What is Life???

A living being on the earth 
Seeking so many amazing rides,
Facing unbearable shoots and arts
Is that the meaning of life?

What is life?
Who cares or shares?
Who bears?
Who roars?

Life is nothing but the Illusion
Imagination is its own creation.

What do you mean about this?
What does life depict around this phase?

Life! It comes and says-
I know so much the fact.
No way to show any case
Life is itself a casino stage.

The fact lies on the phase
Life is the beautiful pace
Need to believe and feel
Life is the universal reel.

What is Life?
Now say this time
It’s omnipotent dear
Let it flow and clear.

Life is the charm on earth
Lit it with eternal arts
The heart and mind know all
Life is the beautiful pool.

Author S. Afrose hails from Bangladesh, a lover of poetry world. Poetry is her passion. Her writes have been published on magazines, anthologies etc. There are some published poetry books available on Amazon Worldwide. YouTube: S Afrose * Muse of Writes*

ITS NAME IS LIFE …

You falter,

Longing bears the weight of pain…

Yet Love—eternal—soothes the strain,

As solace knocks upon your door,

And joy leaves traces on your shore.

Its name is Life:

Victory waltzes

With sorrow and bliss in fleeting embraces.

Ruins of your heart, once lost in despair,

Find comfort in moments of hope laid bare…

Like a bird, you spread your wings,

Within, transformation sings.

You rise, embrace purity’s grace,

Unshaken—Freedom echoes in space!

As if all your dreams take flight,

Drifting like clouds so white,

Until Spring’s flowers kneel in delight,

Greeting you with colors bright…

Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by YunusEmro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey.

This anthology contains work from Synchronized Chaos’ contributor Graciela Noemi Villaverde and may be ordered here.

Curated by John P. Portelli, Unsilenced: Poems for Palestine brings together poets from Palestine, the diaspora, and globally—including renowned names like Fady Joudah, Leila Marshy and Marwan Makhoul alongside some 50 international poets.

This collection is not just a book—it’s a fundraiser. 100% of proceeds will go to support Gaza, providing support and solidarity.

Now for this issue! Staying Human.

Haroon Rachid contemplates his country’s potential turn towards war, vowing to hold onto his humanity through culture, thought, and study. Bahora Bakhtiyorova reminds us of the impending challenge and risk of climate change. Ahmed Miqdad despairs of life in war-torn Gaza as Maria Miraglia mourns and rages about the loss of children. Mykyta Ryzhykh speaks to the trauma of surviving wartime as a civilian as well as the grief of romantic rejection and heartbreak. Mesfakus Salahin portrays a person who has lost his humanity and become like an automaton in the face of trauma. Elisa Mascia speaks to the challenges of holding onto truth and authenticity in a harsh world.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou, in a piece translated into Albanian by Eli Llajo, shares a sensitive soul’s reflection on living in a harsh world. Brooks Lindberg addresses the limitations of being in space and time with a human body. David Sapp speaks in his poetry to some of the ever-present anguish of being human: mortality and grief, anxiety and trauma, as Steven Bruce poetically expresses lonesomeness and acknowledges the inevitability of death. J.J. Campbell vents about a variety of physical, emotional, and relational pain and loneliness as Liliana Mirta Ramirez writes evocatively of an impending storm.

Soumen Roy explores both the expansive sense of feeling at one with the universe and joining in its creative energy and the despair and emptiness we feel at other times. In a similar vein, Lidia Chiarelli speaks both to the fanciful whimsy of dreams coming to life and the urgency of preserving our environment before it becomes a wasteland. Mahbub Alam also references tragedy and restoration in the human and natural world as Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa speaks to the joy of unity among people of different backgrounds and the futility of revenge.

We find solace in a variety of places.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand illuminates the healing and restorative power of poetry as Sayani Mukherjee takes joy in verse as a bee does landing on a juicy and fragrant flower. Elisa Mascia celebrates a fresh flowering of creativity.

