With the rise of human unrest, everything around feels breathless.
Distrust and rashness spread in every direction Like unleashed waves of overflowing waters outside They devour our shelter, devour our lives Nature itself is losing its own rhythm.
Rivers are drying, settlements are burning Cities and ports drift away The game of justice and injustice goes on While elsewhere piles of bodies keep rising.
As if from behind, someone pulls the strings, Drunk on the intoxication of the dead— Someone, keeps pulling the strings.
Just as history’s pages reveal: Seeking one’s own heroism In exchange for human corpses.
Yet we grew up knowing We learned it from the pages of books— Human beings exist for one another.
As if in some mythic war The might of the powerful is being put on display Oil for oil’s own sorcery Gold mines and strings of pearls—
Searching and searching One day the earth will give up All its glittering treasures from within.
And that day, Powerful and powerless alike Will blur into one voice and ask together: What has happened to the Earth?
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.
Once when he was in grade ten in 1990, his Bangla letter was selected as the best one from Deutsche Welle, Germany Radio that broadcast Bangla news for the Banglalee people. And he was given 50 Dutch Mark as his award. They would ask letters from the listeners to the news in Bangla and select one letter for the best one in every month.
From 17 to 30 September, in 2018 he received a higher training in teaching English language in Kasetsart University of Thailand for secondary level students through a government order from education ministry.
On 06 November 2015 he achieved Amjad Ali Mondal Medal for his contribution in education field by a development organization in the conference and felicitation function for the honorable personalities at Rajshahi College Auditorium.
On 30 December 2017 from West Bengal in India he was declared a ‘Literary Charioteer’ in Bangobandhu Literary and World Bango Conference and they awarded him with a Gold Medal in their International Literary Conference and Prize Giving Ceremony.
In 2018, he achieved Prodipto Lirerary Award in Prodipto Literary Conference at Kesorhat, Rajshahi for poems in Bangla literature. He received honorary crest from the administration of Chapainawabganj District Literary Conference and Cultural Function in 2021 and 2022 consecutively.
His poems have been published in many international online magazines such as Juntos Por las L Raven Cage Zine, and Area Felix. His poems have been translated and published in Argentine and Serbian, and he participated in many international online cultural meetings.
Her words are filled with love, patience, and light.
In her eyes remain traces of sleepless nights,
Each prayer a shield that never leaves my side.
My father says, “Walk straight, never bow your head,”
Be honest — this is the advice he gives me.
In hard times, his words become my support,
Through prayer, his strength grows even more.
Even when they see me fall, they stay silent,
Inside them live a thousand unspoken wishes.
Quietly at night, they raise their hands in prayer,
Calling my name, pleading to the heavens.
These prayers open wide the paths before me,
In every task, God Himself gives support.
Not wealth, not fame — this alone is enough,
A parents’ prayer is the greatest treasure.
Time will pass, hair will turn gray, I know,
I wish to serve them, knowing their true worth.
While they are here, I am never alone,
Where their prayers exist, sorrow cannot stay.
O Lord, always protect them,
Grant them long lives filled with blessings and peace.
Every breath I take is full of gratitude,
For my parents’ prayers — my eternal thanks.
I was born in Asaka District, Andijan Region. I entered the 10th General Secondary School of Asaka District in 2014 and graduated in 2025. Currently, I am studying at the Andijan Branch of Kokand University in the English Language Teaching program, group 25_09. I am studying at this university with excellent grades and actively participating in many conferences, scientific articles, and numerous seminars.
I have also taken part in many competitions for young readers and have won honorable prizes. Similarly, I have achieved first and second honorable places in national competitions. In 2025, I graduated from school with a red diploma due to my discipline and outstanding academic performance.
I love expressing my thoughts and feelings through creativity. In my works, sincerity, a deep perspective on life, and inner emotions hold an important place. I write every line with responsibility, striving to convey words that come straight from my heart to the reader. This book is the result of my search, my hard work, and my love for creativity.
Today, global warming is one of the most serious environmental problems facing humanity. In recent years, the increase in Earth’s temperature, the rapid melting of glaciers, and the rise in natural disasters show how serious this problem has become. Many people are interested in what is causing global warming.
The main cause is human activity. Gases released from factories, power plants, and cars pollute the atmosphere. These gases are called greenhouse gases, and they trap heat from the Sun in the Earth’s atmosphere. As a result, the temperature of our planet continues to rise year by year.
Another important factor contributing to global warming is deforestation. Trees absorb carbon dioxide and help clean the air. However, as forests are cut down, the amount of harmful gases increases and the natural balance of the environment is disturbed.
In addition, the increase in waste, excessive use of plastic, and wasting energy also have a negative impact on the environment. People often do not think enough about the consequences of their actions.
