History: The Foundation of the Future — Memory, Lessons, and National Identity
,, A nation that forgets its history does not lose its past—it loses its future. For the future is always built upon the foundation of memory ”
History is not merely a collection of dates, events, or stories about the past. It is the memory of a nation, a guide for the present, and one of the most important foundations for building the future. Every nation’s progress is closely connected with the experiences it has gained throughout its history. Knowing history does not mean living in the past; rather, it means learning from it in order to shape a wiser and more prosperous future.
In today’s era of globalization, the world is becoming increasingly interconnected. Rapid technological development, the constant flow of information, and cultural interaction have created remarkable opportunities for humanity. At the same time, they place an important responsibility upon every nation: while embracing modernization, we must preserve our historical memory, national identity, and cultural values. A society that forgets its past cannot build a stable future.
Uzbekistan is one of the countries with a rich and remarkable historical heritage. For centuries, this land served as a crossroads of civilizations, where science, culture, and trade flourished. It gave the world outstanding scholars, thinkers, poets, and statesmen whose contributions continue to inspire humanity. Figures such as Imam al-Bukhari, Abu Rayhan al-Biruni, Ibn Sina (Avicenna), Mirzo Ulugh Beg, Alisher Navoi, and Amir Temur left a legacy that extends far beyond the borders of Uzbekistan. Their achievements should not merely be a source of pride; they should encourage us to reflect, learn, and continue their pursuit of knowledge, justice, and progress.
One of the most significant examples of this heritage is the political legacy of Amir Temur. His work, Temur’s Code (Temur Tuzuklari), is an important historical source that reflects principles of governance, justice, discipline, and responsibility. Today, it continues to attract the attention of historians and researchers interested in the history of statecraft. Its lasting value lies not only in its historical significance but also in the timeless principles it promotes: responsible leadership, justice, and dedication to the common good.
Another important chapter in Uzbekistan’s history is represented by the Jadid reformers of the early twentieth century. They believed that education, enlightenment, and modern thinking were the true foundations of national development. Through new schools, newspapers, and cultural initiatives, they sought to awaken society and prepare future generations for a rapidly changing world. Their vision of an educated and progressive nation continues to resonate in contemporary Uzbekistan, where education and scientific development remain among the country’s key priorities. History tells us not only about victories but also about mistakes. It reminds us that internal divisions, ignorance, and the neglect of education often lead to decline. Therefore, the true purpose of studying history is not to memorize facts but to understand their meaning and draw valuable lessons from them. The experiences of the past serve as a reliable guide for making wiser decisions in the future.
Today, Uzbekistan is moving confidently along the path of development. In this process, preserving historical heritage, studying the intellectual and spiritual legacy of our ancestors, and fostering patriotism and national pride among young people have become increasingly important. The generation that will shape tomorrow must first understand the roots from which it has grown.
History does not ask us to live in the past. Instead, it invites us to engage in a meaningful dialogue with it, to learn from its lessons, and to recognize our responsibility for the future. History is not simply what has already happened; it is the foundation upon which tomorrow will be built. The future depends on the knowledge, wisdom, determination, and historical awareness of today’s generation. Only a nation that respects its history, learns from its experience, and preserves its identity can build a confident and sustainable future.
The womb as a grave nurtures life for nine months until it is finally exhumed as a chapter.
The earth consumes us all at sunset, when it finally closes the chapter of each life.
The way we came, is the same way we will all go.
Joseph C. Ogbonna is a widely published poet. Some of his works have been published online and in print. His poems and articles have been published by Spillwords Press, Double Speak, Written Tales, North of Oxford, Synchronized Chaos, Waxpoetry Magazine, Borderless Journal, Empower Magazine, PoetryXhunger, All Your Poems magazine, All Your Stories magazine and a few other literary sites and presses. His poems, ‘Napoleon to Josephine and Josephine to Napoleon,’ were aired by the BBC Radio 3 for the bicentenary of the death of Napoleon Bonaparte, in may, 2021. He lives in Enugu, Nigeria with his wife, Chizoba.
