The Killings of Gaza

The blood flowing on the ground

The world takes its shape in a new mould

By the sound the birds flew away quickly to the safe

The sky became so gloomy

The shiny morning turned into smoky brown

The lightning in the darkness of night shattered down

The children, the women, the young and the old

The devastated area

Oh! Pathetic deaths for whom are you call us?

No reply without a long sigh

Wildfire is running in place of humanity

Sorrows, sufferings, torture and deaths happening in everyday life

It’s as if like the hereditary wealth

From the other side of the spot we see, hear and get scared

As the condition for the deer in the rush in front of a hungry tiger

Nothing to do without feeling hatred for the killers

On the other side sympathized with the people in Gaza

The storm is blowing, the world moving in the cyclone

‘To be or not to be – that is the question’  

We, all stand in the puzzling and haggling queue

But justice never goes injustice

Time will take us to face the judge

And the victims must enter into their mirthful goal

Though out of sight,

Every day in the sprouting green fields

Where fresh oxygen makes our veins flow clean

And in the twinkling sky

They are laughing and singing the songs of joy!

How sweet they dream in sleep!

How would they lead their lives tomorrow?

Can we imagine?

 Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

 27  January, 2025.

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.

Enakhan Siddikova’s poem

“O walk in the world of the heart,

Teach your heart to follow your heart.

Do whatever it takes.

Teach me to be happy with you.”

Don’t make life difficult, don’t make him cry

Do not sink into the abyss forever.

An evening tormented by the torment of conscience,

To call someone a friend is to help him.

Don’t ask me what’s wrong, my friend.

Its melody is trust, its garden is loyalty.

Instantly knocks down a thousand-year-old wall,

A little hatred if felt in the hearts.

O walk in the world of the heart,

Teach your heart to follow your heart…

Nilufar Anvarova, 8th grade student of the creative school named after Erkin Vahidov.

THE DISCOUNT MAP

   writing rhymes

   of seasons and reasons

is a way of charting weather.

Try to know – somehow –

when it’s going to rain.

Map experience

and figure the cost.

Nothing is free

and sometimes half-off.

San Francisco and the Ongoing Homeless Situation

A few years ago there was an election, and as usual I received a Voter’s Information Handbook from the San Francisco Dept. of Elections.  Among the propositions there was the expected request for additional funding to solve the homeless crisis in our fair city.

 
One of the rebuttals to why this legislation was so important pointed out that there are over sixty agencies in San Francisco whose sole purpose is to ‘help the homeless.’  Well, I said to myself this equates to sixty sets of office infrastructure (computers, scotch tape, staplers etc.,) sixty sets of mortgages and/or rent, sixty sets of staff and sixty sets of Strategic Plans.  No wonder so little of the voted-for money is actually helping ‘the homeless.’

Once upon a time, some of the homeless lived rent-free in Golden Gate Park.  An intrepid group of them excavated a hill and made it livable.  Then the sweeps came and now there are only a few, forlornly holding their blankets and sleeping bags through the rain, the fog and the cold. In my Chi-Chi neighborhood they sometimes stumble through, looking like they’ve been in a war.

It’s possible for the sane ones to go to the San Francisco Public Library Main Branch and ask at the Information Desk for a Hossa Monday through Friday from 1-3 pm.  Hossas are formerly homeless individuals who have resource lists and information for shelter, showers, meals and clothing among other things.  The out-to-lunch people usually don’t care to hear about this as an option, rightfully fearing they will be put in-patient into a psychiatric ward.
It’s also tricky when the homeless have a dog or dogs because after someone was bitten at a library, dogs are not customarily allowed to visit the library branches, card or no card.

I found that the predominant feature almost all homeless people share is hunger, so I carry light, portable snacks.  Hunger bites.
Back to Golden Gate Park. In my younger years I worked for a Podiatrist, who crowed to me that, “I love joggers.” This was due to the fact that his foot patients who ran routinely on cement usually needed foot surgery at some point from all the wear and tear on their joints.  His solution that he shared with me (because I wouldn’t be caught dead jogging) was that if joggers exercised on grassy land, it would cushion the shock of running rather than destroying their bones.

Two more pieces of wisdom he was shared with me: 1) Try to buy two identical pairs of shoes – by alternating back and forth the shoes will last four times as long as if you were wearing one pair of shoes.  2) Leather gives.  When wearing patent leather, what gives is your feet.  He was an interesting character who also used to treat elderly Chinese women who had bound feet.

No one can make our homeless problem go totally away, but it’s good to use common sense and compassion to deal with the situation.
—

Since 1982 [in California] we have built 22 prisons and three universities. It costs $52,000 a year to house a prisoner, more than the tuition at Stanford.

-Heard on a broadcast of The Commonwealth Club

TREES

If you have only one

center of calm

(circle of intent &

compass of silver,)

stay among the trees

for they’re not bothered by

a storm.

KARST ON A SISTER HEAD

Karst on the head of a sister

Like a denudated surface of a home

Silence sings her name in a flying universe

She’s still a crawling baby with a portraits  

of a cracked verse on her palms

She’s  a sister in a carved star breathing 

fire 

When the stars reborn  she will be a 

diamond  castle of a new dawn.