In conclusion, the main cause of global warming is humans themselves. However, reducing this problem is also in human hands. If we protect nature, plant more trees, and use energy wisely, we can help prevent global warming. Every small action by each person can lead to big changes.
Yo’ldoshaliyeva Zinnura was born on June 17, 2011, in Rishton district of Fergana region. She is an 8th-grade student at the Fergana branch of the Specialized School named after Muhammad al-Khwarizmi and also serves as the leader of the “Talented” direction in the Rishton District Council of Leaders.
She has actively participated in various educational and intellectual projects, including “Anim Camp,” “Future Founders Online Forum,” “Young Reader” and the regional stage of STEM subjects. Her scientific article was published in the book “Feelings on Paper,” and another article of hers appeared in the “Synchronized Chaos” journal. In addition, she has taken part in many other projects and initiatives, demonstrating strong academic interest and leadership skills.
First of all, published poet and contributor Tao Yucheng is still hosting a poetry contest, open to all readers of Synchronized Chaos Magazine.
Synchronized Chaos Poetry Contest: We seek short, powerful, imaginative, and strange poetry. While we welcome all forms of free verse and subject matter, we prefer concise work that makes an impact.
Guidelines: Submit up to five poems per person to taoyucheng921129@proton.me. Each poem should not exceed one page (ideally half a page or less). All styles and themes welcome. Deadline for submissions will be in early March.
Prizes: First Place: $50 Second Place: $10, payable via online transfer. One Honorable Mention. Selected finalists will be published in Synchronized Chaos Magazine.
Also, past contributor Alexander Kabishev is seeking international poems of four lines each on the theme of friendship for a global anthology. The anthology, Hyperpoem, will be published by Ukiyoto Press and a presentation of the poem will take place in Dubai in August 2026.
Kabishev says the new vision of the project goes beyond commercial frameworks, aiming to become an international cultural and humanitarian movement, with the ambitious goal of reaching one million participants and a symbolic planned duration of one thousand years.
The focus is on promoting international friendship, respect for the identity of all peoples on Earth, and building bridges of understanding between cultures through poetry and its readers.
Please send poems to Alexander at aleksandar.kabishev@yandex.ru
This month’s issue asks the question, “Who Will We Become?” Submissions address introspection, spiritual searching, and moral and relational development and decision-making.
This issue was co-edited by Yucheng Tao.
Sajid Hussain’s metaphysical, ethereal poetry, rich with classical allusions, reminds us of the steady passage of time.
Jamal Garougar’s New Year reflection emphasizes ritual, spirituality, and the practices of patience and peace. Taylor Dibbert expresses his brief but cogent hope for 2026.
Dr. Jernail S. Anand’s spare poetry illustrates the dissolution of human identity. Bill Tope’s short story reflects on memory and grief through the protagonist’s recollection of his late school classmate. Turkan Ergor considers the depth of emotions that can lie within a person’s interior. Sayani Mukherjee’s poem on dreams lives in the space between waking thought and imaginative vision. Stephen Jarrell Williams offers up a series of childhood and adult dreamlike and poetic memories. Alan Catlin’s poem sequence renders dreams into procedural logic: how fear, guilt, memory, and culture behave when narrative supervision collapses. Priyanka Neogi explores silence itself as a creator and witness in her poetry. Duane Vorhees’ rigorous poetic work interrogates structure: individuality, myth, divinity, agency, culture. Tim Bryant analyzes the creative process and development of craft in Virginia Aronson’s poetic book of writerly biographies, Collateral Damage.
Nurbek Norchayev’s spiritual poetry, translated from English to Uzbek by Nodira Ibrahimova, expresses humility and gratitude to God. Timothee Bordenave’s intimate devotional poetry shares his connection to home and to his work and his feelings of gratitude.
Through corrosive imagery and fractured music, Sungrue Han’s poem rejects sacred authority and reclaims the body as a site of sound, resistance, and memory. Shawn Schooley’s poem operates through liturgical residue: what remains after belief has been rehearsed, delayed, or partially evacuated. Slobodan Durovic’s poem is a high-lyric, baroque lament, drawing from South Slavic oral-poetic density, Biblical rhetoric, and mythic self-abasement.
Melita Mely Ratkovic evokes a mystical union between people, the earth, and the cosmos. Jacques Fleury’s work is rich in sensory detail and conveys a profound yearning for freedom and renewal. The author’s use of imagery—“fall leaf,” “morning dew,” “unfurl my wings”—evokes a vivid sense of life’s beauty and the desire to fully experience it. James Tian speaks to care without possession, love through distance and observation. Mesfakus Salahin’s poem evokes a one-sided love that is somewhat tragic, yet as eternal as the formation of the universe, as Mahbub Alam describes a love struggling to exist in a complicated and wounded world. Kristy Ann Raines sings of a long-term, steady, and gallant love.
