Flower

The beautiful white of musked roses
Smelled heavenly as I longed to see
A bright torpedo colour of blue skim
The butterfly vision over me
As I stranded over the cliffs of greenery
I swam a great high
Poetry is like flower
Bright beautiful pansies in a summer day
The long twisted hauled letters smiled at me
The mailed by the night circus of grappling intensity
As I turned around and saw the zeal of monsoon rain
Little sprinkled water of bucketed truth
As the flowers fell over my tip toed joy. 

I realized that I must live like a debtor,
I am a chosen servant among thousands,
I cannot go away like a stone falling into the water,
I am not created by ordinary people, I am like that!

Don’t give me peace! Don’t give me obedience!
Give me rebellion, give me struggle!
Don’t give me excuses! Give me courage!
Give me creation! Don’t give me light!

In the eyes that fall, there is a flowery poem,
Or a white sweat on my forehead,
Although I live as dust, earth,
Being like a mountain under the feet of those who trample me!

Do not expect, despise, or praise anyone,
Raise me, O Lord, give me your hand,
Do not let my life be decided in the hands of the lowly,
Give me the way to start great caravans!

 ***
Wiser thoughts have filled your mind,
Life’s lesson is the most difficult lesson,
Your bosses have led you to mirages,
Sometimes you sow wheat when you don’t reap it!

You have been waiting for happiness from those who have lost everything,
Your life has been tied to a long caravan of dreams,
From those who have collected pearls in your eyes,
Now give up hope and turn to your destiny!

You will laugh at your bitter fate,
Your loved ones who have fallen from your heart,
Your tears that have dried up like the moisture on the tip of your eyelashes,
Your ones that have burned in the chaos of times!

You are a fleeting fragment like a cloud in the sky,
You pour out your heart to the rains,
While I connect my heavy chest to your heart,
If only I could pick your sorrows like flowers…

 University

My sorrows fade away as the years pass,
My life seeks happiness in your eyes,
If I step into the arms of snow, my thirsty soul,
If my wild imagination and restless thoughts freeze…

I would like mountains as high as my soul,
If the sky falls, I would be proud of my chest!
I will reach my feelings in a chaotic way,
If I build a path from your memories…
The streets are green… The night is dark…
The whispers of the rain say your name,
The curtains drawn over my heart are dim,
Recall the distant past to me.

Poplars… Alley… Hazy street…
A gaze that falls like an eyeball on the ground…
The first shiver… The first kiss… The full moon night…
The dear university that brought us together…
My tears are a puddle under the trees,
My longing has filled my heart,
The path that leads to your bosom, O God,
My heart has been entangled…

***
Was it a dream or a fog that I was so distracted by,
Waiting for a companion on an incomprehensible path,
My eyes filled with tears,
I lived my whole life as autumn..

Am I a leaf or one that fell prematurely?!
Crushed and broken at the foot of a hill,
My sad gaze fixed on the sky,
My body was buried in the dust…

I was an Eagle, right?! Ask, I was a Falcon!!!
I landed on your wrist as a king – my enemy,
The world was a lie, but I was real!
You made me so many places, my beloved…

LIFE

Everything is repetitive, everything is old,
The circle has been spinning since the dawn of time,
The steps of life are faster than anything,
The world is as black as your eyes, empty

I’m behind, you’re in front, in the middle is memory…
The worry that has covered our face…
The heart is forgetting its familiarity…
What I lack is love and air…

It will rain, it will snow
Seasons bring sadness, dust,
Their thoughts are heavy, their moods are narrow,
Can you forget a dildo like you?!

The wind asks, the thunder is loud,
A soul in a distant hut,
The belt is widening, the clouds are close,
The sound of the drops…

I run back, my steps follow,
I wake up startled, it’s all a dream, a dream…
If one day I am absorbed in nothingness, if I leave,
You make me like everything, my dear…

My heart is spreading, the shams are shooting arrows,
A thousand and one birds do things in space,
Chilly summer, cold autumn, dampness is cold
Kuzacks give way to winter…

A epkin in the heart that vibrates like grass,
Full of noisy silence right and left,
Life is slow like tears in the eyes,
The address is the late road between the eyebrows…

The address is a long way between the eyebrows!

***
To ask for mercy with such great love,
Your head is like a stone,
How hard it is to laugh and cry silently,
One day we will see our hearts bloom like flowers on the ground…

I have become accustomed to the burdens that tear my neck,
I have stopped caring about the heart-warming encouragements,
I do not trust the promises that the sky kisses,
I have no grudge, I will never hold a grudge against them…

Is a small cup of patience,
The depths of my covenant are deep,
Even the kiss of a false lover cannot be erased,
Is the path of life always steep and steep?

