A FLOWER THAT FALLS TO HELL

 In this story, I want to tell how a young bride really lives in life. All I write are events that happen in life. The events are told in the native language of the hero of the work. I hope you can draw your own conclusions from this story:

 "I, daughter of Komila Husan (name changed), was born in 2000 in the city of Urganch, Khorezm region. My dreams were one world. When I graduated from college and was just getting ready to study at a higher education institution, suitors started pouring into our house.
 One of the suitors was my mother's relative. Mom and Dad:

 - Our daughter is still young, we want to educate her. Despite the fact that it is too early for her to get married, my mother's relative continued to come.

 Then he visited my grandfather and grandmother again and again. Then my grandfather and grandmother called my mother and father:
 - Come on, what did you decide? - they said.
 Among the relatives who came, there was my mother's uncle and a new one. My mother is:

 - What to do if I don't know... What do you say? he said.
 - They are our relatives, bad people do not eat. Decide for yourselves, there is a fire with your uncle in the middle. "We believe them," said my grandfather.

  That's all, our wedding took place on July 10, 2020. After the wedding, I felt that my dreams were shattered. We did not live well for a single day. My husband started abusing me the day after the wedding.
 Thinking that this is how life will be, I lived for a while without telling my parents. During this period, I found out that I was pregnant. Even though my husband knew that I was pregnant, he continued to abuse me. He did not call my parents or relatives.

 If you live with me, you will lose contact with your relatives. When my mother or my brother called, he would raise his voice and hide beside me. After I finished talking, he would have a big fight.
 When my mother came home to visit my husband, even though he was at work, he quickly found the news and called:

 - Don't sit next to your moon! He will talk to you! - he was tormenting.
 He shot my mother-in-law with his mother. I left his food and left. I didn't know how to convey my inner pain to my son. In the end, I couldn't bear these oppressions, and I tried to convey to my son how I was living my life through a letter.

 What kind of life is this, what kind of time is this, even though I am a young bride, I have no problems left. My husband used to come home from work and punish me by making me stand in the corner of our room until morning, despite my pregnancy.

 My mother-in-law and father-in-law were also oppressive. My mother-in-law immediately called my husband and called me when I said that I would take a break from my work. My mother-in-law would go to work depending on when her son came home from work. At the same time, he treated me badly.

 My mother-in-law and father-in-law have a lot to contribute to our miserable life. There was not a single day that I was not beaten. I missed my grandfather, my grandmother, my sister, my brother, and my relatives so much that I couldn't even make a phone call to anyone.
  I lived in longing. Meanwhile, our daughter was born.
 "We had a child, now our life will follow," I thought. But my husband and mother-in-law continued to oppress. Every day I pray to God, cry and ask for help.

 - Oh God, give justice to my husband, my mother-in-law, my father-in-law! May our life be good, I pray. I want to convey this pain in my heart to everyone.
 - When marrying your daughter, give her all the money. Iloya, don't let the days that happened to me happen to other girls.

 I used to convey these things to my mother through a letter. Mom and Dad:
 - Be patient, my daughter! They say that the bottom of patience is yellow gold. "Everything will be fine," they said. I don't know how much longer I can endure this oppression. I pray to God.

 I was very happy when my daughter was born. I felt a mother's love when I held her in my arms. I thought that our lives would be traced after he was born. I have made a mistake. Have you ever seen such cruelty? They didn't even let me see my little girl while living under the same roof. My daughter was deprived of breast milk. He feeds with additional milk, but now he does not drink breast milk. Drinks only extra milk.

 I miss my daughter. My heart bleeds when she cries. My mother-in-law does not give my child to me, but takes her with her. And I miss my little girl without sleeping.
 On the one hand, my husband's oppression, and on the other hand, my mother-in-law's suffering, which she is not giving me my daughter, have killed my hope to live in life..."

 At Komila's request, I wrote down this story. So that, after hearing about this incident, the parents would not be indifferent to the decision of their fate.

The ship of the moon raised its sails
It went towards the constellation star
At that moment, a poet shrugs his shoulders
He began to write a series of poems
Spruce branches bent
It showed respect to everyone
The poet poured himself into the poem
The winds danced
The elegant lawns were swaying
They were having fun whispering
They would say to each other:
"I wish the poet would say his poem"
But the poet was still silent
He closes his eyes and shakes his head
To the black cloud that roamed the sky
He sometimes frowns
Like it inspired him
A brook flowed beside him
The poet's thoughts roamed the world
In the bosom of the blue sea
The poet plucked words from his heart
The world could not bear it
The morning began to shine suddenly
The sun came out of the poem

Author: Umid Qodir. Young Uzbek poet. 
Translator: Nigora Muhammad

~I always say that I never get tired of saying that life is given only once! Make the most of this life! Search for new discoveries, open up new aspects of life, use your opportunities to the maximum! Don't ever put a barrier on yourself, be free, take big steps towards your goals, after all, we will all die one day! 

So why do you sleep a lot and why do you find fault with others without making the most of it? What is life like? Or those who slander themselves by thinking about you to the point where their brains reach? Show me what God has actually made you capable of! Don't give up on the words of these trivial people! 

