Stella Kwon is a high school student living in Virginia. Her artwork often explores quiet, introspective themes and is inspired by memory, nature, and the edges of ordinary life. She is currently putting together her art portfolio for university.
The Bites of the Mosquitoes
The mosquitoes bit me that night
I could not sleep the whole night
The condition was so drastic
Like the tortured dogs on the roads
The sun was still late to rise
Night, not the night only
A blood sucking night
Sometimes I stood up, sometimes I fell down
On the hot beach of the ocean
The sleepless nightmares for a while suffocated my breath
Though slightly I could avoid death
In this life and death I found myself
Where the sun rose
A shower of lightning ascended to relieve
Who is escorted by the inhabitants of Gaza in these suffering nights?
Can the fearful faces see the light of the day still?
Though the sun rises and awakens us all everyday morning.
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.
When I think of ages past That have floated down the stream Of life and love and death, I feel how free it makes us To pass away.
Rabindranath Tagore
Welcome, readers, to September’s first issue: The Stream of Life, Love, and Death.
Sayani Mukherjee speaks to the weight of the world’s grief, of millions of lost loves over historical time.
Ahmed Miqdad quests for love and peace in Gaza, all in vain. Yucheng Tao bears witness to genocide in Cambodia through his evocative poem where memory and grief echo off the rocks and pages of history. In his piece, self-declared pure idealism leads only to death.
Eva Petropoulou Lianou addresses the issue of domestic violence. Christopher Bernard reflects on humanity’s continual state of conflict among different groups as Patricia Doyne excoriates tolerance for school shootings and immigration enforcement violence in the United States.
Alex Johnson speaks to the need for radical creativity as resistance to the forces of death and authoritarianism. Mary Bone captures moments of human and animal growth and creation. Jacques Fleury discusses the need for humans to coexist equitably with each other and with the wide diversity of natural creatures who share our planet.
Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal speaks to energy, creativity, and the need to support young people. Xudoyqulova Shahzoda highlights Uzbekistan’s efforts to empower the young, the disabled, and women. Rayhona Sobirjonova expresses her gratitude for a caring teacher. John Sheirer’s short story depicts a boy learning a mixture of love and toughness from both a father and stepfather. Bill Tope presents the story of a mother determined to overcome obstacles and keep her family together. Muhammadjonova Muzayyana praises the love and care of her devoted mother. Judge Santiago Burdon’s video presents an ironically humorous tale of a man’s adult son coming out of the closet.
Otaboyeva Zuhra shares how education can transform a young woman’s life. Madina Furkatova highlights efforts to educate and empower young women in Uzbekistan. Muhammed Suhail reflects on the indispensable contributions of women to shaping the early days and teachings of Islam. Bhekisisa Mncube reviews Nthikeng Molele’s novel Breasts, etc, a feminist story of a group of women and a man who photographs them nude. Anna Keiko shares her determination to live out her calling as a poetess, in honor of the many female trailblazers throughout history.
Rahimova Dilfuza Abdinabiyevna shares ways to heighten students’ communication competence. Boboqulova Durdona outlines ways to engage students in active learning. Sevinch Mukhammadiyeva talks up a student leadership conference she attended, “Office of the Future.” Panoyeva Jasmina O’tkirovna highlights advantages of blended classrooms and self-study combined with instruction. Nafosat Jovliyeva discusses roles for technology in language learning. Dilshoda Jurayeva urges students to learn and adopt self-discipline as a study tool. Janna Hossam discusses the problem of burnout in gifted children.
Abigail George speaks to finding and claiming beauty and selfhood in the face of mental illness. Tursunbayeva Shohida Baxtiyor traces the history of diagnostic methods in psychiatry. Ana Petrovic speaks to the confluence of forces and emotions rising up in the human psyche. Brian Barbeito journeys through real and surreal worlds to tend and befriend the different and the marginalized. Hua Ai speaks to the wildness still inherent in our feelings and encounters with urban nature. Joan McNerney draws on elegant nature metaphors to describe love and the transitory states of life. Mark Young speaks to growth and transformation in our bodies and the natural world. Anakha S.J. compares maintaining feelings of love to tending a flower. Mahbub Alam presents a joyful couple forgetting themselves among the beauty of nature and their blossoming romance. Jerome Berglund and Christina Chin’s tan-renga present an adorable take on modern relationships. Mesfakus Salahin’s extensive nature metaphors speak to the psychology of a lover.