willing it,
he draped tinsel across the train tracks
of his childhood
she said: the Tao teaches you in your sleep
when the mathematicians get here, be sure to use the word 'approximately'
and please don't bother them with knotty questions about prime numbers
she kept her 'waitress' shoes in the hall closet
day moon
briefly in the nucleus
of dew
she filled the holy water bottle from the polluted creek
Rosary and a half-pack of Pall Malls
in the big front pocket
of her knock-around housedress
he's wasting his gifts envying butterflies
it can't be normal to think about a cardinal in a blue spruce tree all day
I got the parking spot
and a half-baked notion of an infinite universe
[Published in Fleury’s book “Chain Letter To America: The One Thing You Can Do To End Racism” and in the Indian international “Cooch Behar Anthology,”, Sourav Sarkar, Editor, available on amazon]
Photo c/o Jacques Fleury
Ahhh, the sweet smell of morning, coffee brewing, eggs frying, birds chirping, eagles flying…
Dawn has awakened to adopt the forsaken, those born without tongues;
They are the colorful birds without nests, outside of this daylight darkness looms with a smirk,
Patiently waiting for somebody’s light to capitulate
To its black tunnel of nothingness and to laugh
When they get lost and stranded
On their way to salvation, but the morning’s breath offers direction,
A sound that rings ripples in the sea of lost souls,
Anxiously waiting to escape the destitution that stands
Between the richest and the poorest; the destitution that stands on wobbly legs
As naked as a tree in the deep dark frost of winter;
The parts of the earth surrounded by rows of semi-invisible iron bars
Anchored from the ground to the infinity of the sky;
While affluent oppressors gorge on caviar…
And isn’t it about time that someone asks “why?”
But the breath of dawn has come and it’s blowing just enough cold
To seal the pores of the poor so that the venom of racism and classism
Won’t infiltrate their gaunt paper thin skins.
They listen for the breath of morning to announce a new beginning;
Hoping to rid the world of famine…giving them a reason, particularly those sleeping on treason,
To get up in the morning, and to bask in the knowledge that
It is always sunrise somewhere…
Jacques Fleury is a Boston Globe featured and internationally published Haitian American poet, theater reviewer, educator, author of numerous books of essays, reviews, fiction, poetry and literary arts student through Harvard University. He was chosen among over 4, 000 competitors from 83 countries as the Recipient of the International Naji Naaman Literary Prize for Creativity (2026) and a Certificate of Participation for his “…esteemed contribution of poetry to the anthology Water: The Source of Life (Volume IV) presented by La Fenetre De Paris.
Jacques Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey Towards Understanding Your Authentic Self
Further, I see grey clouds… The silence is at stake,
Calm, as I read Plato : moments some wish could buy.
Then I take my pen on : I will write for Roma,
For the woman I love, her lips, their aroma…
I will write for Paris, for London, for Madrid,
For a farm in the snow, then for my youth in need.
I want to write again ! For a trip to Jersey,
On a boat, whilst a storm was raging the Channel,
I want to write about hiking, and this tunnel…
In Geneva when I questioned my survival.
I will write about my past girlfriends – when opals,
Drizzled from their glances on our soft Odyssey !
*****
An adventurer, at home.
The soft, suavous scent, of these burnt lavanders,
Dwells my mind, whilst I quietly write this poem,
In my living room, books and paintings, masks and gems,
Just keep still… All around the silence reigns over.
Blessed be, o Lord ! Thy peace, granted to a poor boy,
Came with the faculty to work, and learn your books…
I can pray now Thy love, in this shrine full of joy,
Rich refuge for my life, which I am glad none took.
There are the jewelry, tailored clothes, lithographs,
Sea shells and silver lamps, ivories, or gold rings…
All reminding of past battles. – My humble being.
Then I will read the Psalms, the Gospels and some Saints !
Before writing a stance, a try, until I faint…
To express gratitude ! As for an epitaph.
*****
Timothee Bordenave
Born in 1984 in Paris, France, Timothee Bordenave is a French author of fiction and essays, and a poet. He has published about 27 books to date, and his literary works have been translated in large parts to about 20 languages… He is also a visual artist, whose photographs and paintings have been shown in France and on various international locations.
Timothee Bordenave studied Law, then he studied the Information Sciences. He used to work directing libraries in Paris, and nowadays he is a full time creative. With continuous media and university related publications worldwide, many art shows he presented around the world too, and his books published in French and English, he has been said by the critics : one of the most intriguing French writer – and artist – of his generation.
Aside from his own creativity, Timothee collects contemporary artworks, along with religious and ethnic artifacts. He also devotes himself to prayer, and the study of sacred texts and traditions from our civilization’s ancient masters throughout the World.
He describes himself as “a humble, quiet, and very ordinary man who only wants to serve as worker, in the vast fields of our Lord, as is recommended by the Good Spirit of the Gospels of Jesus.” “Living in a pilgrimage here, for his eventual salvation if the Skies would allow.”
