A person always lives because of the law,
Even if there is no law, there are few good things.
All feelings will be a mirage,
Blood and wine flowed from the cabbage.
Therefore, a new book was opened,
No-one does anything.
The law is equal for all,
Everyone is fighting.
Now the shadow at the beginning of the country will leave,
Twenty people's bread is baked
And now everyone helps.
Even the rain doesn't turn into puddles.
There is no stain on our country,
Now let the city and the garden flourish
I'll tell you what's in my heart
Let's keep our country alive.
Sitora Otajonova is Sodirjon's daughter. She was born on 20 December in 2005.She is studying at school in 11th class. She is crazy about writing poems and reading books. Her poems and articles are printed international journals.
It is a medicine that heals the heart of those who suffer.
We remember the one we love every moment,
Disloyal people forget this moment.
Jonborieva Mukhlisa Rakhmon’s daughter is a 10th grade student of school 16, Muzrabot district, Surkhandarya region. She was born on September 6, 2007 in Muzrabot district, Surkhandarya region. Her nationality is Uzbek.
Currently, she is a 10th-grade student of the 16th general school of Muzrabot district. She is the winner of the 3rd place in the Muzrabot district district stage of the 2023 “Surkhan youth” science Olympiad for the regional governor’s prize. She is the holder of a certificate for her active participation in the festival held in cooperation with Uzbekistan’s government under the project “One country, one language” where her poem also earned a place.
(Central Asian teen girl with long brown hair, brown eyes, and a light orange speckled top)
Daddy, I miss you, I miss you
He fills the fireplace without stopping because of his family.
I can’t stop being a child.
My dear father, my heaven is mine.
Daddy, I miss you, I miss you.
My mother burned her hands when she baked bread.
We were arguing by the side of the oven.
We all walked together, feeling his love.
Daddy, I miss you, I miss you.
His hands are full of hard work.
White in his restless hair.
I look at the picture and miss every moment.
Daddy, I miss you, I miss you
Alimbayeva Diana Anvar’s daughter was born on August 28, 2009 in the Ellikkala district of the Republic of Karakalpakstan. Her father, Allaberganov Anvar, is a doctor, and her mother, Ayitbayeva Rayhon, is a housewife. In 2016, she went to the 1st grade of general secondary school No. 43. She is interested in mother tongue and literature, history. Favorite activity is creating poems. Our great poets Muhammad Yusuf, Alisher Navoi and Zulfiya Khanim were awarded with certificates by philologists for their effective works at the parties dedicated to their births. In the future, she dreams of becoming a follower of Zulfiyakhanim.
A Father and Mother are the kindest in this world. You can find many friends, but you cannot find another father and mother. Father and mother are the only ones. If we get sick, they come out at night to see us. They don’t wear fancy clothes but spend their resources on us and even provide the water we drink. There is no such thing as enough love for a mother and father. No matter how much I do to honor my parents, it is not enough. They wash us clean and comb us as children.
God willing, father. I will send your mother on Hajj and Umrah trips, and you too, if you take your parents on Umrah trips, your parents will enter heaven inshaallah. And if he recites the Qur’an, Allah will go to the Angels on the Day of Resurrections, and if Allah does not want, the parents of those who read the Qur’an will come on foot, and he will enter Paradise with his parents.
Akmalova Zilolakhan Akobirkhan is a student at 17-Idum specialized state general education school 5.
Mubina has been suffering for four months without finding a cure for her pain. Doctors say that she is seriously ill. Her legs do not even rest at night under the moon. She seemed to get used to it after awhile but Mubina’s heart ached very badly. Lying in this four-walled hospital is heartbreaking. She wants to walk the streets and sit in a circle with her relatives.
Mubina especially misses her only son very much. His son has gone to the city. Oisi has come once since she was admitted to the hospital. He sat there for half an hour and said he had work to do. That day Mubina’s mouth was in his ear. Relatives of other patients came almost every day. They bring different types of food.
Mubina eats a bite of food and lies down facing the door. And so the days pass. The same door opened and her son came. Hot bread and cream in hand. He sat hugging his mother.
– Have you recovered, mother?
– Yes, thank you, my child. What are you doing?
– On the go with work. After all, business does not wait.
– Yes, learn from my businessman son, said Mubina happily.
– Frankly, I want to sell the house. Don’t give me money for business.
Mubina’s eyes widened and she screamed.
– The yard left by your father! I will never agree!
– After all, this is business
– After all, there is no end
Her son was also angry
– Shall I ask for your consent? I can sell the house in my name if I want, I can sell it together with the land if I want.
After saying these words, he closed the door and left. Mubina’s eyes filled with tears.
Hospital. It’s nine o’clock in the evening. A poor mother who didn’t even have the love of her own son passed away. Her illness did not kill her. Endless heartache killed her.