               WISHES WERE DEAD SONGS

    I wish darkness was never a  dead song 

                           Of night….

    I wish it has never painted my mothers 

                tongue like a city of grief….

    I wish it was never a colour  and symphony 

                           of the dead…..

    I wish darkness turns white like paradise

                           on earth…..

    I wish it never swallows a brother in

                         his new world…..

Rahmat A. Muhammad is a poet from northern Nigeria.

GAZA

Gaza, land of ancient olive trees,

its branches, arms that implore the sky,

its leaves, yellowish green tears,

under a scorching sun, a slow fire.

Its houses, boats stranded on the sand,

hit by waves of war and apathy,

its walls, stories engraved in stone,

of resistance and pain, an open wound.

Its children, flowers that grow among rubble,

with eyes that reflect an uncertain tomorrow,

full of the uncertainty of reconstruction.

its laughter, echoes that seek a tomorrow,

in a withered garden, with no spring nearby.

Its streets, rivers of tears and hope,

that flow among ruins, looking for a way out,

its people, stars that shine in the night,

despite the darkness, a light on.

Gaza, a poem written in blood and pain,

a song to life, which resists the clamor,

a cry of hope, which rises to the sky,

a call for peace, a new future.

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.

Contributor Eva Petropolou Lianou would like to let us know about this call for submissions of poetry to benefit a writer in Gaza (whom we’ve also published).

Also, contributing poet Christina Chin has a new book available now on Amazon, “First Day of the Rest.” This is a special project, a collaborative haibun/haibunga book written with Michael Hough, poet, composer, and musician featuring both photos and art by the authors. More about the book here.

Next, an announcement from contributor Chimezie Ihekuna, who is seeking an investor/executive producer for the project, One Man’s Deep Words. It is set in the US, details here.

Also, poet and prose writer Christopher Bernard would like to share that his magazine, Caveat Lector, will be giving a reading to commemorate the Winter 2025 issue, at Clarion Performing Arts Center. Information and address here.

In this issue, our international contributors address themes of passion.

Some writers explore this concept in the way modern people tend to understand it, with pieces on love of various sorts.

Madaminova Ogiloy’s tender poem praises the kindness and care of her mother. Ilhomova Mohichehra reflects on the steady consistency and dedication of her father. Xonzoda Axtamova honors a mother who cared for her children despite her own struggles.

G’ulomjanova Marjona reminds us that family love and care for parents should come before materialism and success in our short lives.

Anindya Paul’s piece compares the pressure of a son trying to live up to his father’s expectations to that of a father doing his best to provide for and raise children.

Teachers and other professionals also extend deep concern for the children under their care. Azadbek Yusupov outlines effective ways to evaluate teachers’ classroom performance. Medical student Dilshoda Izzatilloyeva outlines causes and treatments of pneumonia in young children.

Rus Khomutoff evokes a mix of spiritual and sensual feelings in his transfixing concrete dream poem. R.K. Singh’s poetry explores the feelings of men and women navigating complex sensual desires and emotions: fear, danger, lust, and ecstasy that can come with intimacy. Mark Blickley fills out the story in a bawdy Greek myth in historical speculative fan fiction.

Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal fantasizes about imagined romances as his body slowly decays with time. Doug Holder crafts a mood of giddy romantic anticipation in his ekphrastic accompaniment to Gieseke Penizzotto Denise’s painting.

While the word has come to be associated with romantic emotion, the word “passion” comes from an old Latin word for suffering and originally referred to the willingness to endure much to reach one’s goals. Some of our contributors celebrate this kind of determination and perseverance, on their paths to personal or creative development or just to survive in the world.

Jacques Fleury reviews Lyric Stage Boston’s production of Lynn Nottage’s play Crumbs from the Table of Joy and discusses how the show highlights the struggles of working-class Black people for full inclusion in the United States.

In Bill Tope’s short story, a young woman rebels against the humiliation of an oppressive dress code.

Graciela Noemi Villaverde draws on gardening metaphors to describe the cultivation of character over time. Feruza Sheraliyeva writes of the corrosive nature of corruption on society and urges every individual to uphold ethical standards. Asadbek Yusupov outlines the balance between individual rights and civic responsibilities in Uzbekistan. Aminova Dilbar highlights the value placed on inter-ethnic harmony, equality, and mutual respect in Uzbekistan, codified into the highest levels of government.

David Sapp’s poetic speaker wishes to transcend this life to a higher spiritual plane, but human feelings keep calling him back to this mortal coil. Kieu Bich Hau remains resolute during her time of soul-searching loss on the shores of Italy’s Lake Como. Michael Robinson speaks to how his faith in Christ gives him joy and peace as he undergoes dialysis. Abigail George’s essay speaks to what it means to create in times of great struggle and societal marginalization.

Anna Keiko celebrates individuality in her short poem, encouraging readers to be unafraid to be themselves. Z.I. Mahmud highlights themes of female emancipation and agency and freedom from existing purely for the male gaze in Sylvia Plath’s poetry.