I contemplate a lot. I ponder over my mind, my prejudices and my existence. It makes me express myself through words and colours.
Fragment 1
There is a light, I believe
At the end of the tunnel
Shimmering, blinking
To show the hapless souls
The meaning of life.
There is a light, I hope
At the far end of a tunnel,
Hope to see
Not its death
Its constant struggle
Against the rough winds
And the hammering silhouettes.
Burning flames, burning flames
Flicker but not yield.
Burning flames, burning flames
Pose like a crumbled soul;
Remaining ashes
Pose like a crooked nail;
Moisture, dewdrops, lavender,
Skin of oaks, landmine, sound of those
Savage disasters, elusive memory,
Knightly armour, tattered jackets, wet soils
Uncharted vision- all I want
From the daybreak to the last ray of hope.
Till then, burning flames,
Seek, strive,
As there is a light at the end
Of doubt and denial:
Conquerable and
Solemn.
6 the September
2021
Trash box
We throw garbage in a garbage box. Unknowingly, we throw a fragment of ourselves in the box; we throw our skins and unknowingly we look down upon at the wastages. So, what is it doing in the box? How long?
16 December
2021
Fragment 2
Contemplating over things: Mind’s progress
I. Similarities
It feels like air
When someone sleeps,
Seems like a box of stones has been dragged out
Pacified
Hollow like balloon.
It feels like river
When the sweat trickles down from forehead
And touches someone’s knees,
It is cold like water
When the fan runs in full swing.
It feels like a jolt
When the bus driver hits a break,
Seems like one discovers oneself
And starts searching for the past skins
Of the past times
In the road
Once travelled
Of his livelihood.
07.11.2022
II. The Pain
My mind needs a sheet
To cover itself up
For camouflage
For hiding from the wind
As it carries the unwanted thoughts
Of different times,
Thought about bodies,
Uncertainties,
Failures;
My mind does not halt for a moment
I like a sleepwalker try to cut the entrance door
To have a look
Of the sunny mornings
Of its other side;
Gloomy, it sounds
Mild, it appears
It bombards,
It bombards the wall
Between my tempo and mood
I don’t want to have the darkness
Around my body
When my mind
Can leave its skin
Within a wink of an eye.
The cobwebs inside my mind
Like fear
Increase
If they are not untangled
With the feelings
Of ease
And
Of melodies.
From the melodies,
One can find a tune
The tune
That binds
The hearts of those
Who cycle through the veins of life
Cycle through the spark of failures.
08.06.2023
III. Agony
I am born in the month of agony
As peace has not dared to appear;
From sunbeams to sunlight,
Shapes and intensity
Change,
The toddler learns to run with words;
Here, I, the agonized, disorganized soul
Do not know how to crawl.
All the butterflies spread their wings
Around the tip of a bud
Encouraging it to grow,
Hope,
The world acts like this
And makes a constellation
Of lost souls.
March, 2023
IV.
She cries and cries
As if she is destined
To bear the weight
Of the cracking sky,
She never imagines
That her teardrops
Can paint the white rose
Into blue
That she drew
In her notebook.
7th April
Fragment 3
The Blabber
Side face of a blabber
2019
The Blabber
Part 1
If something wonderful happens in my life, what will I do?
The best thing may arise in me.
My instinct or my strong belief in miracle can bring miracle to me.
People say that life is a box of miracles.
Life happens when nothing is happening.
Who will open the lid of the box of my life?
Waiting is the foe of creative energies,
I believe.
Restlessness creates the symphony
That takes refuge in me.
Blabber is one who speaks a lot but can do nothing.
I am that blabber.
Blabber is one who lives in the bubble.
Bubble of misconception, bubble of doubt.
I am that blabber.
I am such a blabber that I fail at everything.
I want to be a doer.
From being a dear to a deer, one goes through a journey.
Part 2
I write to free myself from the clutches of thoughts.
My body acts like a vessel and I am the sailor of the sea.
My vehicle is not so big like my body.
Its frailness makes me ponder over my rowing skills.
The canoe like body faces hurdles to go forward.
I want to be free like water.
As free as the birds.
The boxes around my existence enable me to think
That I have to take a shape
Of a cube, round, square
Or of any geometric figures.
Water is shapeless
So does the wind.
Sky is shapeless so does the earth.
The oxymoronic sensation is my breath
That acts like a fuel to the machines of my body.
Oil makes the machine run properly.
