Read the first chapters here.

3

After the New Year, we have a new neighbor, Baba Katya. She was a short, plump woman with glasses, rather intelligent-looking, always wrapped in several layers of clothing. When she stopped by, a few creepy-looking men probably dragged all sorts of things for two hours: chests, parcels, some furniture into her room, which was as big as a hall.

The check-in process attracted Alexey and me’s attention, and we sat in the hallway and silently watched what was happening. At some point, one of these thuggish-looking workers barked at my brother and me, and we, frightened, retreated to our room. Here, to fill up the feeling of confidence, we began to sprinkle these two and our neighbor with curses and all sorts of nicknames.

– These two are savages! – I said, waving my arms.

– And the neighbor? She’s no better! Bourgeois! – my brother answered.

One day after school, when my brother and I were walking down the hallway, the door to the new neighbor’s room was open. It has been several weeks since she moved in. Torn by curiosity, we decided to carefully look in to see the treasures she was hiding.

Through the slightly open door we could see several antique cabinets, statues, tapestries, paintings. Meanwhile, the hostess of the room came up to us along the corridor. My brother and I took a step back, expecting reproaches or threats, but something completely unexpected happened. Seeing our undisguised interest in the contents of the room, Baba Katya smiled slightly.

• Come on in, guys, – she invited my brother and me.

Her brother was more talkative, as always, and asked her a lot of questions. He had a talent for talking to people, so later he became a famous journalist and traveled a lot around the country and the world.

So, we managed to find out that baba Katya, as the whole apartment called her, is actually Ekaterina Vasilyeva, a well-known restorer with experience. For several years now, she has been engaged in restorations for the state museums of Leningrad, and what struck me most of all, she even worked at home, in conditions when museums were closed or even mothballed. And all these “treasures” are her works that have been restored or are just waiting in the wings.

– Why did you move in with us? Has your house been bombed?  Alexey continued his inquiries.

– No, it’s worse…  This is not a childish story…” she tried to get away from this topic.

– We are already adults, please tell us! – my brother and I did not let up.

Baba Katya stopped talking, looked at the window, then back at us. She went to the stove in the corner of the room, put a scorcher in it, put the kettle on and slowly began her creepy story.

– About a month ago, a story happened that changed my life and disappointed people forever. I used to live in the central district, also in a communal apartment. I had two rooms there – one bedroom, the second, a larger one, a workshop for restoration. Our apartment has always been friendly, we all knew each other for many years and were almost like family. Only one neighbor was weird, I don’t even want to call her by her first name. After her divorce from her husband, something broke inside her… But even then she had not yet poisoned our way of life. With the onset of the blockade, our apartment began to change, many left. The corridors began to empty.

In the autumn, the famine began, then it became even worse, our neighbors began to disappear. The authorities came to us a couple of times, and then our neighbor began to show incredible diligence in finding and assisting the authorities. She told all sorts of stories, saying that they had gone to their relatives in the village, and those had died in the raid. Strangely enough, everyone believed her.

Then she stopped talking. I saw a tear creeping down the wrinkled cheek of an elderly woman. After a moment of silence, gathering her strength, she continued:

– One day, I worked late and, as it seemed to me, I was not sleeping alone in the apartment. Then a disheveled and scared neighbor flew into my workshop, saying that some strange man of terrible appearance was walking in our hallway. I calmed her down by suggesting that we look at this stranger together. She agreed, on the condition that we take a poker for protection. So we left my room, I went ahead and carried a lamp, and she followed me with a poker.

We walked along the dark corridor for a while until I felt a blow on the back of my head and lost consciousness. I came to my senses, probably after a quarter of an hour, I was lying on the floor in my neighbor’s room, next to her bed. The first thing that caught my eye was the partially butchered body of the girl, which was hidden under the bed. It hit me like an electric shock, I immediately understood everything and hid, the neighbor was standing with her back to me in the other corner and, leaning over the table, sorting knives. I got up quietly, and the poker was lying on the bed.

Grabbing her, I slapped my neighbor on the back without looking at her and ran out of the apartment and onto the street with the last of my strength. My head hurt terribly, and my heart was pounding so hard that it seemed like it was going to pop out of my chest. So I ran through several streets until I bumped into two young soldiers who turned out to be NKVD officers. Through tears, I told them everything. After taking me to some kind of duty station, they hurried to our apartment…

She paused again, sighed, and finished her story with confidence in her voice.

– The remains of five people were found in her room, as the investigation established, for several months she had not only killed and eaten acquaintances, but also sold or changed the meat of victims in markets in different areas. As far as I know, she was shot on the same day, and I could no longer stay in that apartment and moved in with you.

The kettle whistled, Baba Katya covered her face with her hands. There was horror and shame on my brother’s face, and we both regretted our persistence, curiosity and prejudice about this brave woman. I went up to her and hugged her a little, she calmed down, poured tea for us and gave us one candy, it was an incredible rarity, my brother and I had not seen any sweets anywhere for more than six months.

• Go to your room in peace, – Baba Katya said to us at parting, – And be careful on the street, and in general with strangers.

