Poetry from Panjiyeva Dilnavo Shukurvna

Young Uzbek teen girl with long dark hair, earrings, and a black top.

May the life of youth flourish

I ran for fun

My sweet dream

I laughed out loud

May the life of youth flourish 

Walking with my grandfather

I wandered the gardens

I’m so tired

May the life of youth flourish 

Now it’s fun and excitement 

Laughter is the order of the day 

Picking flowers is a rule 

let the young life bloom 

Days spent with youth 

Light is called mine

They say that every minute will not come back

May the life of youth flourish 

In my mother’s arms 

On a sweet dream leaf 

He brought happiness with flowers 

May the life of youth flourish 

Every minute of my youth 

A sacred treasure for me

I will remember it for the rest of my life 

May the life of youth flourish 

Panjiyeva Dilnavo Shukurvna was born in the village of Khalqabad, Guzor district, Kashkadarya region. She started writing poems from 2007 to 2020. Currently, she has more than 150 poems.

Essay from Charos Toshpulatova

Young teen Central Asian girl with dark straight hair and a black top.
Title of article: How many languages do you know?


  How many languages do you know? One or two, maybe more. But do you know how many languages there are in the world? According to estimates, 7,100 to 7,164 languages are spoken in the world today. This number is taken from the Ethnologue directory, which catalogs the world's known languages. It is important to remember that this estimate and the exact number are constantly changing. New languages are always being discovered, especially in remote areas, while others are disappearing. Unfortunately, many languages are in danger of disappearing. According to some data, half of the world's languages have already disappeared. As you can see, there are more languages than countries. and each language has its origin and history. Everyone loves, respects, and honors their native language. It is only through this language that we can know how any nation is living, developing, or, on the contrary, lagging and getting poorer. That is why it is not for nothing that they say: " Language is the mirror of the nation." 

 But would you believe me when I say that there is such a language that our tongue becomes weak when we speak it? Yes, there is such a language and it is Sign Language. Sign languages are not a single universal language, but rather a complete and complex set of languages used by deaf and hard of hearing communities around the world. Sign language relies on hand shapes, facial expressions, body language, and movement to convey meaning. They have their own grammar, syntax, and vocabulary, which are completely different from spoken languages. More than 300 different sign languages are used worldwide, with each country usually having its language. But sign languages are not mutually intelligible, meaning that someone who knows American Sign Language will not understand someone signing in French Sign Language (FSF). 

 But if we look at history, Gesture was born in 1951, when the World Federation of the Deaf (WFG) was born. The participants of the first World Congress of the Deaf decided to standardize the language of communication in international events. The need for such a unique "Esperanto sign" is connected with the participation of social workers and public figures from among the deaf together with laryngologists, audiologists, and psychologists in the work of congresses, conferences, and symposia devoted to the problems of deafness, teachers, engineers, and other professionals. On behalf of the WFM Bureau, a group of experts, with the participation of a Soviet representative, based on the generality of the speech gestures of the deaf in different countries during the course (similar gestures were selected or assigned from various European countries). developed a common international sign language over a quarter of a century. In 1973, the World Federation of the Deaf issued a simplified sign language dictionary. In 1975, at the VII World Congress of the Deaf in Washington, the International Sign (IS) was adopted and approved (along with English and French, the official languages of the World Federation of the Deaf). as well as at international events, at events of the World Federation of the Deaf. 

 In general, the reason I decided to write this article was because of the news information channels that I came across, and as a child, I remembered that in most TV news broadcasts or daily news, Sign language interpreters would also deliver the news together. But for some reason, it seems that it is difficult to find it now. Because we should not forget that this is also a language and hundreds of millions of people in the world use sign language to communicate.


Charos Toshpulatova was born in Uzbekistan on 2003 November 19.

Currently, she is studying at Soonchunhyang University (SCH) in South Korea. In addition in 2022, she was selected by the United Nations General Assembly as a delegate the Arab Youth International Model United Nations in Dubai, United Arab Emirates for represent Diplomat of Uzbekistan And 2023 she has been selected again to join the Best Diplomats United Nations Simulation Conference Crafting Future Leaders in the Post-Pandemic 
Era, 2023 in Istanbul, Türkiye.