I am leaving, my sky is raining heavily,
In every struggle, my shovels have bitten the ground,
Having lost heart from everyone who gave me hope,
I am leaving, life has “planted” me…

It’s true that a passenger made a passenger,
A lesson for someone, a fate for someone,
I give a lot, I get a little in this fight,
The height of the heart of a broken heart!

Did I head into spaces like air?
A thousand and one mistakes in the tangled street of thoughts,
Don’t let the winds blow my heart,
Even if I fall, lift me up, God!

Latofat Amirova was born in 1997 in Kashkadarya region, Republic of Uzbekistan.

The bird in the blue sky pauses wing motion and hovers, glides, surveying something. Those fields are open and not. They are interesting to imagine from a Carlos Castaneda type view, a would-be mystical lens. Sky and ground and sky and ground what’s all around? There are impossibly tall hydro lines, looking like stationary monsters, and their wires go down just a little bit, right?- if you watched them from car windows long ago you know this and you probably know this anyhow. They are comprising something from another world in the midst of those lands. A copse of trees near, winter branches barren and lonesome, jutting upwards in airs, also still and bereft of life. Grey. They are grey and I wonder if anything besides the black and grey squirrels traverse ‘round them. 

Hawk. The bird is a hawk. Another one arrives and they seem to sway as if on invisible strings in a cosmic play. Then they move along and soon disappear. There is then nothing. Water flows along a stream, as a stream, and on the inside ridges are formed icicles half melted and looking for some reason like champagne glasses, dozens of them in each group as one goes along.

There must be deer and coyote that go past at some point. Nocturnal? Coy? Like some spirit totem animals. Rabbit. The summer snake, dragonfly, butterfly maybe also. Other things. There is always more than one thought. Other worlds. Could be spirits if metaphysics is true. What then watches?- deva, sprite, fairy, limbo soul earthbound spectre happy angry or sad phantoms?- I don’t know. Pebbles. Stones. Some bricks at certain passages. Places where water traces lines on hills and follows them down into the larger water. Sojourns for precipitation. Beingness. The natural world of wildflowers and animals, of flora and fauna plus the ground in any season and the skies, are better than social constructs and the infrastructure of metropolis and even the quaintest of towns. 

Hue. Realm. Language gives the possibility of poems and poets, so that’s good, the benevolence of idiom, diction, slang and formality both,  doesn’t go too much farther than that, or so I would think anyhow. 

Existence raw. Those hawks. Flowing water. Those things were before and will be after. We just enter for a little while. If there is the transmigration of souls, a continued journey after, fine, good and well. If not, it’s a win-win situation as there would be no ‘us,’ ‘soul,’ or consciousness to be disappointed anyhow. If we are dust and ash, far less than the beautiful winter hawks, far less than even a field mouse, far less than a part of a dying flying falling petal, then so be it, and that world, which is the real world, universally and scientifically, physically, is okay, has to be okay. It has its own eternal flare, glare, and stare. 

Soon the wind arrives and goes along the branches and distant lakes, around tall golden growths like wheat proud and together in the middle of somewhere. But it’s cold. It doesn’t carry the true and desired warmth that spring air can sometimes, the type of warmth that assuages the trouble of many souls for a minute, and inclines them to shift perspective towards minor but important comments such as, ‘Spring is coming,’ or, ‘I heard it’s going to get really warm next week,’ and, ‘I’d like to clean the outside places of some leaves soon…’ no, the wind is not from an auspicious poem them, but still cold and it is also like this: winter, a guest that one thought left but hadn’t. Thought: ‘Oh, they are still here. They had left the room momentarily and I took it that they left the greater house and grounds. But they are here. What’s more, they don’t even look like they getting ready to leaving.’ 

Oh how  it goes like that. But it’s nice, the company of the competent bird there. Hover again just like then, no?- over the hydro lines monstrous, above the stream, perhaps as spirits watch on, by the great glen that leads to wide and wild side boulders. Hover and glide for a few seconds more. 

Orchard of Knives

In the orchard of knives,
the trees whisper your name.

Mouths full of rotten fruit
cackle at the blistered moon.

And you walk through, barefoot,
picking the sharpest blade

to slice out the loneliness
rooted in your throat.

Funeral Shoes

I bought
a pair of funeral
shoes today.
Black leather,
stiff as a scream.
The assistant

smiled
like a woman
flogging coffins.
Thought about
returning them.
Didn’t.
I’ll wear them
everywhere.
To the bar.
To the fights.
To the last
slow dance
on earth.
You never know
when the ground
will open up.
And it’s best
to be ready.