Brian Barbeito reflects on a random capricious day with various encounters, positive and negative, with people and nature. Chimezie Ihekuna expresses cynicism about the hypocrisy inherent in many relationships, Raisa Anan Mustakin laments people’s growing isolation and separation from each other, and Alan Catlin processes work anxiety through dreams while out in pastoral greenery. Nageh Ahmed evokes feelings of both love and loneliness under the moonlight as Wazed Abdullah finds inner peace in lunar light. Mykyta Ryzhykh evokes efforts of love in the face of the loss of innocence. Duane Vorhees speaks to the vulnerability and unpredictability inherent in love.
Vohidova Ruxshona discusses the internal composition of Saturn and the wonder of the far-off universe. Don Bormon expresses his fascination with a constantly changing cloudy sky. Abdurrahim Is’haq’s artwork of a door shrouded in shadow and sunlight evokes mystery and wonder.
Abdulboqiyev Muhammadali turns to medicine as a subject, sharing some of the warning signs of a stroke. Eshmurodova Sevinch discusses how modern financial technology can improve the functioning of global economic systems.
Mathematics is also part of our physical universe, and Mamadaliyeva Durdona shares methods for solving systems of linear equations. Mardonova Marjona finds the beauty in each season, in change, as David Sapp revels in “relentless” natural elegance. Nikhita Nithin sways with the wind during a neighborhood festival. Nilufar Mo’ydinova offers suggestions on how to live sustainably with nature, suggesting improved environmental practices for the publishing industry.
Sushant Thapa writes of finding happiness wherever he can in life as Stephen Jarrell Williams enjoys a tender moment with his wife and Mahbub Alam loses himself in the joy of nature and love. Maja Milojkovic speaks to a transcendent love, present even when the couple is apart, echoed in endless mirrorings on water’s surface. Summer Kim takes joy in transitory childhood moments and memories. Su Yun’s Chinese bilingual elementary students write joyfully about nature and play. Sharifova Saidaxon reminisces about her happy childhood as Xo’jamiyorova Gulmira remembers her elementary school days and classmates.
Dilnoza Bekmurodova reflects on how she will always hear the unmistakable call of her home. O’g’iloy Bunyodbekovna Muhammadjonova sings the praises of her radiant Uzbek homeland. Maftuna Rustamova finds comfort and peace in her heritage as Ozodbek Narzullayev joins in the reflections on Uzbekistan. Nomozaliyeva Hilolaxon analyzes how the film “Suv Yoqalab” reflects Uzbek cultural values. Maxmudjonova Begoyim considers the weight and grace of her Turkish heritage as Dr. Priyanka Neogi shares a poetically beautiful tale of the Indian flag. Eva Petropoulou interviews Greek sculptor and painter Konstantinos Fais, who is examining the myth of Hercules to revive classical civic virtue for modern Greeks.
Uzbekistan’s writers go beyond heritage to relate how the nation is currently a source of pride, as Jumaniyozova Nazokat discusses the potential for wellness tourism in Uzbekistan. Madinabonu Mamatxonova describes rapid Uzbek economic growth driven by entrepreneurship. Xurshida Abdisattorova highlights the accomplishments of an Uzbek mixed martial arts coach. Meanwhile, Shahnoza Ochildiyeva outlines what Central Asian countries, and the rest of the world, can learn from Finland.
J.J. Campbell explores different sides of memories: nostalgia, loss and mourning, and the quest to separate oneself from toxic or false aspects of the past. Brooks Lindberg laments the death of glaciers through a poem that grants nature a measure of agency even in melting. Jake Cosmos Aller reflects on historical revision at the Smithsonian Museum.
Grzegorz Wroblewski’s fresh installment of asemic poems evoke the aesthetic of language as a part of human culture. Ken Gosse’s ars poetica defends the power of rhyme and meter in a world of free verse. Graciela Noemi Villaverde celebrates the mysterious and poetic works of Jorge Luis Borges. Dr. Jernail S. Anand argues for the primacy of literature as a study and discipline to help us return to our humanity as Mirta Liliana Ramirez does something similar, depicting dance as an act of love to add beauty to life.