Lan Xin evokes and links a personal love with collective care for all of humanity. Ri Hossain expresses his hope for a gentler world by imagining changed fairy tales. Critic Kujtim Hajdari points out the gentle, humane sensibility of Eva Petropoulou Lianou’s poetry. Brian Barbeito’s lyric, understated travel essay passes through a variety of places and memories. Anna Keiko’s short poem shares her wish for a simple life close to nature. Christina Chin revels in nature through sensual, textured haikus.
Doniyorov Shakhzod describes the need for healthy and humane raising of livestock animals. g emil reutter hits us on the nose with cold weather and frigid social attitudes towards the suffering of the poor and working classes. Patricia Doyne lampoons authoritarian tendencies in the American government. Eva Petropoulou Lianou reminds us that we cannot truly enjoy freedom without a moral, peaceful, and just society. Sarvinoz Giyosova brings these types of choices down to a personal level through an allegory about different parts of one person’s psychology.
Dr. Jernail S. Anand critiques societal mores that have shifted to permit hypocrisy and the pursuit of appearances and wealth at all costs. Inomova Kamola Rasuljon qizi highlights the social and medical effects and implications of influenza and its prevention. Sandip Saha’s work provides a mixture of direct critique of policies that exploit people and the environment and more personal narratives of life experiences and kindness. Gustavo Gac-Artigas pays tribute to Renee Nicole Good, recently murdered by law enforcement officers in the USA.
Dr. Ahmed Al-Qaysi expresses his deep and poetic love for a small child. Abduqahhorova Gulhayo shares her tender love for her dedicated and caring father. Qurolboyeva Shoxista Olimboy qizi highlights the connection between strong families and a strong public and national Uzbek culture. Ismoilova Jasmina Shavkatjon qizi’s essay offers a clear, balanced meditation on women in Uzbekistan and elsewhere as both moral architects and active agents of social progress, grounding its argument in universal human values rather than abstraction.
Dilafruz Muhammadjonova and Hilola Khudoyberdiyeva outline the contributions of Bekhbudiy and other Uzbek Jadids, historical leaders who advocated for greater democracy and education. Soibjonova Mohinsa melds the poetic and the academic voices with her essay about the role of love of homeland in Uzbek cultural consciousness. Dildora Xojyazova outlines and showcases historical and tourist sites in Uzbekistan. Zinnura Yuldoshaliyeva explicates the value of studying and understanding history. Rakhmanaliyeva Marjona Bakhodirjon qizi’s essay suggests interactive and playful approaches to primary school education. Uzbek student Ostanaqulov Xojiakba outlines his academic and professional accomplishments.
Aziza Joʻrayeva’s essay discusses the strengths and recent improvements in Uzbekistan’s educational system. Saminjon Khakimov reminds us of the importance of curiosity and continued learning. Uzoqova Gulzoda discusses the importance of literature and continuing education to aspiring professionals. Toychiyeva Madinaxon Sherquzi qizi highlights the value of independent, student-directed educational methods in motivating people to learn. Erkinova Shahrizoda Lazizovna discusses the diverse and complex impacts of social media on young adults.
Alex S. Johnson highlights the creative energy and independence of musician Tairrie B. Murphy. Greg Wallace’s surrealist poetry assembles itself as a bricolage of crafts and objects. Noah Berlatsky’s piece operates almost entirely through phonetic abrasion and semantic sabotage, resisting formal logic and evoking weedy growth. Fiza Amir’s short story highlights the level of history and love a creative artist can have for their materials. Mark Blickley sends up the trailer to his drama Paleo: The Fat-Free Musical. Mark Young’s work is a triptych of linguistic play, consumer absurdity, and newsfeed dread, unified by an intelligence that distrusts nostalgia, coherence, and scale. J.J. Campbell’s poetry’s power comes from the refusal to dress things up, from humor as insulation against pain. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Taghrid Bou Merhi’s essay offers a lucid, philosophically grounded meditation on laughter as both a humane force and a disruptive instrument, tracing its power to critique, heal, and reform across cultures and histories. Mutaliyeva Umriniso’s story highlights how both anguish and laughter can exist within the same person.
Paul Tristram traces various moods of a creative artist, from elation to irritation, reminding us to follow our own paths. Esonova Malika Zohid qizi’s piece compares e-sports with physical athletics in unadorned writing where convictions emerge with steady confidence. Dr. Perwaiz Shaharyar’s poetry presents simple, defiant lyrics that affirm poetry as an indestructible form of being, embracing joy, exclusion, and madness without apology.
Ozodbek Yarashov urges readers to take action to change and improve their lives. Aziza Xazamova writes to encourage those facing transitions in life. Fazilat Khudoyberdiyeva’s poem asserts that even an ordinary girl can write thoughtful and worthy words.