Translation

Rizal Tanjung

In English And Indonesian language

From Achilles’ Heel to the Path of Herakles: Greece Then, Now, and the Living Myth

Greece was not born merely from marble stones and temple ruins. It grew from the verses sung by rhapsodes, from the rage of Achilles, and from the heavy footsteps of Herakles conquering both myth and history. If Homer once portrayed humankind as the shadows of gods, modern Greece now walks the reality as the living shadow of its past. The journey from myth to the present is a long process of preservation and reinvention of identity.

Achilles: The Body, the Rage, and Modernity

Achilles in the Iliad is not merely a character; he is a metaphor: a flawless body with a hidden vulnerability, a blazing fury that shapes history. In modern art—such as Ernst Gustav Herter’s statue now standing proudly in Corfu—Achilles is portrayed as a symbol of athletic beauty and tragic downfall. His naked body is not mere aesthetics; it is a cultural legacy of humanity pushing its own limits. Modern Greece is no stranger to this inheritance. Amid economic crises, mass migration, and European Union politics, the nation reveals that the “heel of Achilles” is not always a weakness, but a compass of history that demands to be acknowledged. They understand that beauty is never sterile, and that anger, like in the Iliad, can be a source of strength. In Greece’s contemporary politics and culture, the traces of Achilles remain: fragile yet ablaze.—

Herakles: Mythic Road and a New Nationalism

Herakles, the hero who conquered Troy before Troy itself became a legend, is a symbol of perseverance, intellectual strength, and divine will grounded in humanity. In myth, he is the human son of Zeus; in modern Greek history, Herakles becomes a symbol of national revival—one that faces forward while carrying the weight of the past.Today, the “Path of Herakles” is Greece’s road to European modernity without abandoning its roots. When Greece plants solar panels in former olive fields, when Athens builds ultra-modern museums beneath the shadow of the Acropolis, when the Greek diaspora in Australia and Canada stages Homeric theater with postmodern settings—then Herakles walks again. Not to conquer monsters, but to conquer the amnesia of history.

Comparison: From Epic to Economy

Aspect Ancient Myth Modern Greece

Central Figures Achilles & Herakles

The People and the State

Challenges War, Gods, Monsters

Economic crises, migration, identity

Symbolic Body Athletic ideal & ruin Nationalism, defiance of EU stereotypes

Core Discourse The will of the gods The will of the people, modern democracy

Struggle Against fate (moira) Against rootless globalization—Architecture, Identity, and Memory

Just as the statue of Achilles sheds the heavy Mycenaean armor for a more dramatic aesthetic, Greece today sheds the burden of history to present itself as a center of new cultural dialogue. It does not dwell in the past, but uses the past as a tool—diplomatic, economic, and artistic. As Pliny the Elder once recorded the beauty of the nude in Greek art, so too does modern Greece expose itself—naked in debt, in crisis, in struggle. Yet from that vulnerability emerges European solidarity, a rethinking of democracy, and a reinvention of Mediterranean identity.

The Path of Herakles Is Not Yet Finished

Myths never die. They merely change form. Achilles today is the youth of Greece protesting in the streets of Athens. Herakles is now the cultural architect rebuilding Greece with knowledge and innovation. From gods to parliamentary democracy, one thing remains: Greece continues to rewrite itself—with pen, with sculpture, and with the courage to defy fate. In the land of the gods now ruled by bureaucracy, the path of Herakles goes ever onward.

West Sumatra, 2025…………“Dari Tumit Achilles ke Jalan Herakles: Yunani Dulu, Kini, dan Mitos yang Hidup”Oleh: Rizal Tanjung Yunani tidak hanya lahir dari bebatuan marmer dan reruntuhan kuil. Ia tumbuh dari syair yang dinyanyikan para rhapsode, dari amarah seorang Achilles, dan dari langkah berat Herakles yang berjalan menaklukkan mitos dan sejarah. Bila dulu kisah Homeros menggambarkan manusia sebagai bayangan para dewa, kini Yunani modern menapak realitas sebagai bayangan masa lalu yang terus dihidupkan. Perjalanan dari mitos ke masa kini adalah proses panjang antara pelestarian dan penciptaan ulang identitas.