Michael Robinson shares, in his final piece after ten years of writing for Synchronized Chaos Magazine, the family and sanctuary he has found through his faith.
Susie Gharib draws on historical mythology to explore our place in the world and our vulnerabilities as humans. Patrick Sweeney’s tiny vignettes capture distinct moments in human life: wonder, confusion, humor, or just us pondering being alive. Taylor Dibbert relates the paradox of what happens when we care too much – or too little – about money. Santiago Burdon explores human nature in his tale of a chance encounter on an airplane.
Finally, Sarvinoz Orifova reflects on the nature of hope and the power of holding on to it during challenging times.
Different Feathers? Has free verse been freed from tradition? Was the latter determined adverse? Is different different than better? Just what is the price of free verse? Does free verse have better transmission? Is tradition decidedly worse? Is better better than different, and will the twain ever converse? Be Realio-Trulio Sonnets ill-used, erroneous meter, perhaps a reader will be confused when it’s perused— although by name it may be the same. If form is abused, rhyming refused (not really a rose), it clearly shows its poet accused. Though enthused, none are excused. The Piper’s Sonnet Although I write this sonnet silently, clandestine, as it were, so none may see, I wonder whether someday I’ll allow its light to shine and break its silent vow. So why express in secret on a page the thoughts in which I currently engage? It’s hard to say, although on August 3rd no surreptitious sonnet is absurd. By that, I mean that none would not suffice; by writing one, at least, you pay the price the Piper calls for on this special day so that his tune won’t swoon each muse away. To write or not? I’ll do it secretly. For now, a covert action just for me. I Come to Raze Your Ears, Not Praise Them! I went to a poetry reading with a follow-up open mic. It’s the first time that I’d been to one— didn’t know what they might like. So, alrighty then, I could listen without care, since diversity of poetry wasn’t what had brought me there. We all heard the featured poet reading from his new chapbook. It’s the first time that I’d been to one and I read the one I took. Well, alrighty, then, they could listen without care, since diversity of poetry wasn’t what had brought them there.
The second poem, “Be Realio-Trulio,” is a “minison,” a form established by The Minison Project (https://theminisonproject.com/): 14 lines, 14 letters per line, and a 14-letter title.
The third, “The Piper’s Sonnet,” was written a month ago for Surreptitious Sonnet Day, August 3rd.
The last, “I Come to Raze Your Ears, Not Praise Them!” was written to the tune of Ricky Nelson’s 1972 hit tune “Garden Party.”
Adopted by God
An journey of Faith
My heart says of you, “Seek his face!”
Your face, Lord, I will seek.
Psalm Of David 10:8
“Though my father and mother forsake. me.”
Psalm of David 27:10
“GOD WANTED ME.”
(He was my salvation.)
“For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord plans to prosper you, and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11
Preface: I have walked seeking God since my earliest days of life. God has been my focus because of my need to know that I belonged to someone. I felt surrounded by an empty place and dark place, but felt comforted by the seven day candle representation God’s Holy Light, the burning colors of the votive candles burning and finally, the magnificent array of colors flowing through the stained-glass windows.
This was my sanctuary from the darkness that pervaded all aspects of my life outside of God. Here in the church, I felt God’s heart for me – in this place of salvation.
My aunt Lucille adopted me legally at age eight, but God accepted me since my birth. When she introduced me to Him, I knew that He truly loved me and He created me, and adopted me into the family of His Son, Jesus.
My aunt Lucille exposed me to Holy Redeemer Catholic Church on New York Ave in DC. Morning mass was a part of her religious ritual. Each weekday I accompanied her to Holy Redeemer. Sitting there amidst these elderly women of the church were regular attendees for weekly mornings mass -Monday thru Friday. On Saturday, we went to another Catholic Church Saint Aloysius on North Capitol St. Saint Aloysius was different to me. It was different inside. It seemed larger than Holy Redeemer. It wasn’t those old ladies there and just a few other attendees at Saturday morning mass. Being the only child at Holy Redeemer added to the feeling of being out of place.