A Poem for America

Breaking of the shackles
A new nation was born
With the breath of freedom
Uplifted by the joy!
The Declaration of independence inspired
That all men are equal!
Endowed with rights such as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness
Our struggles for democracy hoped to prove
That people are the king!
The brave women of America fought
And won the right to vote
The brave African Americans fought
And won the right to vote
For thousands of years our native Americans
Looked after this beautiful land
To them we must make amends
And restore them in every way
We now must pledge to
To care for each other
And build a sense of community
White, black, brown and others

Brothers and sisters are we all
Natives, Europeans, Hispanics, Africans, Asians and others
Make the beautiful mosaic of our land
Our army is mighty strong
And our soldiers are brave
May they defend our great land
And be fair and just to the world
They put their lives on the line
So we must take care of them
Our planet is now warming up
Looks like it has a fever
Fossil fuels we must leave behind
Green clean energy is our future
For climate change we must lead the world
For we have so little time
Our mothers we must trust to care
For children unborn or born
Our teachers we must trust to teach
The past, the present and the future
The quality of our nation depends on them to prepare
Productive, skilled, moral and caring students
The quality of our nation depends
On healthy, happy and caring people
May the ingenuity of our people blossom

So we lead the world in enterprise
May the big help the small prosper
So the benefits are spread around
Our farmers we must support
So they have joy and pride
They grow the food for us
That helps us to survive
Today, we may stand divided as if we are bitter foes
But we must begin to talk and find that common ground
For that we must abandon all untruths
And face our future with truth and caring
Autocracy and dictatorship we must reject
Democracy we must strengthen to have more
Transparency, openness and accountability
For that is the only way we can
Have true people’s power where people are the king
Hatred, anger and violence we must reject
Love, calmness and nonviolence we must embrace
We must all be brothers and sisters
And express goodwill and take care of others
Macho means to have strength and resolve
To protect others from injustice
To protect others from bullies
The great Chief Seattle told us

“The Earth does not belong to man:
Man belongs to the Earth.”
So let us resolve on this day
To build an America that is green and clean
Our lands and coasts and bays and waterways
Where our brother and sister species prosper again
Where everyone is healthy, happy, sustainably prosperous and at peace
Where our women feel empowered and free
Where minorities join with the majority to build a better nation
Oh! America you can be
Free and happy to eternity!

Do not forget, classmate

We won't see each other for three months.
Remember, my friend.
I know you are kind
Do not forget, classmate.


I sure miss it now
I play with the picture.
It was you, my friend.
Do not forget, classmate.

keep calling
Or write messages.
There is a merging class,
Do not forget, classmate.

You are the sun of that heart,
A loving embrace.
You gave me patience,
Do not forget, classmate.

Ilhomova Mohichehra is a student of the 7th grade of the 9th general secondary school of Zarafshan city, Navoi region.

A Kiss Through the Darkness

When I discovered I suffered from depression and anxiety, I decided to make peace with them. They became my companions, teaching me to avoid people, though not strangers. I often found myself in bars, drinking recklessly. I kept telling myself that each night would be the last. But night after night, I met different women. I drank without care, to the point of forgetting my own name, but never could I forget my depression and anxiety.

Sometimes, as I undressed women who wanted to be with me—drawn to my humor, I suppose—my eyes would fill with tears. They would kiss them away, offering me comfort that felt foreign. I was lonely, and my parents didn’t understand my struggles. When I told my mother I felt guilty, her response was, “Maybe you hurt a friend.” But I had no friends, just the bullies who tormented me. I longed for someone to hear the silent screams of my heart.

In those bars, some women pulled me into their world of lust. I became a slave to their desires, some of them married. I had to stop drinking, but I found myself offering something else—my body—to appease my sadness. I remember one woman dancing, and when she turned around, she kissed me as I headed for the washroom. Seconds later, she apologized as her husband, sitting in a wheelchair, laughed tearfully, saying, “You chose him over me, after all these years.”

She didn’t care. She grabbed my hand, led me to her sports car, and drove us to her house. We continued drinking, undressing each other. She saw my tears, smiled, and passed me a cigarette. We sat there, naked, smoking in silence. She stared at me as I coughed, struggling with the cigarette.

“Is this your first time smoking?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “But drinking? I’m fine with that.”

“Are you trying to drink yourself to death, young man?” she pressed.

“Maybe. I’m always suffering alone, and no one at school wants to sit with me. My parents are too busy with their lottery winnings to notice.”

“Is that why you cry, like an orphan who learned the war was over only to discover his parents are gone?”

“I think I was adopted just so they could have someone to raise, a cover for their wealth.”

“Money doesn’t buy happiness, and you’re spending their fortune on your own slow death.”

“I feel like I was born with a lifetime of grief. Drinking numbs my sensitivity, my inner peace, and most of all, the masks I wear to hide the pain in my mind and heart.”

“Do your friends care about the person you are in these bars?” she asked.

“I think they’d prefer I sober up so I can decide whether to pull the trigger or keep cutting myself.”

“Are your friends alive?”

“I’m alone. Depression and anxiety gave me a second chance at life.”