In his Reflective Thinking spoken word album and screenplay concept One Man’s Deep Words, Chimezie Ihekuna mulls over what makes for a wise and satisfying life. Sometimes, satisfaction can come through dedication to one’s craft.

Jacques Fleury’s poem on a day of solitude reminds us of what unites us all as human beings and brings his literary and cultural aspirations to clearer focus.

Stephen Bett evokes the feeling of hearing performance poetry at a reading in his concrete-ish piece, and also jeers at weaponized misogyny and reflects on chemical happiness. Patrick Sweeney crafts one-line poems that become near-stories with a thoughtful reading.

Poet and nature photographer Brian Barbeito outlines his creative process and goals in a creative personal essay. Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photos this month explore mediated images of nature: drawings and cartoons we create to interface with our world from a step removed.

Actor and writer Federico Wardal spotlights Egyptian actor Wael Elouny and Italian director Antonello Altamura and their new indie film Ancient Taste of Death. Mark Young’s mix of intriguing and explosive visual pieces meld color, shape, text, and design. Texas Fontanella mixes up chatspeak and everyday language in a cyberpunk-style set of surreal anecdotes and shares some intense, wild musical vibes.

Maftuna Mehrojova outlines basics of and new directions in the craft of business marketing and communications. Gulsevar Bosimova describes and takes pride in her proficiency in traditional Uzbek martial arts.

Dilbar Koldoshova Nuraliyevna writes of how Uzbek poet Abdulla Oripov’s works were grounded in his love of his homeland. Joseph C. Ogbonna reflects on his trip from Nigeria to visit John F. Kennedy’s birthplace and rhapsodizes on the glory of the past president and his times.

Another aspect of passion, or love, is grief for what we lose. Ahmed Miqdad mourns loss of life, hope, and joy in Gaza during wartime.

Christopher Bernard laments in mythological, epic language the loss of so much beauty and history to the flames in Los Angeles. Pat Doyne grieves not just the fires in Los Angeles, but the callousness of some in society towards the survivors and the natural environment.

Rob Plath’s poetry conveys the understated numbness of grief and remembrance as Ahmad Al-Khatat’s character sketch illustrates the emptiness and fragility that can come with being displaced from one’s homeland and loved ones. In a more upbeat tone, J.K. Durick recollects fragments of people and literary works that populated his youthful consciousness and now his dreams. Taylor Dibbert reflects on the passage of time through a brief encounter with someone he remembers from long ago.

Linda S. Gunther reviews Nikki Erlick’s novel The Measure, a tale asking big questions about mortality, purpose, and destiny through the lives of carefully drawn, highly individual characters. Wazed Abdullah reminds us to cherish life, with all its ups and downs as Mahbub Alam points out how we are all mortal, how time ticks quickly for us all.

Yucheng Tao’s impressionist poetry touches on themes of memory and loss while Mykyta Ryzhykh draws on imagery of death, decay, and natural renewal.

Lazzatoy Shukurillayeva translates a poem from historical Uzbek poet Alexander Feinberg about the brevity of life and the vanity of assuming you can make yourself great in a short time. Noah Berlatsky humorously reflects on how perhaps most of us do not need to be memorialized through ponderous tomes.

Despite the finite nature of our lives, some people take passionate enjoyment in our ordinary world.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand recaptures the wonder of childhood and urges his fellow adults to reclaim youthful curiosity.

Isabel Gomez de Diego’s photos suggest the wonder in everyday scenes: a mural of a wine toast during a meal, public fountains, loaves of sourdough bread. Lidia Popa waxes poetic on birds and green butterflies as Alan Catlin sends up many different ways of looking at winter, summer, crows, and the moon.

Sayani Mukherjee illustrates the rebirth of sunrise as winter gives way to spring and she rejoins the outdoors in her running shoes.

In another kind of rebirth, we’ve just barely started another planetary journey around the sun. Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa welcomes in the Northern Hemisphere’s wintry New Year and speaks of the difficulty of conveying the feel of snow to someone in a temperate climate. Maria Cristina Pulvirenti’s minuscule haiku captures how snow can muffle sound, dulling the senses to focus your attention.

Daniel De Culla cynically speculates that selfish human nature will not change much in the New Year. J.J. Campbell considers signs of hope in his life, then rationalizes each of them away. And, in another piece, Ahmed Miqdad contrasts the human suffering in Gaza with the world’s joyful holiday celebrations. Pat Doyne reflects on quirky, hopeful, and fearsome bits of 2024’s news cycle and wonders playfully about 2025.

Burning

As the months processed
I surmise a new fall
Flamingo pink skies 
Burning over the horizon
A new Streetlamp hung around my closet
I swam a darkness high 
As I breathe deep I drink a new paradise
Hope's cities has new avenues
Before they all fall a decade high
Hung around still for the spring
Matches for matches 
This is what justice felt like
Over my running shoes 
I knew the darkness has tapestry
So it showed me a matchstick sky
Heaven knows I tried 
For the spring comes 
With burning winter's sickly delicate lace.