Author: Nurullayeva Mushtariy
She is a student of the 8th grade of the creative school named after Hamid Olimjon and Zulfiya
Candy Bill
Meryl stood with her two sisters, peeping through the display window of the candy shop, and silently observing the striking array of sweets which were perched upon beautiful crystal dishes and vivid red skirting. Meryl licked her pale pink lips. At her side stood Wendy who, at seven, was three years younger. And next to Wendy and leaning with her nose against the window, was Karen, the baby, at four years of age. All three girls' mouths were watering.
On a step ladder next to, but totally ignored by, the girls was Albert Weissmann, AKA Candy Bill, the proprietor for whom the shop was eponymously named. Bill was busily squirting the already shiny glass with glass cleaner and wiping it even cleaner. Meryl fretted that they were creating a nuisance. Her father had told her to steer clear of Mr. Weissmann; he was a cranky old guy. According to her papa, he had lost family in the war, years before. One never knew what might set him off.
"Do you think we'll get some candy for Christmas," Wendy asked, turning to regard her older sibling. Karen hung on Meryl's reply.
"Don't be silly," scolded Meryl. "We're Jewish," she reminded the other two girls. "We don't believe in Christmas."
Little Karen's face puckered up and she looked as if she might cry. "Not fair," she said, pouting. Her faded print dress hung limply from thin shoulders.
"You're forgetting," Meryl reminded them, "that we have Hanukkah."
"Yay!" shrilled Karen happily. "We'll have gelt! Then we can buy candy!"
"But," said Meryl, pointing an admonishing forefinger at her younger sister, "we have to give part of our gelt to charity."
Karen instantly grew sober and nodded. "Yes," she agreed half- heartedly, "to charity."
"Can't we buy some candy now?" implored Wendy, dying to bite into a piece of chocolate.
"We don't have our gelt yet," replied Meryl. "We get it on the fifth day of Hanukkah, remember? This is just December 19th. The fifth day isn't until the 21st."
"But, Ruth gets gelt every night of Hanukkah," protested Wendy, referencing her best friend.
"Ruth's parents are rich," remarked Meryl a little sharply. "Mother and father have to work hard to earn what little we have." Bill glanced surreptitiously at the children.
Wendy remembered that Mr. Kaplan, Ruth's father, owned a string of shoe stores in the city, whereas Wendy's mother and father worked as a tailor and a housekeeper, respectively. Wendy dug the toe of her shoe into the pavement. "Yeah...."
Suddenly, Candy Bill descended from the ladder and nudged the girls back from the window. Spraying where they'd left smudges on the glass, he wiped the surface clean and glared pointedly at the sisters.
"C'mon," murmured Meryl, taking charge as she always did. "We hafta' get home. We have latkes tonight," she said with feigned enthusiasm. Even though she loved them, she knew they were a poor substitute for Candy Bill's home made chocolate, for her sisters. She placed a hand round each of her sisters and began to steer them away.
"Come back here," growled a stern voice over their shoulders. The girls froze and looked back to find Candy Bill standing formidably in the doorway to his candy shop.
"We were just leaving, Mr. Weissmann," squeaked Meryl at the imposing figure before them. Wendy's eyes grew large and Karen actually began to tremble with fear.
"Get in here," he ordered, holding wide the door. Terrified out of their wits, the children complied with the directive and filed timidly through the portal. Once inside, they breathed in the intoxicating aroma of fresh made candy: chocolate-covered caramels, sugar wafers, and Meryl's favorite, enormous bars of pure brown chocolate.
"We...we didn't do anything," murmured Meryl fearfully, wondering what offense the trio had committed.
"You were standing at the display window," charged Bill wrathfully. "Blocking my paying customers from getting into my shop. How am I supposed to make an honest living?" he demanded, and furrowed his silver brows menacingly.
"We...we...I," replied Meryl in bewilderment. Now Karen began to whimper.
Taking notice of her, Candy Bill's face suddenly creased into an enormous smile. "There, there, hertzele, cooed the bear of a man, gently touching her cheek. From a shelf he pulled three bright white bags loaded with candy. He presented the gifts to the little girls and smiled warmly at them. They stood, agape, until Bill, suddenly embarrassed by his own largesse, shooed them out of the shop. The two younger children danced merrily away, but Meryl paused for a moment and glanced back at her benefactor and gave him a dazzling smile of gratitude. He merely flicked his fingers in the opposite direction, and she likewise fled.
Candy Bill, his always busy shop now empty, walked back of the ice cream counter, past the many confectionery displays, and laid his hand on a photo, nearly twenty years old and fading. Across the photo, in the unsteady hand of a child, was written, "Love you, papa. Your sweet hertzele, Miriam."