Brian Barbeito speculates on the beauty and mystery of wild nature as Stephen Jarrell Williams describes how intertwined even modern people are with the lives of natural creatures. Isabel Gomez de Diego photographs food and blossoms, sensual joys of life. Rizal Tanjung reviews Anna Keiko’s delicate poetry about everyday experiences and thoughts. Christina Chin and Uchechukwu Onyedikam celebrate the mystery and beauty of everyday life in their joint tan-renga poems. Qurbonboyeva Dilafruz Sherimmatovna and Andaqulova Mohinur Juraqulovna share recipes and serving suggestions and a history of the Central Asian dried dairy food qurut. Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photographs celebrate children’s colorful toys and adult knickknacks.

Murrodullayeva Makharram offers her rapturous joy at a dream visit to Mecca and the Kaaba. Maria Miraglia’s poetry explores religious doubt and the staying power of cultural belief. Izmigul Nizomova’s short story illustrates how spiritual faith can help people process intense feelings of romantic passion or grief, as Maja Milojkovic speaks to her belief in an ever-present God.

Nilufar Tokhtaboyeva’s rhyming poem mirrors the energy of the sea. Dimitris Fileles also looks to the ocean, for peace and comfort.

Balachandran Nair comically mocks artists and writers whose ego isolate them from family and community. In contrast, poet Eva Lianou Petropoulou Lianou reflects on fellow poet Vo Thi Nhu Mai’s warmth and kindness as much as her craft.

Dr. Ahmad Al-Qaisi takes pleasure in the simple joy of coffee with a friend as Kareem Abdullah crafts tender love poetry and Christopher Bernard’s poetic speaker vows to love their honest-to-a-fault friend even if love is complete foolishness. Shoxista Haydarova pays tribute to her loyal and caring father, as Manik Chakraborty reflects on the nurture of his mother. Murodullayev Umidjon speculates on the nature of friendship. Umarova Nazokat celebrates a mother’s tender love as Nurullayeva Ra’no highlights mothers’ care, devotion, and concern for their children and Dr. Jernail Anand reflects on the vital role of mothering. Maftuna Rustamova reminds us to honor and respect our parents because of the love and care they have shown us, as Graciela Noemi Villaverde describes the unique personalities of each of her beloved grandsons. Chimezie Ihekuna turns to the loyalty of family as a balm for human vulnerability as Priyanka Neogi speaks to the love and responsibilities of marriage.

Duane Vorhees’ poetry explores physical and romantic intimacy while digging deep into the self. Michael Todd Steffen presents a memorial tribute that’s a character sketch of a strong and driven person with plenty of personal agency, for good or ill.

Taylor Dibbert asserts his newfound self-love after years of experience. Babajonova Charos draws inspiration from Pablo Coelho’s characters’ journeys to self-actualization and intimacy in The Alchemist. Alan Catlin crafts a literary and personal narrative through a list of memories.

Self-respect can encompass more than merely the self, and many writers take pride in their cultures. Marjona Mardonova reflects on the strength and dignity of Uzbek women and girls as several elementary school students in China contribute poetic thoughts on their hometowns, nature, heritage, and inspiration. Rizal Tanjung translates into Indonesian an essay by Konstantin Fahs on how ancient myths still speak to Greece’s contemporary struggles and questions of identity, highlighting the universal nature of these questions.

Z.I. Mahmud explores themes of racism, misogyny, and Black women’s reasserted dignity and healing in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple. Daniel De Culla presents a tale of vigilante justice served at an aquarium.

Bruce Roberts recollects the decorum and honor he saw in the days of American president Abraham Lincoln and laments how far the United States has fallen since then.

Uzbek writer Azizbek Shaymurzayev celebrates and honors the soldiers and leaders who founded Uzbekistan. Dilbek Ergashev offers up a poetic tribute to Uzbek writer Muhammad Yusuf, who captured the nation’s heritage and met an untimely death. Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna finds elegance in a portrait of a woman reading.

Yet, Yusuf certainly passed along the baton in the relay race of Central Asian literary and academic thought. Farangiz Xurramova outlines grammatical differences between Uzbek and French. Yunusova Khodisa contributes many scholarly essays in the humanities, including one on the form and structure of words, another on play as a technique for teaching foreign languages to young children, a piece on the need for clarity in a language teacher’s speech, another on methods of translation and strategies for developing competence in the discipline, and finally, an article on ways to teach different types of communication activities in a foreign language.