Stories from Alexander Kabishev

Spring has come to besieged Leningrad. It seemed that our neighbor’s prophecy was beginning to come true. My mother is in the hospital all the time. Apart from my mother, there are four of us left at home: my older sister Masha and brother Alexey, me and my younger brother Sasha. There has been no news from my father and brothers for several weeks, and we have been sick for the second week and do not go to school.

One of these days, there was a loud knock on our door (since the beginning of 1942, we have introduced the practice of closing doors, including the story of Baba Katya). As I was already recovering, I went to open it. Ivan and Leonid were on the threshold. To say that we were glad to see them is like saying nothing. During the war, without news, both returned alive and well!

We all literally escaped from the captivity of the disease at the same time. A brother and sister jumped out of bed, fussed, hung up soldiers’ overcoats, and began to set the table. There was not even a need for words – a smile did not leave the faces of the whole family. Even Sasha perked up, dangling his legs off the bed, smiling mysteriously, examining our defenders.

From the stories of Ivan and Leonid, we finally learned their whole life in recent months. It turned out that they were not accepted for service at the district military enlistment office because of their age, then they spontaneously decided to go to the front, at least as paramedics. Then there were a month and a half of training in the field, dangerous service in the frontline zone, rescue of the wounded. And now, their numerous petitions have been granted and after a three-day vacation they will return to their unit as ordinary Red Army soldiers.

– Are you only for three days?  Masha asked with regret.

– It’s going to be a wonderful eternity for us! – Ivan smiled in response, – Let’s set the table already.

The guys brought sugar, nuts, dried fruits, canned fish – incredible delicacies for that time! And all we had was a few slices of bread and boiling water, so there wasn’t much to set the table.

  • No, that won’t do, – Ivan said, inspecting our feast.

– Let’s go to the market and buy something, – Leonid suggested, getting up from the table.

– Can I come with you?  I jumped up after the brothers.

They both granted my request with an affirmative nod of their heads and, quickly gathering myself, I ran after them.

In those days, spontaneous markets could arise and disappear for several days almost anywhere, in squares, streets, even courtyards. The authorities tried to disperse these gatherings, so the merchants did not stay in the same place for a long time. Moreover, these markets had a bad reputation. At the other end of the district, my brothers and I came across one of these markets. Contrary to expectations, it was an incredibly lively place filled with all kinds of goods from groceries to antiques, so we even got a little lost in this abundance.

– Soldiers, do you want to buy something? – some merchant grabbed Ivan by the sleeve.

We turned towards the counter. Behind him stood a short old man, whom I disliked at first sight. He had small, angry, depressed piggy eyes, a bumpy robber’s face, and he was dressed in a padded jacket and a black earflap.

– Yes, Father, we should have something for the table… – Ivan began.

– Maybe meat?  That terrible grandfather interrupted him.

– Do you have any meat? – We were surprised.

– Yes, but be quiet… – he looked around and took out a small bundle soaked in blood, – Pork, fresh!

– And where does it come from?  Leonid hesitated, carefully examining the goods. I immediately remembered the neighbor’s story, but the evil look of this man scared me so much that I did not dare to tell about it now and hoped that there was pork in the bag.

– This is for the elite, but I got it on occasion, – he said, as if justifying himself.

– What’s the difference, we can’t find it cheaper and better. We’ll take it!  Ivan said decisively.

As I was leaving, I took another look at that grandfather and he answered me with his cold gaze, so I quickly looked away and tried to forget myself in conversations with my brothers.

Soon we were at home and joyfully handed Masha the package we had bought. She jumped up with joy and ran to the kitchen to cook. But before we could sit down at the table, Masha thoughtfully returned back to the room and spoke softly:

– Guys, there’s something wrong with the meat…

– What happened?  Leonid came up to her.

For a minute he silently examined this small piece, lightly tracing it with his finger, then suddenly changed his face and cried out:

– Yes, it’s human!

– You’re lying!  Ivan snatched the meat from his hands.

– Look for yourself!  Leonid waved it off.

There was a tense pause, after which Ivan sullenly agreed:

– You’re right.…

Without saying another word, he quickly went to the window, opened it and angrily threw the meat out into the street. So we were left without a festive dinner.

