If your father is with you

You are not walking on a bad road, zinhor.
Good wishes are in your blood.
You're lucky, you're always happy,
If your father is with you

You will not be one of the others,
I'm sorry if you don't break your heart.
Blessings to those who work,
If your father is with you.

One of the moon and one of the sun
Don't let the tears flow.
If you are proud, don't bend your head,
If your father is with you.

Smile on your children's faces,
Carelessness and sadness in an unpressing heart.
This is your friend and this is your country,
If your father is with you.

Prayers are answered,
May your days be filled with joy.
Happiness will not leave you,
If your father is with you.

Don't be ignorant, don't be weak,
Enjoy every moment.
Your heart will never have a dream,
If your father is with you.


Khaitmurodov Ismail
Address: Samarkand city
Alfraganus is a 3rd year student of the Faculty of Economics

Breathe

The maple trees told me it's in the ashen branches
Where the squirrels hide 
Their little child soul set afar from human conditions
I surmise the longing of things
From near and far 
Where the river is spread out against the sky
The night stars are falling around
I saw in a sleep
The jumpings and quiverings of non living things
Stay in my mind like a biscuit parchment paper
I blew the dandelions too loudly
Alas they catch the midheaven star
The North node of all our dreams where they shine
I now think of the maple trees 
The red apples sodden
With arched bow whites 
I know not what to name these
Perhaps they carry their own destiny
A hidden blush of lost stars and milkyways
I breathe in thee. 

My hands don’t tell me to touch another,

not to hug them, not to kiss them, 

not to slap them, not to stab them,

nor even feel for them at all.

My hands write,

write the scenarios I played out for crowds.

I write until the skin on my hands disintegrates,

blood puddles on the paper,

scattering stories unable to be spoken.

When bubbled crimsons agile hands daunt an 

unchased stars truthful lies,

no escape to tame relocation.

Although memory stings like rays,

escaping towards shallow shadows,

hollow to silent foretelling fate.

Dried up hopes flourished again,

lines weren’t nothing but stables for either.

We know yet fear the ideas 

of a galaxy collapsed fate.

Fate connects us more to ourselves

than any addiction punctured into our backs.

Told they will suppress our emotions,

we quote what they tell us

in grief,

in love,

in translucency.

Our bodies tell the truth.

addiction is emotion in hiding

when they are not to be.

Emotions are never more alive 

when cut into you.

My parents’ faith gave me strength. 

I was born in Asaka district of Andijan region, in a family of intellectuals.

All my achievements today are due to the support of my parents since childhood.

My parents taught me to read and write, they brought me books every week, my childhood was spent in social activity, participating in various contests, and working on myself.

The doors that were closed in my face encouraged me to be stronger, to act more boldly towards my goal, and I achieved all this.

The award is not important for me, it is important that I can do it and be recognized.

When I graduated, I grew up as a strong person. During this period, I rediscovered myself as a person. Although I am a positive person, my first year as an applicant was somewhat difficult. But it was the process of adaptation that opened up new horizons in my psyche. I devoted my time to learning more. My efforts to study and research were not in vain. 

For the first time, with the intention of going abroad, I took a course in the subject that I had studied little. The fact that I gained experience in different directions has a great role in my financial independence.

My parents have a big role in everything. Since childhood, I have always strived for the best in everything. I thank my parents, who did not put pressure on me and did not set limits saying, “You are a girl.”

“My daughter knows very well what to say and which way to walk, no matter where she is,” they say.

My parents have a great role in my success.  

 From my parents, I learned to be honest and truthful, to constantly work on myself, to make the most of every moment. For this reason, I did not suffer financially.

Since I was 16 years old, I tried to support myself and cover my needs.

My lifestyle, dreams and goals, which I have always promised myself, give me strength and motivation.

Olimova Muslima Odiljon’s daughter was born on 07.08.2007 in the city of Asaka, Andijan region. She graduated from the 13th school of Asaka district with a gold medal. Andijan Mechanical Engineering Institute. 1st year student of Information Systems and Technologies, Faculty of IB and CT.

***
Getting to know silence
The clouds in the sky burst silently
The veins on the arm burst silently
The dead cry silently
Thunder rumbles without any unnecessary sounds
Fish heads don’t scream
Even mosquitoes don’t squeak
A military pilot prepared to drop a quiet (but only for the time being) air bomb

***
the existence of clouds for the sake of the existence of rain
the creation of man for the sake of the creation of god
I know everything in the world except the truth

***
The future is water
The future is a spit
I collect spit and tears
I pretend that the cemetery is a space rocket
I pretend Im going to the stars
But in fact Im picking mushrooms in the forest after an explosion in the forest near
Hiroshima

***
Religion was invented for those
Who have not yet died
Each of us dreams of being Jesus Christ
Each of us is a baby
Вut where are the Magi

***
БОГ
ГОГ
LOL
LOLA
LOL A
LOL Æ
LOL
ГОГ
ВАН ГОГ
ONE GOG
VAN GOGH
VAH GOG
AH GOD
A DOG
AD OG
АД ОХ
ЛХ ОХ
ХХ ХХ
ОО ОО
Zero
Nothing

***

Chorus. 

Silence. 

Silence kills. 

Silence is a source of information, 

And the deader it is, 

The more valuable it is. 

Music. 

The choir repeats the same thing, 

Nailing silence to the emptiness. 

Creepy, fascinating. 

Chorus is loneliness. 

It is unbearable to hear 

How insanely lonely 

Each individual voice is. 

All voices arise from silence. 

All voices arise from loneliness. 

All voices are singing. 

Singing is the twin of music. 

Music is made up of sounds: 

Silence and stillness. 

Sound is a movement 

That moves towards 

The one who hears it. 

Hear the silence while waiting 

For the end of life. 

Listen to silence 

During your own apocalypse. 

And sing. 

Almost die. 

Life is almost dead. 

Death is almost beautiful. 

Death is silence. 

Death is a song 

Without words,

Without a voice. 

Chorus. 

Silence. 

Silence kills.

***

Blind people do not interfere with those who are happy. Night with silence. Occasionally there is the sound of cars on the street. Steps on the stairs. The noise of neighbors voices and the clatter of dishes.

A blind man is looking for a roof. The stars are shining and there is nowhere to hide from the shine. Its not snowing. There is no access to the roof.

A blind man is looking for a basement. A blind man plays hide and seek. The door to the basement is closed.

A blind man is looking for a home. A blind man does not want to live in a house without color. There is a sharpened knife on the table. The soul turns into a bird. The door is open.

***

I teach the lights to light up

I learn from people about combustion

Matches have no soul

Matches can break

You can build a house and death out of matches

The flowers in which the cemetery is floating are fake

Lighters are much preferable to matches

The peace of the grave is guarded by a cricket

***

no one knows 

the autumn cemetery 

as well as worms

***

the rain washes away the dirt 

from the face of a homeless man

***

again no one was born 

in the cemetery

***

the ship floats away 

into the distance

the clouds float away 

into the distance

people are floating away

no one will catch up with time

***

the grass opens 

its spring temple 

belatedly

Election Results

He’s staying 

Up late

With a box

Of wine

And a frozen pizza,

A meal 

That he’s hardly

Able to taste,

Except for

The worry

And the sadness

And the fear.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May.