“Are you happy to be alive now?”

“I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve been alive for too long.”

“Have you ever fallen in love?”

“I don’t think I’m capable. I’ve always felt unworthy of love, even from my family. The only person who loves me, though she doesn’t understand me, is my mother.”

“Can I help guide you toward healing? Toward confidence?”

“Thank you, but life has been wearing me down, slowly, like a candle melting its own wax.”

“Will you let me adopt you before I die?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I want to heal you because you’re young and deserve a better life.”

I was confused by her mention of death. As I dressed to leave, she screamed, “I love you! Please, let my remaining days be filled with the happiness of helping you become a better man.”

I turned back and hugged her. We both cried.

Because of her, I became sober and successful. She healed me in ways no one else could, and in return, I tried to help heal her. She overcame her illness, and we became the best of friends, forever grateful for that accidental kiss.

Now, I am happily married to a strong woman who chases away the shadows of depression and anxiety from my dreams. Together, we’ve built a life filled with love and understanding. I’ve learned that we must talk about our weaknesses and embrace the help offered by those we trust.

The Language is an indissoluble bond

There is a decency and a balance that seals healthy bonds.

Through the similarities,

a welding of feelings that resists

to corrosion in time and space

even when we are far away.

Then there is the poet orator in the quintessence of connections.

A ceramic bowl, flowers in autumn colors,

a book for the soul

and occupations to keep traditions unaltered.

Poets from the languages ​​of the world that embrace the Europe of Hope.

We, a Festival of Languages ​​and Poets united for Peace.

BIOGRAPHY

Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the locality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on 16th April, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț, Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy.

She has been living for 23 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.

She wrote your first poem at her age of 7. She is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for her literary activities. She collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. She writes in Romanian, Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge.

BOOKS

She has published her poems in six books:

in Italy:

1. ” Point different ( to be ) ” – ed. Italian and

2.” In the den of my thoughts ( Dacia ) ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian AlettiEditore 2016,

3.“ Sky amphora ” – ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian EdizioniDivinafollia 2017,

in Romania:

4. ” The soul of words” ed. bilingual Romanian/ Albanian Amanda Edit Verlag 2021,

5.” Syntagms with longing for clover ” ed. Romanian, EdituraMinela 2021.

6.” The Voice interior ” LidiaPopa and BakiYmeri ed. bilingual Romanian/Italian, Amanda Edit Verlag 2022.

Her poems featured in more than 50 literary anthologies and literary magazines on line from 2014 to 2023 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, Bangladesh, United Kingdom, Liban,USA,etc.

Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangladesh, Portuguese, Serbian, Urdu, Dari, Tamil, etc.

Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.

She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.

She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that “it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature “.

SHE IS

*Member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS)

*Honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa PoeticaMagia y Plumas Republic of Colombia,

*Member of Hispanomundial Union of Writers (Union Hispanomundial de Escritores) (UHE) and Thousands Minds For Mexico (MMMEX)

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*She had come power of attorney Vice-president UHE Romania, Mars18, 2021- August 21, 2021

*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021

*Counselor from Italy for Suryodaya Literary Foundation Odisha India,

*Director from Italy for Alìanza Cultural Universal (ACU) Argentina

*Member Motivational Strips Oman,a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally,

*Director of Poetry and Literature World Vision Board of Directors (PLWV) Bangladesh

*Membership of ANGEENA INTERNATIONAL NON PROFIT ORGANISATION of Canada

International Peace Ambassador of The Daily Global Nation International Independent Newspaper from Dhaka Bangladesh – 2023

*Founder literary group Lido dell’anima with LIDO DELL’ANIMA AWARDS

*Founder LIDO DELL’ANIMA Italian magazine

*Founder SILVAE VERBORUM INTERNATIONAL multilingual magazine

*Founder literary currently #homelesspoetry

etc.

Azerbaijan International Conference

I am a 3rd-year student at Sarvinoz Khasan’s daughter Bukhara State Medical Institute. I have been interested in the field of medicine since I was young. I am currently the winner of the “Student of the Year” award. During my student days, I developed a strong interest in scientific research and the culture and art of other countries. I became interested in the world. As a result of my many researches, I found out that the Turkic countries are different from others with their customs. The interest in the Turkic world made me travel the world.

I participated on behalf of Uzbekistan at the international conference held in Azerbaijan in February 2024. We got to know the culture and education direction of Azerbaijan closely. we visited educational institutions. For a week I was a guest in such beautiful and unique cities as Baku and Quba. The art and culture of Uzbekistan and Azerbaijan are similar to each other.

The international conference and the presentation of the book went very well. I also participated with my creative work and was awarded. It was hosted by scientists, professors and teachers. The people of Azerbaijan expressed warm thoughts about Uzbekistan. It was also different from others with the delicacy of its dishes. I liked the Azerbaijani national dances and costumes the most.

We returned to Uzbekistan with many such warm thoughts. In conclusion, I can say that traveling the world in pursuit of knowledge and learning the culture and customs of other peoples is of great interest to this person. My peers and young people, always keep moving and searching.