Achilles: Tubuh, Amarah, dan Modernitas

Achilles dalam Iliad bukan hanya tokoh, ia adalah metafora: tubuh sempurna dengan kelemahan tersembunyi, kemarahan yang membakar namun membentuk sejarah. Dalam seni modern, seperti patung karya Ernst Gustav Herter yang kini berdiri megah di Corfu, Achilles dihadirkan sebagai simbol keindahan atletik dan kehancuran tragis. Tubuh telanjangnya bukan sekadar estetika; itu adalah warisan budaya tentang manusia yang melampaui batas.Yunani kini tidak asing dengan warisan ini. Di tengah krisis ekonomi, migrasi besar-besaran, dan debat politik Uni Eropa, bangsa ini menunjukkan bahwa “tumit Achilles” tidak selalu kelemahan, tetapi juga penanda arah sejarah yang tak bisa diabaikan. Mereka sadar bahwa keindahan tidak pernah steril, dan bahwa kemarahan, seperti dalam Iliad, bisa menjadi sumber kekuatan. Dalam politik dan budaya Yunani kontemporer, tampak jejak Achilles: rapuh namun membara.

Herakles: Jalan Mitis dan Nasionalisme Baru

Herakles, sang pahlawan yang menaklukkan Troya sebelum Troya sendiri menjadi legenda, adalah simbol dari ketekunan, kekuatan intelektual, dan kehendak ilahi yang “membumi”. Dalam mitos, ia adalah anak Zeus yang manusiawi; dalam sejarah Yunani modern, Herakles menjadi simbol dari kebangkitan bangsa — yang menatap masa depan sambil memikul masa lalu.“Jalan Herakles” hari ini adalah jalan Yunani menuju modernitas Eropa tanpa meninggalkan akar.

Ketika Yunani menanam panel surya di bekas ladang zaitun, ketika Athena membangun museum ultra-modern di bawah bayang-bayang Akropolis, ketika diaspora Yunani di Australia dan Kanada memanggungkan teater Homeros dengan latar pasca-modern — maka Herakles berjalan lagi. Bukan menaklukkan monster, tapi menaklukkan amnesia sejarah.

Perbandingan: Dari Epos ke EkonomiAspek Mitos Kuno Yunani KiniFigur Sentral Achilles & Herakles Rakyat dan NegaraTantangan Perang, Dewa, Monster Krisis ekonomi, migrasi, identitas budaya

Simbol Tubuh Ideal atletis & kehancuran Nasionalisme, perlawanan terhadap stereotipe EropaWacana Utama Kehendak para dewa Kehendak rakyat, demokrasi modernPerjuangan Melawan takdir (moira) Melawan globalisasi tanpa akarArsitektur, Identitas, dan IngatanSebagaimana patung Achilles menolak zirah berat Mykenai demi estetika yang lebih dramatis, Yunani hari ini menanggalkan beban sejarah untuk menampilkan diri sebagai pusat dialog budaya baru. Mereka tidak hidup di masa lalu, tetapi menggunakan masa lalu sebagai senjata diplomatik, ekonomi, dan seni.

Sebagaimana Plinius Tua mencatat keindahan telanjang dalam seni Yunani, begitu pula Yunani modern membuka dirinya—telanjang dalam utang, dalam krisis, dalam perjuangan. Tapi dari sana pula muncul solidaritas Eropa, pemikiran ulang tentang demokrasi, dan penciptaan ulang identitas Mediterrania.Jalan Herakles Belum SelesaiMitos tidak pernah mati. Ia hanya berubah bentuk. Achilles kini adalah generasi muda Yunani yang memprotes di jalanan Athena. Herakles kini adalah arsitek budaya yang membangun kembali Yunani dengan pengetahuan dan inovasi. Dari dewa-dewa ke demokrasi parlementer, satu hal yang tetap: Yunani terus menulis ulang dirinya — dengan pena, patung, dan keberanian melawan takdir.Di negeri para dewa yang kini dikuasai birokrasi, Jalan Herakles terus berlanjut.Sumatera Barat, 2025…….

ANGEL MOTHER ON EARTH! 

Giving my life for you 

Praying every morning. 

It is true that there is an angel in heaven 

Angel mother on earth! 

Working day and night 

Burning for her child 

She who supplicates to God, 

As an angel mother on earth! 

If they are near you, when you are paying attention, 

You will be lucky because of her prayers 

Praying and asking for happiness. 

As an angel mother on earth! 

If you are sick, you have a headache 

Thinking of you, my heart breaks every moment. 

Paradise is the only example 

As an angel mother on earth! 

Nurullayeva Ra’no was born on September 13,2007 in Denov district of Surkhandarya region and is now busy with creativity. The first author’s book of our creator was published under the name ” Denov’s young creative daughter. ” It also has about 20 international certificates. Also, the author’s creative works have been published in many anthologies, such as ” Kalb gavhari ” ” Collection of creators” and “High flights ”