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.
I was operating under a pseudonym at the time, blogging about Kaiser Permanente and the physicians whose decisions had left scars—some literal, some systemic. I was part of a loose network of Facebook groups pushing back against corporate medicine, calling out malpractice, and amplifying patient voices. One day, a notification popped up: Kari Lee Krome has sent you a friend request.
I blinked. The Kari Krome? The original visionary behind The Runaways? The teenage firebrand who helped shape the band’s early identity before being pushed out of the spotlight?
She messaged me almost immediately. “You’re my hero,” she said.
I told her who I really was. I told her I was the world’s biggest Runaways fan. And just like that, we were off—an unlikely pair bound by trauma, rebellion, and a shared disdain for sanitized narratives.
Kari had suffered a brain injury in a car accident, and later, she told me, was harmed by a medication prescribed by a Kaiser physician. She was raw, brilliant, and unfiltered. She’d pop into my DMs calling me “Mister,” and referred to herself as my “little sister on a skateboard.” It was a nickname that stuck, and one that still makes me smile.
She gave me an insider’s view of the world behind the Runaways mythology—the depravity of Rodney Bingenheimer, the sickness of Kim Fowley. “I’ll need therapy for life,” she told me once, and I believed her. She spoke of being “incredibly naive” at 14, living with Fowley, and of being “undiagnosed autistic.” Her stories weren’t just confessions—they were dispatches from the edge of a cultural moment that chewed up girls and spat out legends.
When I asked her about David Bowie, she said, “He was a vampire.” No context. No elaboration. I assumed she meant his proximity to the same predatory circles—Rodney on the ROQ, the Sunset Strip’s darker corners.
We collaborated. We co-wrote six songs together. She showed me her songwriting structure—tight, poetic, emotionally surgical. She sent me a story called Mootsie Tootsie, a scabrous, hilarious, and terrifying piece about shooting heroin in a Taco Bell restroom. I published it in my William S. Burroughs tribute anthology. Her poem North of No North appeared in White On White: A Literary Tribute to Bauhaus, alongside contributions from Poppy Z. Brite, Caitlín R. Kiernan, and David J. Haskins.
She was only mentioned once in the Bad Reputation documentary about Joan Jett. It didn’t surprise me. Kari had little regard for the rest of the Runaways. She was the spark behind the band’s original concept, but her role was minimized, her voice nearly erased.
And then, about six months ago, she disappeared. No message. No goodbye. Just silence.
I don’t know what happened. I don’t know if she’s okay. But I know this: I will never forget our friendship. I still have mad love and respect for the woman who called me “Mister,” who gave me a glimpse into the machinery behind the myth, and who reminded me that the most powerful voices are often the ones the industry tries hardest to silence.
Kari Lee Krome is a survivor. A poet. A punk. A sister. And wherever she is, I hope she’s writing, skating, and slowly conquering her demons.
And the voice of the question when it emerged from fear.
In the hand of the first human, it became a tool that holds life,
A spark that lights the darkness,
A ember that preserves the body from the cold of annihilation,
And the first line on the cave wall.
It was a home when a home was unknown,
A sky to seek shade beneath,
A ground that bears the tremor of a step,
And a language that speaks without letters.
From it the story was launched,
Upon it the cry was broken,
In its hollows the trace dwelled,
And through it, humans understood the meaning of being.
In all its transformations, it bore witness,
In the grave, a mark,
In the temple, a symbol,
In the crown, glory,
And in sculpture, immortality.
O you,
Silent one who thinks,
Heavy one who speaks with wisdom,
Secret one dwelling at the edge of time.
I AM NOT AN IDOL
I am not an idol,
nor a silent wall where your voice hides when it fears the void.
I am the breath of the universe when its chest feels tight,
and I am the wound that refuses to become a scar.
I am woman,
not a shadow that follows you wherever you walk,
nor a mirror that polishes your face to see your own glow in it,
but another face of truth,
questioning you when you long for forgetfulness.
I am not a stone that adorns your throne,
I am a wave uprooting silence from its roots,
and a land returning to the seed the whisper of eternity.
You want me as a chain,
but I want you as a journey,
searching with me for a meaning beyond flesh and blood.
I am not an idol,
I am a question dwelling in your eyes,
and an answer written only with the freedom of the soul.
I am woman,
and if you understood me…
if you stood before me without fear and without dominion,
you too would become… human.
A TEST FOR CONSCIENCE
In the silence of closed homes
The stone bleeds from the heat of bodies,
And the gaze of shadows trembles in the corners of the soul,
As if time itself fears to witness.
The hand that strikes is but an echo,
An echo hiding in the hollows of the heart,
And a letter lost amidst the silence of screams,
A soul learning to live without a voice.
In every wound, a river of questions is born,
And in every tear, the philosophy of existence takes shape:
Is freedom merely a distant dream,
Or a secret hidden in the depths of anguish?