Poetry from Holy Henry Dasere

BREATHE IN PAIN

The sun rises, puking the sorrows of the yester into my heart

I feel pain

Even though my heart boils

What would I gain?

Mama scolds me every dawn

Her anger spreads over my soul like a wildfire

My joy of being alive leaves me desolate

So I sing songs of sorrow

And it leaves my mouth charred

Where can I find love?

When it left in the morning with scars of sorrow

My dream might see no good morrow

Even my blood has severed ties

They said I am a mere woman

Who bleeds every new moon

In pains, I walk to the altar every morning

Dying silently

With my new moon blood on my face

Oh heavens! I give myself for atonement

Forgive me for being a woman

Poetry from Alex Stolis

How to Drink Yourself Sober

Step Five: Admitted to god, ourselves & another human being

– First confessional

Bless me father for I have sinned. I’m not going to tell

you I don’t buy anything you’re selling. Or twelve years

from now I’ll be driving blackout drunk, arm roped out

the window. You are not going to hear that twenty years

from now I will know the barrel of a gun tastes sour cold

sharp. You’ve no idea that one day she’ll not have to say

a word. The sky will burst in flames, heavens will plunge

into the sea. So, go ahead Father, tell me God’s forgiven

my sins. To go in peace. I have paid my penance by fire

and ash. Been absolved in cinder and smoke. 

How to Drink Yourself Sober

Preamble: The only requirement is a desire to stop drinking

Let it bleed baby, bleed till we’re white. We are pale riders. Ghosts sucking the light 

out of the tunnel, our bones left to blot out the sun. We are sons and daughters waiting

to mourn; ready to set the world on fire.

she calls me by name but I don’t recognize her

voice, the smell of her perfume, soap, shampoo

her body against mine is light:

all legs, long hair and ready

to start a revolution

she starts to say something but I can’t hear

I can only watch,

thinking I’m clever, knowing

she can see right through me

I am that fly on the wall. Yes. A thousand eyes. Unfocused, unclean, unable to swallow

and she knows. Yes she does. It is not to her advantage to forget. She’s watched

every move I make. I know. I know and there is power in knowledge.

I have that power. Don’t waste it. Don’t waste it.

How to Drink Yourself Sober

A Design for Living

When she’s five her mother spun a tale 

of an angel who dropped to earth, 

landed in a quarry. 

She fell in love with a mortal, 

asked him to bind her wings tight 

against her back, 

tried unsuccessfully to fit into his world. 

Years later, when he died, she found herself

unable to fly back to heaven. 

In her grief she flung herself into a marble slab 

where she waits, to this day, for god to split it 

in two to be reunited with him.


Alex Stolis lives in Minneapolis; he has had poems published in numerous journals. Two full length collections Pop. 1280, and John Berryman Died Here were released by Cyberwit and available on Amazon. His work has previously appeared or is forthcoming in Piker’s Press, Jasper’s Folly Poetry Journal, Beatnik Cowboy, One Art Poetry, Black Moon Magazine, and Star 82 Review. His chapbook, Postcards from the Knife-Thrower’s Wife, was released by Louisiana Literature Press in 2024, RIP Winston Smith from Alien Buddha Press 2024, and The Hum of Geometry; The Music of Spheres, 2024by Bottlecap Press

Essay from Bardiyeva Dilnura

Central Asian teen girl with straight dark hair and reading glasses. She's got a leafy patterned top with ruffles at the collar. She is in a living room or bedroom with a rug.

Mother tongue

Unique from all languages

A bright masterpiece indeed

There is no one like you

My mother tongue is one piece

You are as dear as our father

Dear like our mother 

You are one of a kind

My mother is the only one

Bardiyeva Dilnura is a student of the 7th grade of the creative school named after Ogahi. She was born on January 11, 2011 in Kosmabad, Khiva. She is a participant of the Hippo Olympiad and various Olympiads. At the same time, she is the author of several poems.

