Love left in the depths of the void
The night is plunged into darkness. The quiet city was disturbed by the rushing sound of a car moving with flashing lights in the distance. The door was opened and a young man was brought in who was seriously injured in a car accident.
Doctors immediately ordered someone to find a donor to give him a kidney and blood. They called the number that was made after the bloodied phone of the young man and informed them that they would come to the hospital immediately. In no time, a beautiful girl with bowed eyebrows, bright eyes, and plump lips came rushing in.
Doctors:
- Who will you be to the patient?
- His future wife. What happened?
- His condition is serious. A kidney and blood donor is needed. Time is very little.
The girl’s color was pale, blood was running out of her face. She leaned against the wall, deep in thought, and left a letter in the patient’s room around dawn. After some time, a donor was found and the young man was operated on. By God’s grace, everything went well.
The next day, when the young man opened his eyes,
«didn’t anyone come?» he asked. One of the doctors said «she left you a letter».
The young man opened the letter and read:
«I was very sad to hear. But this accident separated us from each other. It’s a pity. Now our paths are different. Take care,» it was written.
The young man was deep in thought, thinking that maybe she didn’t want to stay with me in this state. Days passed. The young man’s condition improved, and when he left the hospital, he said «thank you» to the doctors. When the doctor was coming back following the
young man, the faces inside the door were pale, the eyes were filled with sadness, the girl’s delicate hands were showing the doctor a sign of silence on her dry lips.
While doctor was watching with tears to girl, doctor felt deep in her heart that the calm sea was flooding today and becoming colorless…..
Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntosporlasletras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korablznaniy» and «TalentyRossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «KayvaKishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina;s «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.
It's raining.
When it rains,
I have a lot of questions.
Changed inside,
Gentle winds.
The rain doesn't stop,
There is no sleep.
Excitement in my mind,
It hurts like hell.
I wish he would stop now
Rustling voices.
Lek did not stop crying,
Cry like a baby.
These noises will stop,
Chehra Khan puts flowers.
Smallpox, tulip, rubella,
Like flowers want.
Between mountains & sea, through jungles, along lagoons, over silted rivers. Sometimes that Caribbean just below my sight, just beyond the vine-draped trees.
*
Long ago the sea disappeared. & now we enter these mountains heavy-green. Along banks of streams, in the folds of land, hand-built homes. Their families sell coconut milk & candies at roadside stands.
* *
I am searching for this city. The shantytowns, the industry, the suburbia that always mark the entry of metropolis.
But all I see is this highway through green.
* * *
Finally nearing the center. Traffic jams the highway of this late afternoon. Yes, the stores, the malls, the houses – but still that verdant range.
* * * *
When will we arrive? We continue going on & on. The canopy of high-rise apartments, skyscrapers & billboards grimed by time towers above the canopy of trees.
ON THE ROAD AGAIN
Soon we leave the high rises of Caracas
& enter the forested high rise of
the mountains. Misting clouds
dampen the morning highway. The
bus stereo playa salsas. A passenger
in back sings along off-key.
We wind towards the Maracay lowlands,
over banana-lined streams, past sugar
cane, through small towns. A white dog
chases another across a field along this
road.
By the time we reach the lower lands, the
slate-grey clouds shatter the cobalt-blue
sky & bright sun. Valencia Lake ripples
white-capped, dully, deep-blue-deep-
green in a bowl-valley of the sierra.
From Valencia to Barquisimeto, larger cities
of this country. Will it be endless urban
scenery now? Or shall I continue to be
dazzled by those emerald mountains,
that sapphire sky draped with bauxite
clouds, these rushing topaz rivers?
Through small towns, past cattle ranches, past
chicken farms – & yes, the verdant
mountains …
SANARE TRIO
At the tip of these Andes, the slopes surrounding Sanare neatly parcel into farms & cafetales. Distant mountains, dryer & rougher, fading to ghostly silhouettes in the warming day.
*
By noon the clouds are descending. The mountains fall into deep shadows. The aroma of roasting coffee wafts on the fresh breeze.
* *
This evening bathed with mist, the sun paints these sierra lands indigo-rose.
My biography
Lorraine Caputo is a wandering troubadour whose writings appear in over 500 journals on six continents, and 24 collections – including In the Jaguar Valley (dancing girl press, 2023) and Santa Marta Ayres (Origami Poems Project, 2024). She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. Her writing has been honored by the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada (2011) and nominated for the Best of the Net and the Pushcart Prize. Caputo has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She journeys through Latin America with her faithful knapsack Rocinante, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her adventures at www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer or http://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com.
A Rainbow of Emotions
It rains, then the blue sky becomes beautiful,
The painting of a skilled artist is offended, resentful,
The hand of nature draws a colorful rainbow
This masterpiece is blessed, everyone who sees it is blessed.
Emotions are like rainbows in the sky,
Each color gives its meaning to a person's state of mind.
Creates resonance, affects the mood,
He wanders in his soul, dominates his existence.
The rainbow is a miracle, it has a scientific basis,
The limit sunbeam, in the drop of rain,
Changing colors over time,
Bends in an arc-shaped viewing angle.
How many times during the day do feelings, emotions,
As if it is raining on the heart, it brings sadness and longing,
Wherever the sun reaches, it brings happiness.
It brings a bright insight to see the joy of life.
Elmaya Jabbarova was born in Azerbaijan. She is a poet, writer, reciter, and translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Sharginsesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for
Africa», «JuntosporlasLetras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.
Third Eye, Remote Viewing, Memory, Psychic Impressions, Recall, 1750 South Ocean BLVD, Circa 1983
Instead of imagining the basics, I go further, not only to the grounds but to details. Details that would not matter to anyone, but that matter to me, to see. I went into a trance. I could see that the pool has a cement form around the perimeter and is white and there are black numbers that designate the depth at various places. A wooden structure that houses the pumping system. Thick green grass that meets cement walkways and an Astro turf putting ground. Planters. There is a container of oil that you are supposed to wash your feet with to get off any bit of tar that might have stuck to your foot on the beach.
A wild part of grasses that grow from the sand before the beach proper. You can’t step much barefoot anyhow if long it’s too hot. A towel must be put in the seat in the rental cars the seat is too hot. A newspaper box blue and one yellow out front. Cement fences. A building across that is white with yellow trim. The railings then are aluminum. Not fancy. Utilitarian and for function. Hurricane shutters same colour as railings. Tiles. There are tiles on the balcony floor. But some people have outdoor green carpeting. My friends are from Michigan. They will knock in the first few minutes. They live next door and can somehow know I have arrived. They will ask me to go out with them and I always will. Immediately. Before anything. And we will run in the sun and dive in the sea and be in the pool.
The waters of everywhere will cool and refresh and enlighten us. Later I can smell the iron-on prints in the cool t/shirt shop. The shirt will go on my tan and healthy shoulders. I never use suntan lotion. I don’t burn them. Now I burn in a few minutes. There are people fishing. There is a hedge. A palm tree. Ground lights yellow orange green pink and blue. Shells. A small plane flies a banner. A big plane gets me there. Eastern. Ward Air. Don’t take me away. Each time, I dread the idea of leaving. There is only a day left. I won’t sleep here tomorrow night. I have to go home. Don’t take me home. This is supposed to be my home. Don’t take me away. Just don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. But you did. Sadness. Impossible incredible sunken sadness.