The woman is not merely moving silence,
Nor a stone dwelling between walls,
She is a light slipping through the cracks of pain,
A river flowing despite the chains,
And wisdom that cannot be broken by the striking hand.
Every fracture teaches the stone to dream,
Every tear gives the shadow new colors,
Silence becomes a cry,
Pain opens gates to light,
And resilience births a new horizon for life.
Violence against women is a test of life,
An experiment of human awareness,
A test for conscience,
And where the soul endures,
Light springs from the depths of the stone,
And dignity learns it cannot be killed,
Silence becomes strength,
And freedom echoes in every heart that remained silent,
Until the world understands that true power
Lies in respect, and in enabling the soul
To bloom without limits.
TAGHRID BOU MERHI is a Lebanese-Brazilian poet, journalist, and translator, whose writing carries echoes of multiple cultures and resonates with a deeply human spirit. Born in Lebanon, she currently lives in Foz do Iguaçu, Brazil, after spending significant periods in various countries, including eight years in Italy and two in Switzerland, where she absorbed the richness of European culture, adding a universal and humanistic dimension to her Arab heritage.
Taghrid writes poetry, prose, articles, stories, and studies in the fields of thought, society, and religion, and is fluent in six languages: Arabic, English, French, Italian, Portuguese, and Spanish. This allows her to move between languages and cultures with the lightness of a butterfly and the depth of a philosopher. Her works are distinguished by a clear poetic imprint even in the most complex subjects, combining aesthetic sensitivity with a reflective vision of existence.
To date, she has published 23 original books and translated 45 works from various languages into Arabic and vice versa. She has contributed to more than 220 Arabic and international anthologies, and her works have been translated into 48 languages, reflecting the global reach of her poetic and humanistic voice.
Taghrid serves as the head of translation departments in more than ten Arabic and international magazines, and she is a key figure in bringing Arabic literature to the world and vice versa, with a poetic sensitivity that preserves the spirit and authenticity of the text.
She is renowned for her refined translations, which carry poetry from one language to another as if rewriting it, earning the trust of leading poets worldwide by translating their works into Arabic, while also bringing Arabic poetry to the world’s languages with beauty and soul equal to the original.
She is also president of Ciesart Lebanon, holds honorary literary positions in international cultural organizations, serves as an international judge in poetry competitions, and actively participates in global literary and cultural festivals. She has received dozens of awards for translation and literary creativity and is today considered one of the most prominent female figures in Arabic literature in the diaspora.
Her passion for writing began at the age of ten, and her first poem was published at the age of twelve in the Lebanese magazine Al-Hurriya, titled The Cause, dedicated to Palestine. Since then, writing has become an inevitable existential path for her, transforming her into a flower of the East that has spread its fragrance in the gardens of the world.
GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.
The same fire called Love burned us both. My sorrow-sister – you, firewood. You blazed like a tree, I burned like a man. Our smoke became one spirit, (somewhere, fire made peace with water) From you – a fist of ash remained, From me – a fist of earth. Tell me… which of us burned more beautifully, firewood?
YOU AND I
I sought the truth- but you came to me as a gentle lie.
I sought the dawn of hope- but you came as a trembling “perhaps.”
I sought the joy that sings- but you came as a quiet consolation.
I sought forever- but you came as a fleeting lifetime.
And on this wide earth, I searched for the self I had once lost in the wind… and it was you who stood before me.
POEM WOMAN
Seeing your delicacy, they compared you to a flower…
Seeing your mischief, they compared you to the wind…
Seeing the tears in your eyes, they compared you to the sea…
Seeing your boundless loyalty, they compared you to the earth…
But you, woman, are a poem created by God. And I compare you to a poem that soothes my soul. Your name is Poetry…
You were born like a poem. Verse by verse, you live. Syllable by syllable, you weep. Line by line, you laugh. With your laughter, you wipe away the world’s sorrow.
Sometimes you are joyful like a poem. Sometimes sorrowful like a poem… Yet, woman, you are eternal like a poem! Your name is Poetry…
Prof. Phd. Rasmiyya Sabir’s nine books have been published in Azerbaijan, Turkey, Uzbekistan, and Iraq. She is one of the members of the Union of Writers of Azerbaijan and Chuvashistan. At the same time, she is a co-founder of the Union of the World’s Young Turkish Writers. More than 130 poems have been composed by the composers. Her first CD and cassette with the music from her poems was recorded in 2002. Her poems have been translated into many foreign languages, including Turkish, Russian, English, Georgian, Persian, and published in Turkey, Iran, Iraq, Sweden, Germany, Bulgaria, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, and elsewhere. She has been awarded many prizes. The first prize was given to her in the year 2000 in a competition dedicated to Fuzuli. She has been chosen “The person of the literature of the year” by the International Organizations called KIBATEK and VEKTOR. She has translated Modern Azerbaijani poems into Turkish and modern Kazakh and Uzbek poems into the Azerbaijani language. She has been represented in different poetry festivals in Azerbaijan. She has gained the benefit of the President’s Fund of the Azerbaijan Republic.
