Throwing Stones...
The janitor sweeps the long streets,
A pile of firecrackers one by one.
Long live aro broom - endure,
My heart is full of tears...
The janitor cleans the long streets,
Put aside - the scumbags.
I'm trying not to be sad,
So many stones thrown at my life?!
Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey and five years in Ukraine. Currently lives in Switzerland. Married, mother of five children. It was not possible to publish poems and translations written by the poet in the next ten years.
Stalingrad
During moments I yearned for forests grown for me alone,
Caressing them in a dream,
I could sense the throbbing of the heart
Hidden beneath my ribs to bless my journey.
Summoning me with a pulse that he recognizes in me.
I heard the noise of abandoned smoke from a moment of care
Join with me,
Forcefully traversing desires to the hidden-most one.
My spirit swung toward him,
Creating a tingling
On lips that devour breaths alive.
I felt ashamed,
But the eye,
In moments—I scarcely know what to call them—that took me on another route
Toward the television, saw warplanes . . . spray death on them.
At that moment,
The fire of machine guns raked all the bodies,
And another fire raked my body when I trained my eye on him
Hesitantly inclining his head
Toward a shoulder unaccustomed to the secret of the stars of war
Or to insomnia.
Oh . . . . I leaned on it!
1
And when he caressed a dumbfounded person
I felt his fingers like coiling embers inside me.
Bashfulness seized the excuse this caress gave . . . and vanished,
Eliminating distance till the two of us were one.
And the eye—he moaned: May love not forgive her the eye—repeated another evasion
Toward a drizzle of men flung about in the air by just the rustling of a pilot penetrating a
building
To fall on screens as the debris of breaking news.
But his breaths . . . shattering the still down of the cheek,
And turning their picture into mist as
Eddies of the screen’s corpses . . . varieties of death that they brought them.
The spirit that became a body,
The body that was sold for the sake of a touch,
The eye that was concealed in his image
And that approached the firebrand of conflagrations.
Everyone drawing close to everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone.
But the thunder of their machine guns splintered them:
Corpses piled on corpses,
I mean on me,
The eyes of those in it were extinguished.
2
They slept in a trench of silence.
My eyes’ lids parted in a wakefulness obsessed with them.
I rose … and embraced the chill
That the screens brought me in commemoration of Stalingrad.
………………………………
Translated by William 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 Who's Who in America 2023 SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023 Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
Winter
In winter's embrace, the world does sleep,
Beneath a blanket of snow, soft and deep.
A quiet hush descends, a gentle sigh,
As nature rests beneath the cold, clear sky.
The air is crisp, with a chill so pure,
Yet within it, there's a beauty to endure.
Frost-kissed branches gleam in the light,
A shimmering wonder, a breathtaking sight.
The earth lies still, in peaceful repose,
As if wrapped in a tranquil, icy prose.
But within this silence, life does thrive,
In hidden places, where creatures survive.
From the warmth of burrows, to the sky above,
Winter weaves a tale of resilience and love.
For even in the coldest of nights,
There's a flicker of hope, a beacon of lights.
So let us cherish this season's grace,
As we journey through its frosty embrace.
For in winter's chill, we find our way,
To the warmth of home, where hearts will stay.
Muntasir Mamun Kiron is a student of grade 10 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Medina
Today Medina is summoning me,
My heart is filled with joy and pleasure
There is real treasure in it,
Good luck going to Kaba.
Today Medina is summoning me,
My heart is filled with the light of faith.
I set out today,
I want to be like an angel.
Today Medina is summoning me,
I thanked God.
My dream is to be a singer of Koran
I begged Arshi in a whisper.
Today Medina is summoning me,
Delivered, blessed Kaba,
I bowed again in silence,
I thanked God.
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.
Part 1: The Heist
In the dark alleys of the city, two figures walked quickly, their steps quiet on the sidewalk. One was Max, a notorious criminal known for his slick moves and silver tongue. The other was Detective John Reynolds, a seasoned cop who was well-liked for his intellect and toughness.
Max grimaced as he opened the jewelry store door and disabled the alarm. “This is going to be easy,” he said to himself.
Reynolds watched Max from a distance, narrowing his eyes as he waited for the moment to strike. He had been keeping an eye on Max for weeks. As Max slipped inside, Reynolds radioed for backup and followed suit, slipping quietly into the store.
Nahyean Bin Khalid is a student of grade eight in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Mobile Phone
In hand it rests, a portal bright,
With every tap, it brings delight.
Sent, calls so clear,
The mobile phone, our modern seer.
From dawn to dusk, it never tires,
Connecting us with all desires.
In a frame, a world's embrace,
Our mobile phone, a magic space.
Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
The creek runs behind
my house so regardless of
my underuse and
has come to disrespect my
distress with tall leggy weeds
____
Feasting flurries come
lordless and scintillant,
picking clean
____
Scream you ever and long
from earth no reply but
echoes feel right or wrong
____
Presence and a knot --
design intimidates but
this strand inviting
________
It gave a gurgling gasp.
It would be I purported to have done that … as anyone might. My ground I stood. Yes, I remember.
I knew in my current state that the now silent apparition did not beseech; it was only ending my life by mocking the beginning of my death. It had no more to say.
Well, now. Hadn't I always said, Death, when it comes, is bound to find me cooperative? The old man that I was began to affect something like a fit of the ague and at last to summon a ghastly utterance of his own, but—
And this, dear reader, brings us to present.
~~~~~
Noel Pratt is an editor and writer who finally had it and moved to the country. Most of his schooling has been in theology and theatre, each equally marketable. Pratt also spent time in India and lived to take a fiction-writing course at Santa Monica College.