Poetry from David Sapp (some of many)

Finally Did the Trick

At forty-one

I was nearly cured

Of skyscrapers – September

One year before almost

To the day I laughed

At myself caught

In a revolving door

After lunch beneath

The World Trade Center –

Where I laughed lightly

Turned burned steel and ash

The memory didn’t quite do it

At sixty-two

Though distant and filtered

Through TV news

You’d think the slaughter

At My Lai or Rwanda or Ukraine

Would cure me of any

Remote hope for humanity

The tragic inertia deadly

Incompetence and cowardice –

The demolished little bodies

At Sandy Hook and Uvalde

Finally did the trick

       

                                                                                                                  

Silence

For those sages

Lao or Chuang Tzu

(Maybe even Siddhartha)

Silence came naturally

Nirvana turned slowly

Silence now requires

The unattainable –

Far too much patience

To be at all effective

To have any impact

Upon our lives

Our intricate elaborately

Constructed karma

The well-intentioned

Vows of silence

Of monks and nuns

In serene monasteries

Seem quaint but futile

Solutions to the clamor

Of a peevish throng

And I am thinking

Anymore silence

Is rather irresponsible

A reckless wu-wei

An obsequious inaction

All spins too swiftly

Suffering too pervasive

Comes hard and fast

Though priceless

We’ve run out of time

For mute circumspection

To adequately flourish

Despite Khrushchev

When we were two

October 1962

JFK on the TV

Moms and dads around us

Must have made love

Despite Khrushchev Castro

And missiles – in beds

Whispering and wondering

Designing elaborate bomb

Shelters in their heads

In our first year that

Sizzling upstairs apartment

We made love never

Getting enough of the other

On our mattress lugged

Into the front room for AC

We gaped at our tiny TV

A man despite his shopping

Bags stopping the tanks

Stopping the party

In Tiananmen Square

When the towers fell

NYC ash in our TV now

Annihilation not so distant

We went to work to school

And made love tenderly

Tended our kids despite

Daycare lawncare taxes

Mortgage utilities insurance –

No time for terrorists

Lurking beneath our bed

Eventual empty nesters

Ukraine and tanks again

Bombs blood despair

Just another despot

Still we fret over the TV

Wish we were young enough to

Join an International Brigade

Still safe in our bed

Whispering and wondering

We make love despite

Our aches and pains.

                                                                                                           

Lucky Window Table

On the morning of

Ukraine’s invasion

Before cluster bombs

Aromas of burned

Tanks schools hospitals

Russian soldiers

Bewildered boys yet

To warm to brutality

Grandmas and grandpas

Wielding Kalashnikovs

Yet defiant in donning

Yellow and blue and blood

Women children babies

Pressed into trains

Crying screaming dying

Over unwonted catastrophe

We brunch in Oberlin

We snag a lucky

Window table

But we are distracted

Anxious watching waiters’

Enormous round trays

Feasts flying overhead

Or plates queued up

On lavish sleeves

Maneuver around patrons

Through two narrow doors

Up steep precarious stairs

We forebode – worry over

Impending tragedy

Spills and broken dishes

Any other day

Our silly apprehension

Would be amusing

No Quaint Choo Choo

No quaint choo choo

This train isn’t that

“Little Engine That Could”

This train keeps coming

Coming and coming

Pushing and shoving

And in its insistence

There is nothing else

But power steel gears

Huffing grunting roaring

A sadist thrusting

Through field forest town

Renting our sleep

Deep in the night

The deer know its death

Know to avoid its path

Know its inevitability

But Gary steps in front

Of this train anyway

His despair a long time

Coming and coming

He thought, “I think

I can I think I can”

Relying upon momentum

To accomplish his oblivion

What a shame – what a mess!

The horrific image takes

A toll on the engineer

Despair comes for him

Keeps coming and coming

After three the tragedy

A routine – his heart

Must lean upon indifference

Who has the honor of scooping

Up Gary’s little pieces?

Who has the privilege

Of calling upon his wife?

What will his children do

With this stark obituary?

Was there any good in this?

Was a bone – a small morsel

Of flesh left – Gary a repast

For crawling scavengers?

David Sapp, writer, artist, and professor, lives along the southern shore of Lake Erie in North America. A Pushcart nominee, he was awarded Ohio Arts Council Individual Excellence Grants for poetry and the visual arts. His poetry and prose appear widely in the United States, Canada, and the United Kingdom. His publications include articles in the Journal of Creative Behavior, chapbooks Close to Home and Two Buddha, a novel Flying Over Erie, and a book of poems and drawingstitled Drawing Nirvana.