Every evening, the horizon paints the scenic beauty
That does not demand any mechanical or technological recording.
My eyes see the eyes of the firmament.
At night, it is the evil but the day comes with the prediction.
A hope,
A dawn.
14.04.2023
The moods of Future
The future is a giant ball. A mystery starts with the anonymous suspects and ends with the prominent names. The more you try to look at the future, the more it will get away from you. It is like sand slipping away from your fingers. It only makes you realize what you can hold on and that is present. Today, the first day of the Bengali calendar says what can happen in the near future. Possibility and probability are not same with certainty. Certainty gives you the feeling of ending. As long as a soul can float, he is happy.
Happiness gives you wings. It makes you venture into the lands that you have never thought of. The blankness in the eyes of a kid does not hypnotize an adult. But, the same blankness garnished with wonder can make anyone feel lost if anyone peeps into it.
Eyes are like ocean, I always say.
From yellowish blue to bluish brown, the colour paints the layers of the sky. They symbolize the different moods. The cinematographer plays with the colours, technicality of the cameras, and the camera decides which mood (circular or horizontal) it should concentrate on. The process of contemplation evokes out the psychology of the scene, the inner spectrum of the human beings.
The wise man can quickly advise on the significance of the minutes. Seconds are better than minutes. The tourists wait in the Tiger Hill to witness the rising of the sun, the advent of a new dawn. They wait with their cameras but within a blink, they can miss the metaphorical birth of the sun. This is the power of the seconds. The future is exactly like this one. It follows the laws of nature. And miraculously, the nature is the creative offspring of God. This nature stores the gems under its soil. It lets her rivers flow. It is also like mood. Very uncertain yet so adventurous just like life.
Youth is life; life is youth. How long can youth stay? Youth is the bohemian river, a wild horse. After youth, comes the mid age. The age of grey hair. White means wisdom. Wisdom means a step closer to death. And everyone will meet the future. The future comes with a hazy mood.
Youth
2019
Life is synomous with youth. Youth can be existent, omnipresent if one only thinks of present. Destiny is like a flame. Moths are like the pedestrians. Flame attracts the moths. Some die; some make a life of illusions.
15.04.2023
Prayer and Prayer
Folding the hands and looking upwards are the ways to alert the God. You become silent; you become calm. You have words but you throw words at the wall. There is no receiver except God. The tantrums of the world, the gullibility of the human existence, the love for the breathing- all sterilize our thinking capacity.
The act of thinking makes the hair grey.
Hair falls down onto the ground.
The empty baldness starts appearing.
Still, you pursue conversation with God.
Your sweaty body starts getting melted due to agony and excitement.
Uncertainty aligns with belief and belief is a force.
A force
Indomitable.
15th April, 23
Fragment 4
Face of Durga
2021
The (000) of my life
I don’t know the meaning of (000). But, I am sure what may be the possibilities of (000) in my life. People say that life is existence. I believe that life is doing. Journey means going from one place to another, moving from one space to another. Moving signifies that you are doing. You are doing for the mind; you are doing for the body; you are doing the deeds. Does (000) refer to a circle? Is it a line? Does a straight line hit itself back-to-back until it gets transformed into a round shape? Line has an end. Circle has no exit. Line has an exit. Circle has no end. I am Srijani. I am happily stuck to the ground of (000). I am running, growing like the leaves of a plant. A seed in a soil.
The beauty of livelihood is such that it makes one pause for a moment. One thinks and thinks until his eyes feel the burden of sleep.
Mahalaya, 2023
Fragment 5
I see you-
The people,
I see myself there,
Just there.
From here,
To here
Navigating, slowly, silently like a
Super sleuth or a cautious frog
I am going
I am traversing.
I am visualizing images
Like a heap of moments
So transitory
So illuminating
Ephemeral like wind
Like a second.
It evaporates,
It evokes out the smell of
Loveliness
Loveliness of the face
That is standing in the dark,
The eyes as dark as caves
Dark as the veiled sky,
I am standing in the mid centre of stage
Called life.
How ironical it appears!
I am cycling through the words
Some want to become the dusk
And I want to become a dawn.
Tears blow like wind
Only to make a bridge
Between you and me
Me- the mind
And you-
The people, the receiver
And the audience.
17.11.2023
Fragment 6
Two years have passed.
I forget to read the notes.
There is a coin in the notes.
The coin that I place on my palm
Only to listen to its subtle sound
Is a boon to anyone’s miserable days.
This sound is so silent
That the deaf intends to receive its noiseless words.