However, at Saint Aloysius there was a sense of privacy with God that I did not feel at Holy Redeemer. It was just me and my aunt sat in the pews with plenty of space.
One day. there was a circumstance in which the priest approached my aunt. When I would receive Holy Communion, I would take the body of Christ out of my mouth and put it on the floor where I had been kneeling because I did not like the taste of it. She was embarrassed and ashamed for being scolded by a priest for my desecration of the body of Christ. I didn’t know anything about desecration, but I didn’t like the taste in my mouth. I was also that child who, when he didn’t like his food he would feed it to the dog. I can still see the priest using a white cloth – probably a handkerchief – to pick up the body of Christ off the marble floor. I don’t remember her words to me, but I remember the shame and guilt she felt.
This was a pattern between us…she seem to always be apologizing for me. Dee was aware of my quiet nature and allowed me to be quiet.
Sitting in church alone was a way for me to be safe from all the noise of the darkness outside. Inside of me and outside of me in the sanctuary was quietness that transcended the darkness. The lit candles and stained glass windows offered more colorful light. To me, light offered safety.
Dee was part native American and half-negro and had a very strict belief that children should be raised to be respectful and listen to adults. However, her lessons were teaching me how to be with God. Her words continue in my memory: “you belong to God.” She often reminded me of this. Therefore, I sought God’s safety from the place of darkness that surrounded me.
There was noise and more noise in and outside the house. The streets were full of noise and more noise. Still, I sought God in the streets of noise and darkness that existed surrounding me. The fear of darkness wasn’t in the night, but a continuous journey into the daylight – which also dark.
Sitting in the quietness of light in Holy Redeemer Church was a reverse of being surrounded by not only darkness, but the fear of what may happen to me outside of the sanctuary of God. God’s sanctuary was a different experience, as the feeling of being consumed left and was replaced by security. It was a different stillness than the stillness of being hidden from the treacherous streets. The candles flickering and the white color represents God’s presence on the altar in front of the Tabernacle.
The church was my refuge, my sanctuary, my safe haven from the treacherous street of darkness. In the church, the votive candles burned with glasses of various colors of blue, red ,and yellow. The votive candles were on a stand with several rows of candles and the variety of colors blended together in unison. I was mesmerized by the light and the quiet. Sometimes the sound of a candle would quietly reach a place deep within me. The most quiet candle burning was the candle of God’s presence, and was a white candle made of beeswax. For me, this handle of God’s light represented purity.
The wonderful colors would seem to fade as my eyes slowly, with purpose, scanned the altar and rested on the light of God as the candle could somehow flicker and be still almost the same time.
This shiny marble floor added to the light of God’s surroundings. It was the total opposite of being in the darkness outside. Now, the light of God was surrounding me and filled my inner most being. My very essence was now safe. While I slept, death surrounded me in the streets and feelings of fear covered me. I walked in fear and slept in fear of my surroundings because of the volcano of sounds of the streets that slipped into the cracks of the apartment walls.
But when I came to know God, a stillness came inside of me – a place that nothing had reached before. It was the innocence of knowing that God existed in the total stillness of my thoughts. My heart was still and calm. It seemed to be still in unison to the stillness of the light of a flickering wick. The feeling of peace and the comfort of my heart were beating in unison with the flickering light.
Surly, God would live here in the light shining from the candles and stillness. I couldn’t imagine how God could live out in the streets with all the trappings of inner-city life. Yes, God would live here with the light of His light. God’s quietness flowed into my essence and held me safely in the light of His presence. I sat alone in the majestic palace of the essence of God’s presence surrounding me, protecting me, and giving me life like the breath of God at my birth. I was not alone, but was His creation that fit into this glorious sanctuary.
Dee often times would not speak and I watched her more intently. By watching Dee, I would learn to listen for the quietness of movement. She moved with a quietness and stillness. It would be fair to say that I loved her. She was always there while surrounding me and teaching me and loving me by giving me to God to care for.
The inner-city wasn’t a sanctuary, but rather darkness even in the daylight. The darkness surrounded my thoughts, my emotions and my body. My serenity faded, and the bright light of the sun made me close my eyes as I exited God’s house.
