Writer’s Block
When I try to write
I sense that millions of readers are
Crowding the paper’s edge,
Kneeling, genuflecting, and lifting their hands
To pray for my poem’s safe arrival.
The moment it looms on my imagination’s horizon,
Gazing at the concept in a diaphanous gown of metaphor,
Young people smack their lips—craving double entendres.
Meanwhile, with piercing glances, the elderly scrutinize
Its juxtapositions and puns.
Then the concept smiles shyly, dazed at seeing them.
On the paper’s lines both young and old meet for a discussion,
But my words resist
And erect walls of critical theories.
Then the paths of personal confession contract,
Contract,
Contract.
My imagination calmly shuts down,
And the conception retreats inside my head.
At that hour, it afflicts my world with
Bouts of destruction.
Workers refuse their paychecks.
Farmer let their fields go fallow.
Women stop chatting.
Pregnant mothers refuse to deliver their babies.
Children collect their holiday presents but
Toss them on the interstate.
Our rulers detest their positions.
Kings sell their crowns at yard sales.
Geography teachers rend their world map
And throw it in the waste basket.
Grammar teachers hide vowel marks in the drop ceiling
And break caesura by striking the blackboard.
Flour sacks split themselves open, and the flour mixes with dirt.
Birds smash their wings and stop flying.
Mice swarm into the mouths of hungry cats.
Currency sells itself at public auctions.
The streets carry off their asphalt under their arms
And flee to the nearest desert.
Time forgets to strike the hour.
The sea becomes furious at the wave
And leaves the fish stuck headfirst in the mud.
The shivering moon hides its body in the night’s cloak.
Rainstorms congeal in the womb of the clouds.
The July sun hides in holes in the ozone layer,
Allowing ice to form on its beard and scalp.
Skyscrapers beat their heads against the walls,
Terrified by the calamity.
Cities dwindle in size till they enter the needle’s eye.
Mountains tumble against each other.
My room squeezes in upon me, and
The ceiling conspires against me with
The walls,
The chair,
The table,
The fan,
The floor,
Glass in the frame,
The windows,
Its curtains,
My clothes, and
My breaths.
The world’s clarity is roiled.
Atomic units change.
I vanish into seclusion,
Trailing behind me tattered moans and
Allowing my pen to slay itself on the white paper.
.......................................................
by Faleeha Hassan
Translated by William M. Hutchins
She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.
She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is the Pulitzer Prize Nomination 2018, PushCart Prize Nomination 2019.
Member of International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020, Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021) One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023 Winner of women the arts award 2023 Member of Whos’ Who in America 2023 SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
Father of The Nation Bangabandhu
In the heart of Bengal, a legend was born,
A beacon of hope, from dusk until morn.
Sheik Mujibur Rahman, a leader so true,
Guided his people, through skies clear and blue.
With words that stirred, like thunderous roar,
He fought for justice, forevermore.
A father of the nation, with vision so vast,
He led with courage, from the shadows he cast.
In the struggle for freedom, his voice rang clear,
Inspiring millions, dispelling fear.
From the streets of Dhaka to the halls of power,
He stood firm, in the darkest hour.
Bangabandhu, the friend of the masses,
In his presence, hope surpasses.
A champion of peace, in a world torn apart,
He carried the dreams of a nation in his heart.
Though taken too soon, his legacy lives on,
In the hearts of the people, from dusk until dawn.
Sheik Mujibur Rahman, a hero so grand,
Forever cherished, in Bangladesh's land.
Muntasir Mamun Kiron is a student of grade 10 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
A wish for young people
You live under a dome
Above the earth in peace
Searching day and night
You want knowledge today.
You are always eager for knowledge
Towards a dream, goal, intention
Looking forward to great things today
Overcome the challenge.
It's a good night even if it's sleepless
Today is your day, even if it goes without rest
One day you will definitely get it
To the bright life you want.
Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntos por las letras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korabl znaniy» and «Talenty Rossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «Kayva Kishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina;s «Multi Art-6», Kenya&;s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.
Life
Life's melody, a song we sing,
In every breath, a new beginning.
With each step taken, paths unfurl,
In the dance of joy, and the storm's whirl.
Moments shared, like treasures found,
In the silence, hear life's gentle sound.
Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
To walk on four legs or barefoot
and to go through a wall
to fall into
oneself
boneless
eviscerated
like with a hole in the head
through which
one could put a transparent finger
and touch one's colorless brain
the jar has been overflowing
with pain
I was so sorry for you…
then to sit and watch
all those atoms
being scattered into oblivion
drowning deep
you should have started
by picking up your bones
one after the other
to build something meaningful
with them
even fleshless
I've heard someone crying
in my neighbors’ apartment
they don't know who I am
anonymous building
inhabited by ghosts
busy with themselves
busy beating up their kids
abusing their wives
as if
they wanted to somehow
decry their hollow souls
Fountain
Her hand leaps into the air like spray
as she dances, dances through the shadows
in the hushed auditorium she wraps around her
all the long spring afternoon.
She seems to rise in a lover's arms
of air and fog and sunlight.
Her eyes glimmer, her lips
murmur sweet nothings.
The hair flows over the brim of her shoulders
down her transparent back. Swallows
dance in the rain that dazzles from her fingers:
she is a living fountain, and drowns all the boys.
____
Christopher Bernard is an award-winning poet, novelist and essayist. His most recent books are the first two stories in the series “Otherwise,” for middle-grade readers: If You Ride A Crooked Trolley . . . and The Judgment Of Biestia.
