebanon and holds leading positions in several cultural and literary organizations around the world. She has acted as an international judge for the Walt Whitman competition for three consecutive years and is a prominent officer for international cultural relations in multiple global institutions. She has also served as Deputy Editor-in-Chief of Raseef 81 Magazine and currently works as a contributing editor for Pencraft Literary Magazine.

Throughout her career, Taghrid Bou Merhi has received numerous prestigious international awards honoring both her poetry and her translation achievements, including the Naji Naaman Award, the Nizar Sartawi Translation Award, and the Nian Zhang Cup Prize. Her writing is recognized for its emotional richness, philosophical depth, and unwavering commitment to humanistic values. Today, she continues to promote cultural exchange through her poetry, translations, and global literary engagements.

‘Mesopotamia’

the histories I had to unlearn

     *

nothing in the way of thunder at sea

     *

scapulars worn on both sides

     *

he wondered if she kept the picture of him

shaking hands with an octopus

     *

encyclicals of yellow falling leaves

     *

somehow he missed seeing the preserved right index finger of Saint Teresa

     *

counting jimmy-legs in the waiting room

     *

sad sagging man-boobs of the subway shooter

     *

he’s philosophically aligned with the quotes on herbal tea bags

     *

a folded dishrag above his dogmatically clean sink

     *

auditing the billowing clouds

     *

even in a place of no escape

there are analog leaks of light

     *

the boy in the last row

says he always stares at the sun

     *

an hour after the eclipse

the whole moon to myself

     *

it’s like an urgent announcement I can’t quite hear

     *

Luv

That day evening fell in the midst of the forest
Like a bird, I too spread my dreamy wings near distance in the gentle breeze
That winding high and low path
That shadows of the trees, playing blind-man’s- buff
Painted secret kisses in the eyes of the darkness
The lorn fascinating oyster separated from water was in the grip of my hand.
The unique pearl called Luv
Shaped with layers of pain–an expression of pure, sincere love
A mind yearning for union wants to be an oyster, sometimes a pearl.

Sejuty Rahman, Assistant Professor, Department of Economics in Soronjay Degree College, Tanore, Rajshahi. She writes poems and short stories. She has published three books of poems in Bangla. At present she is living at Rajshahi town, Bangladesh.