Moving to other fields of inquiry, Azganush Abdulmajalova’s poetry finds wonder in invention, physics, and mechanics. Shermatova Hilola Mirzayevna and Tolqinboyeva Odinaxon outline possibilities of modern information technology. Aytuvova Khurshida’s essay outlines modernizing reforms in education, particularly the use of technology. Muminova Farida highlights the importance of teaching primary school students critical thinking skills.

Dr. Perwaiz Sharharyar, in poetry translated by Maria Miraglia, highlights the world-expanding power of travel. Vo Thi Nhu Mai’s gentle poetry celebrates animals, the world’s children, and the vibrant multicultural city of Perth.

Latofat Amirova craves a life of rebellion, curiosity, and adventure while Jacques Fleury probes the uncanny dark motifs of Edgar Allan Poe’s creative genius.

In a similar spirit of artistic exploration, Texas Fontanella contributes some exploratory beats and guitar chords. Vernon Frazer’s new book Nemo Under the League, reviewed by Cristina Deptula, splashes together text, line, and image. Terry Trowbridge grows a fanciful poem about a potato facing surveillance and arrest as Zeboxon Akmalova’s poem reflects the experience of overhearing fragments of conversation as J.K. Durick explores our reactions to words, sounds, and numbers in daily life. Mark Young’s “geographies” explore fanciful locations as works of art.

Finally, Bill Tope’s short story satirizes the world of small magazine publishing and reminds us all not to take rejections too seriously. Humor can prove one of the small, and larger, ways we hold onto our humanity as we navigate this world.

A Mother’s Love

A mother’s love, a gentle grace,  

A soothing touch, a warm embrace.  

Through sleepless nights and endless days,  

She guides with wisdom, lights our ways.

Her hands that nurture, heal, and mend,  

A constant, steadfast, lifelong friend.  

Her voice, a melody so sweet,  

In every word, her heart’s heartbeat.

With patience vast as the open sky,  

She lifts us up, teaches us to fly.  

Her strength, a rock, unyielding, pure,  

In her love, we feel secure.

She’s the calm within the storm,  

A shelter safe, where hearts are warm.  

Her love, a beacon, always bright,  

Guiding us through the darkest night.

A mother’s love, a gift divine,  

In every moment, it does shine.  

Forever cherished, deep and true,  

A mother’s love, in all we do.

Umarova Nazokat was born on December 21,2005 Yunusabad district, Tashkent city of the Republic of Uzbekistan. She currently studies at Tashkent state university of Law. She achieved a lot of awards and achievements. She is a reader, a young poet, a researcher, the author of numerous articles, thesis and poems. She is learning five languages, besides, she is a participant in international forums, conferences, and webinars, graduated from several personal development courses, is a volunteer in her community and has achieved many other successes.

A plantation girl brought me a cup of water
And I told her without restraint about my excitement
My daughter, like a fish, says meow and is looking for a husband My wife is like a pearl looking for someones neck and thread
My son was killed during another war
My brother was shot according to laws that don’t exist
Where are the plantations from? I thought and looked around Insane saliva flowed from my lips
I looked at my so called hands
I saw that I did not have a cup of water in my hands. I have nothing at all except a sick stomach
One of my comrades in misfortune advised me to drink less cold water
He said: “You never know, you’ll still catch a cold, you won’t be able to work, and you will be thrown into the ravine exhausted”
I pulled a holey hat over my ears, took a shovel and began to dig a Siberian winter forest
Someone at a distance chopped spruce and dragged them to the barn (in general, thats what we were ordered to)
I began to dig a hole with all my might and then lay down in it and fell asleep as if I had never been there
Finally, I crossed myself three times with a healthy mental finger

reprint by Exist otherwise
***
a little woman told about how she was mutilated and
I sat nearby and was silent as if I were a rapist
I wondered how quickly kafka can turn into a beetle
I wondered how fast a beetle could move during a fuck

like this I sat and stared madly at the little woman in lust someone
came up to me and advised me to control myself