My neighborhood was full of the trappings of darkness and noise- lots of noise. There were gunshots and screaming and babies crying into the night, as if they also felt the dead and darkness. This filled each moment of my waking and night life. I cried for safety. I would cry myself to sleep in the darkness of my bed. Yes, I cried without ending and afraid my gasping for air would be heard in the darkness. So, I held my breath as the tears soaked my pillow and my heart ached.
Many years were filled with soaked pillows and holding my breath as I continued to gasp for air. It was the same kind of gasp made when crying and the gasping for air. The voice in my head said, “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about.” No, I cried without sounds that would be heard in the safety of my bed under the sheets.
The time passed slowly before there was a shift from darkness to light and the feelings of abandonment inside of me. Because my mother left me with Dee at two weeks old, tere was an emptiness of not belonging. Therefore, I sought to belong and Dee had said that I belonged to God. I was not convinced of that. This was before I was taken to Holy Redeemer Catholic Church by aunt Lucille. Prior, I would receive lessons from Dee, who had a personal relationship with God and Jesus Christ. She always said that I belonged to God. She always spoke about God and Jesus. I don’t recall anything she said, other than I heard His name seemingly all the time. Before going to Holy Redeemer Church, seeking God meant walking the darkest streets of New Jersey Avenue. There is one night that is still clear on my memory where I experienced the darkness of New Jersey Avenue before P street. It was perhaps about seven years old at the time. The important part of this memory is that I was seeking God in the streets of DC as a very young child. The night lights were dim not bright but dim the brightness of the streets that come from the headlights of the passing cars.
Mostly, I remember feeling void and lost. So lost that even today at sixty-eight, I recall vividly that experience of walking physical in darkness. Another time that changed my life completely was a time when I was standing on the corner of Q street and I forgot the intersection. The light was green and then red and the light was green and then it was red. I shook as I was unable to breathe. I know I was six or seven at the time, because I hadn’t been adopted by my aunt Lucille yet. Dee said that she was tired of our parents not coming for us and she was tired. Even at that very young age, it was a burden not to belong and I had feelings of being unwanted and a burden to Dee. So, I stood there as the light kept changing colors. Where could I go? Who wanted me? Slowly, I began the walk to my aunts apartment on North Capitol St. I knew the streets because it was the way we went when Lucille picked me up from Dee’s.
Did I want to go to my aunts? No. Yet I had no place that I could go in the night that I stood at the light. Truthfully, I never felt loved, which was understandable.
I went to my aunt that night and stayed with her until I was twenty-one. All those years, I never truly felt wanted by her or my uncle Bernard. However, i managed through that hardship until returning to Holy Redeemer. Sitting in Holy Redeemer Church in the quietness of my soul and God being God was quiet. He was undeniably peaceful. I loved to be alone with God. Alone with all the safety and attention without needing to hide. It was ok to be still and quite but not out of fear but rather to just be still and breathe.
Day after day sitting in the sanctuary of God in Holy Redeemer Church. I had been adopted by the age of eight by Lucille. Still, I had no home – no sense of belonging, but sitting there inside the sanctuary was home. It was not only a physical retreat, but something much deeper and calming and familiar to my inner sanctuary. Although there was still chaos outside and other noise, in here, God had come to that empty place within. My longing for Him has continued, since those very first encounters back while sitting in the pew waiting and waiting and listening for God to speak. Like waiting for that light to change before crossing the street – just waiting to be connected again and again by the Holy presence of God.
Perhaps, I knew God wanted me since those very first time when sitting in His Holy sanctuary in His heart. You see beyond the colors of the votive candles burning and the sunlight piercing thru the stained-glass windows and the altar with God’s light burning. There was a sense of quietness and firm stillness inside of me. The surrounding atmosphere of the Holy sanctuary blended together deep inside of me and the outer sanctuary was in unison. No, there was no audible voice, but rather a voice of serenity which never faded
Home was finally accepting that God wanted me and had adopted me at eight or so, but it was God that wanted me while caring for me. I was used by Lucille, but cared for by God. Lucille rejected me and God accepted me. Lucille harmed in many ways which is not needed to be expounded upon. I will only repeat that harm came to me when I was adopted by her.