Returning 

awash with the temple sea dredged up dignity & the landlocked sure beats in harmony a wheeling caw of blackened doves jettisoned from the backlog into the forefront of your desires the crushing cruising spleen-filled fury where spirits play hide & seek among the whalebone tongue & chipped teeth swallowed whole vantage the next line is porous and permeates across years all embellished the total sum gathering among its skirts & supine boasts that public opinion is best-served by a shove-ha’penny democracy dripping down the coma-inducing throat its useless liberation awash again with talk of vivid cinematics dubbed flying with the tint bespeckled language learnt from half-streets at the feet of the golden piper whose riven authority burns your jamboree turncoat executions/back again.

 Death 

we reach out to grab-hold this burning jewellery society beckoning the charred begotten limbs the pedestal laid before racks of marilyn munroe disc jockeys hazy smoke-filled denseness sealed with your own complicity you shadow-down your own half-truths & the bitterness declined by strangers they leap faith at you beyond clocks this world of ticking witchery fat-blossomed on the vine acreage of laughing highwire spectaculars substituting a weary reappraisal those wasted shells those years the burning empires beyond salvation beyond the freezing fronds of hell time warped and majestied into lightness & being hollowed & hallowed into sacred pits brandishing those complicit stories fired machine gun like epitaphs emblazoned behind such sultry smiles as any can
in the drolling army spread out across the counterpane those rituals to slaughter such mockingbird reprieves festooned & shattered the bleeding scab its discontent slit to the wrists of your wondering carved from the very duplicity girthed in social etiquette & death. 

 Epitaph 

an epitaph festooned brimstone begets trawling through high & mighty scapes your pearled laughter ignites incendiary biblical aftershock at the foot where they buried the very thought of your regime tucked and howled into pockets of protected youth which blossoms the fate previously disenfranchised in the twinkling & roving eye this destiny of rusted idle meanderings counter pained at rest from the birth-light of morning silted & edged in the blackened margins where those conceived conceited into oblivion the language torn & guttural festers in braids of despair rattling cages those who would tally on the fringe of this high & mighty war & attrition expelled from the TV virtue those bleeding soldiers. 


Clive Gresswell is a 65-year-old innovative writer and poet.  As well as appearing in many poetry magazines Clive who has a poetry MA, has authored several poetry books and his work can be found on Amazon.

Namangan State Pedagogical Institute: Nurturing Educators for Tomorrow

Namangan State Pedagogical Institute (NamSPI) holds a crucial role in Uzbekistan’s educational sphere, especially in the Namangan region. Established with the goal of shaping the next generation of educators, NamSPI reflects Uzbekistan’s dedication to promoting high-quality pedagogical education.

Founded to cultivate proficient and devoted teachers, NamSPI has been pivotal in the growth of Namangan’s educational sector. Renowned for its diverse array of programs centered on teacher training and pedagogical studies, NamSPI aims not just to convey knowledge but also to instill a sense of dedication and enthusiasm for education in its students.

The institute’s commitment to excellence is evident in its faculty, composed of experienced educators and professionals committed to nurturing their students’ talents. The focus on practical teaching methods equips graduates with the skills necessary for success in real-world educational settings. NamSPI’s emphasis on research and innovation further solidifies its position as an academic hub.

NamSPI’s impact extends beyond classrooms, actively contributing to community development. By producing qualified educators, the institute directly enhances Namangan’s overall educational infrastructure. NamSPI graduates are not only prepared to teach but also to inspire and guide the next generation, shaping the region’s future.

The institute’s commitment to creating an optimal learning environment is reflected in its modern facilities. State-of-the-art classrooms, well-equipped laboratories, and an extensive library foster an atmosphere conducive to intellectual growth. Additionally, NamSPI engages in extracurricular activities, offering students opportunities to develop leadership skills and a well-rounded personality.

NamSPI’s relevance in the contemporary educational landscape is highlighted by its adaptability to evolving pedagogical trends and global standards. Embracing technology ensures that graduates are proficient in modern teaching methodologies, ready to face the challenges of a dynamic educational landscape.

In conclusion, Namangan State Pedagogical Institute stands as a symbol of educational excellence in Uzbekistan. Through its dedication to nurturing educators, promoting research, and contributing to community development, NamSPI plays a crucial role in shaping Namangan’s educational future, remaining a symbol of progress and a commitment to quality education in the region.

Sarvinoz Mamadaliyeva, born on September 5, 2004, in the Tashlak district of Fergana region, is a dynamic and ambitious 19-year-old. Demonstrating her commitment to education, she is currently a 2nd year student in the Foreign Language and Literature Department at Namangan State Pedagogical Institute.

Sarvinoz’s journey is marked by passion for language and literature, reflecting her dedication to personal and academic growth. As she continues her studies, she embodies the spirit of promising individual poised to contribute meaningfully to her community and beyond.

Inscribed In Siltstone

Ancient the relics of thy chthonic passion
Primeval is the amygdala-saurus
Of thy unperturbèd ur-intelligence
Pristine your solicitous quickest instinct

A splendid bolus hardcoded through eons
In the original processing system
Stupendous corpus in tenebrous locus
Coffer’d miscellaneous minutalia

Neither impermanence nor transience affect
Thy everlasting sentience macadamized
Unalterable in unmoving hardness

Took up thy abode in the first guts to stay
Record uncorrupted of feral forebears
Always safe from annihilation to come




Maurizio Brancaleoni is a writer and translator. His poems/haiku/short stories/pastiches have appeared in several journals and anthologies. He has a bilingual blog where he posts literary gems, interviews and translations. ‘Inscribed In Siltstone’ is a meditation in sonnet form about fossils and their obscure antiquity.