I replied that I like men more and left

on the way, I met a cat that was attacked by an insatiable male where
did I go? no one knows this

when I got home, I masturbated and called a prostitute guy to tell him about his life well,
then I fucked him and let him go

the sky exploded outside the window
the sun watched as the prostitute guy stood naked near the closet I stood
against the wall and pretended to be a closet

***
Skulls crack in a race under the soles
Now I know what it’s like to be a god

Now I know what it’s like to be the god of death
The crunch of nothingness is heard in the auricle
***sounds in the darkness are unknownlike hungry puppies eyes are darting around

the river burst here
now we divide the silence in half and eat in silence

nobody knows what we are thinking
honestly speaking I don’t even know who you are and who I am

we are all drowned
and through our cries the flower of music grows
reprint by 

FEED THE HOLY***
The only thing worse than death is loving someone other than you
Or than me
Or
The only thing worse than death is not loving you
?

***
і want to kiss the flower but it is poisoned
a trampled sunbeam told me about this

the poisoned flower wants to kiss me
the clot of night grows blacker inside my torn chest

***
My favorite war
I dreamed of being killed by an air bomb
I never wanted someone else to die instead of me

There’s nothing left to fear
Outside the windows of big cities there is still a war going on
And in small towns there are now not even windows

I want fuck with scientists
A nuclear bomb must be born inside me
The war around me must be undermined from within

***
war is homeland
war is home
war is land

war is cotton candy
war is a kite
war is an airborne kiss

air bomb
my heart explodes
my body is torn to pieces

і had the courage to be afraid when
a stranger with the face of death
knocked on the window

***
I am writing a letter asking for a chocolate bar
Crunch in the mouth
Pleasant bitterness in the mouth

I read your answer and my jaw tightens
You do not love me
Bitter taste in the mouth

I throw chocolate dreams out of my head
I can never get you out of my head

When The Chalice Rises

No one knows

if the sacred narrative is

like the church fathers

tell us

Collected events

from distant a past

reported by rumours

that speak of hell and heaven

of Cain and Abel

of the Magdalen

the snake and the apple

Everything suggests

imaginary stories

for foolish and gullible people

told in an archaic language

the modernity refuses

to understand

But when on the altar

the chalice rises

in reverent silence

bow the bystanders  their heads

Nervous

I was always a nervous 

little boy, negotiating 

playground perils,

the bigger, louder 

boys, girls, figuring 

when and how to kiss

Patty under the wild 

cherry tree. (The why 

remained an enigma.)

My apprehension 

loomed from more

malevolent origins: 

a dark violence,

a cruel neglect, 

too many horrific events,

a long list efficiently 

repressed. (But we won’t 

get into that, will we?)

My symptoms manifested: 

my belly, a perpetually 

clenched little fist;

my frequent and 

spontaneous bloody

nose on the school bus; 

my peculiar and relentless 

obsessions and compulsions.

Now gray, nearly sixty, 

that small, anxious child 

huddles, cringes, 

desperate for a quiet, 

unobtrusive corner.

The Dead Man

When she was still young,

When we were yet a family,

My mother found a dead man,

A very dead dead man,

On her way home from work,

Drudgery at the carry-out.

Old Mr. what’s-his-name

Had been raking leaves

In his yard, that tiny red

Bungalow on Martinsburg Road.

I could guess at her usual

Oscillation between shock, curiosity,

And annoyance over the bother.

Did she poke at him a bit, feel

For his pulse before seeking help?

(Years later, a girl I danced with

In the Pleasant Street Junior High

Cafeteria made her first home

With her new husband there.

I imagined the dead man still

Breathing, raking, poking about.)

In the kitchen, after supper,

Mom and Dad whispered

And joked over her adventure.

I thought, as there was no one

But my mother to find him,

Shouldn’t we be a little sad, a little 

Thoughtful over the dead man,

Old Mr. what’s-his-name?

How was it when, her turn,

Someone found my mother dead, 

Alone in her bed long after her 

Mania and violence split us apart?

Did they whisper and joke about

My mother at their kitchen table?