Botirxonov Faxriyor highlights the value of hard work, even above talent. Taro Hokkyo portrays a woman finding her career and purpose in life.
We hope that this issue assists you, dear readers, in your quest for meaning and purpose.
Dream
The avalanche of broken dreams
The choir of new sought promise
Surmise me as I go on seeking the world
The telepathy of numerous things
All at once come undone under my periphery
The vision of hydrangeas and little faiths
What if all a dreamscape of muted epiphanies?
Truly dream then again and again under the canopy
For faith of all things come around
The sun basks in a miraculous height
The trampoline circus of humanity at a standstill
Still flickering and sowing the seeds of freedom.
The last day that I saw Debbie Hatcher, she was just 15 years old. Slender and pretty and dressed in a skirt that hugged her hips, she was cute as a button. She had shoulder length light brown hair and a gold herringbone locket she’d received for her fifteenth birthday. She wore it literally everywhere; she was so proud of being in love with a boy who would bestow such a precious gift on her.
We were standing in the school library, in the Ds, somewhere between Durant and Dante, searching for a likely subject for a book report, when, madly impulsive, I approached her as if in a dream and kissed her lips. She was startled at first, but when the shock had disappeared, she let her guard down and kissed me back. I had known Deb since grade school, but only fantasized about her as a sort of forbidden treasure, lovely to admire from a distance, but strictly unapproachable.
Here I was, Tim Meese, not yet 16, and kissing a girl for the first time. And what a girl! I silently congratulated myself for starting at the very top of the social pyramid. She leaned into me and I into her, until we were both quite lost. At length, old, old Mrs. Kroger — she must have been at least 50 — the school librarian, sneaked down the aisle and coughed peremptorily. We instantly separated, embarrassed to have been found out. Although this was my initial foray into kissing, it was clearly not the frist time that Deb had been kissed. She was far too expert at it to be a novice.
We glanced at Mrs. Kroger, to assess the level of trouble we were in, but she smiled her secret smile and withdrew. I felt supercharged, and Deb seemed similarly affected. She leaned close and whispered to meet her after school at her house; I hastily agreed. And what of the necklace-giving boyfriend? It turned out that his family had moved to the coast two weeks before and so at least he was no longer in contention for Deb’s affections. But I didn’t know this yet.
After lunch, I spied Deb in the corridor between classes, walking with her friends. I smiled at her, but she looked right through me. I blinked. Weren’t we inexorably linked forever, having tasted one another’s lips and even shared a breath? Had I only imagined our reconnoitering in the library? I shook my head and proceeded on to class.
After school let out, I anxiously plodded the three blocks to Maple Street, where Deb’s house stood. When I arrived, I knocked at the door and Mrs. Hatcher, a stay-at-home mom, which nearly all moms were back in the day, invited me in to wait for her daughter. We engaged in small talk and she plied me with pretzels, chips and Pepsis. Gazing about the living room, I spotted a photo of Deb and Jason, the boy who’d given her the locket. I didn’t know him well and stared at him disconsolately, enviously.
Mrs. Hatcher went on to tell me that Jason’s father had taken a job with an aircraft manufacturer in Los Angeles, and so that was the last they would see of Jason. She didn’t seem at all unhappy at the prospect, condemning him as “too progressive,” whatever that meant. Mrs. Hatcher remembered me from second grade, when her daughter and I had been matched up to perform the minuet in some stale elementary school production of a 200-year-old play. She inquired politely how my dancing was commencing. I told her that I was more into The Twist and The Mashed Potato these days, and she sniffed.
After quite a long time, the telephone jangled off the hook and Mrs. Hatcher snatched it up. She listened for some time, drew a sharp breath and said, “I’ll be there.” She looked stricken, and then stared off into space for an interminable moment, and finally turned to me and said, in a choked voice, “You’d better go home, Tim,” and she disappeared into another room. I quietly let myself out.
The telephone call and Mrs. Hatcher’s behavior were a mystery to me, and I didn’t know what to think. It wasn’t until the next day at school, when word leaked out. Deb Hatcher was dead. She had copped a ride on an upperclassman’s motorcycle and there had been an accident. Deb, unlike the driver, didn’t have a helmet and had suffered terminal injuries when she fell from the bike and struck her head on the pavement. The driver suffered only minor injuries.
It gave me a weird, eerie, ghostly feeling to know that I was the last boy to ever kiss Deb Hatcher. She’d had her whole life before her: additional boyfriends, a husband, children of her own, a career, perhaps. She was smart; no telling how far she might have gone. And, just maybe, she would have gone there with me. They offered a sort of rudimentary grief counseling at the school and they dedicated the yearbook to Deb and one other boy, who’d died from leukemia. I didn’t see the grief counselor and I didn’t buy the yearbook. I didn’t need the glossy photo to remember Deb. I attended the funeral. They had a closed casket.