Salvation Lived Moment by moment (The gift of life for all eternity in each moment now)
“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
Psalm 27:1
“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. For the Lord GOD is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.”
Isaiah 12:2
Living each moment in the present moment without fear. My salvation has come and my redemption has been accepted by me. My walk to Calvary step by step with my Cross and my Crucifixion and now my full Resurrection thru Jesus Christ. You see, it was Jesus walking with me to Calvary and helping me carry my Cross and my Crucifixion was my inner-self accepting Jesus’ gift of Resurrection for me. This is my daily life – to accept and recognize the truth that without Jesus’s Resurrection I would not be free in spirit.
The freedom has awakened my soul to the truth about my being adopted into the family of God. The Holy family of God who created me with a plan and purpose for my life not just here and now, but for eternity. Moment by moment remembering that thru Jesus, my freedom has been paid in full. Yet, it was thru many hardships for decades that I sought God.
August 15th, 2025 it came into play that yes, I had been redeemed long before when being about eight sitting in Holy Redeemer Catholic Church watching the candle of God burning in front of the Tabernacle and the votive candles with an array of colors. In the stillness and quietness sitting there for an audible voice of God.
I felt His presence inside of me as I left the church. However, it is now in the present moment God has been surrounding and inside of that deep deep place known as my soul.
My soul is there quietly listening to Him and when the thoughts come and my hands write from a place in which is deep inside, my faith is strengthened and renewed. I learned that God communicates in the quietness of light as the the white flickering candle which burns in front of the Tabernacle. It was that light which brought a comfort and serenity to my worries and calmed my mind.
God’s Holy presence has carried me since age eight years old. Now at sixty-eight years I can say that I have lived thru His grace and love that gives unequal faith because His faithfulness and fullness encompasses my being. I’m faithful to Him.
“Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act.”
Psalm 37:3-5
“For the Lord will not reject his people; he will never forsake his inheritance.”
Psalm 94:14
“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my expectation is from him.”
Psalm 62:5
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18
Prayer of Faith
In remembrance of you my Holy Father, my heart finds rest. My faithfulness is rooted in your teachings to my soul of your faithfulness. My actions now are a continuous reminder of your deep desires for me to prosper in your Heavenly Kingdom. You patiently waited as you taught me at eight years old, for the time to unite with you for all eternity. You are my treasured inheritance and I shall never forget that you saved me thru your Holy presence. Yes, you did not harm me, but saved me. My time has not been in vain for you have honored me with your opened heart which led me to the fountain of resurrection. My soul is full.
In the name of your Holy Son Jesus Christ.
Amen
Michael, Your Beloved Son of the Most High.
The magic of the moon
One-sidedly, it leaned.
I saw a hug of life in the face.
After a pulse of fear,
A free pause arose in me.
Rays of hope extended beneath the equator.
You know the location of a bleeding wound.
From my heart, woe is me.
A fire that never goes out.
And the fractures of my letters twisted from their pain. Their tears spilled and scattered between the air and the water.
The vapor of your love’s waves.
From the magic of the moon.
Evaporated in space.
No longer condensed.
To bring us together even in winter.
The roses did not grow after you.
I was ashamed to see them without you.
The glances of healing do not appear, they do not blossom.
The flames of longing rush towards me after separation.
Love receded between the covers of a book.
No one reads it.
My verses surrendered.
To prolonged sadness.
From afar, we are…
Not this whole world.
We live without life.
Nageh Ahmed
Egypt
Curious of the heart.
He liked the skies of Allah,
In the filled, my lime patiently ended.
Erk gave us a tomb lying on us,
It is said that we have lost to theanan.
The touched by a debt,
He is a way of our grew up in our breasts.
The unable to save is a dead bars,
If we do not cure, they will say that we will salt us,
I am not selfish to my people,
An old call is not the old gray.
If I do not have an eye on sight of Turks,
I’m saying that I have won the Armon rivers.
If the loads are the gang, my eyes are tears,
If a fluffy throws my chest, I can.
If the Turkish robe begins to the ground,
It is said that I went through this world.
Urgench State Pedagogical Institute, Faculty of Philology and History, Uzbek Language and Literature, 3rd year student.