Sojourn Scenes

There was a series of balloons, three, that the wind blew in. They were black balloons w/the number seven on each. I wasn’t sure what they meant, but felt they were auspicious and on the side of positivity. Then I saw three number nines and felt the same way. But, I couldn’t tell for certain what the repeating numbers meant as I wasn’t a numerologist or highly into numbers to begin with. 

I saw a lady that reminded me of another lady I had once made fun of unfairly. I was immature and words had hurt the lady’s feelings but the lady either forgot or forgave me or buried it as she didn’t act as if it happened when I heard from her much later. That and one other thing were the only two things I worried about karmically. The other was that I had injured a hockey player and he was taken away in an ambulance. But it wasn’t done intentionally though several people thought it was. I hit him, which was allowed, but it the other injury was not done on purpose as he just fell on a bad angle. He turned out to be alright. I was glad for this. Those two things had happened practically another life ago as they say, yet they had bothered me. Other than those two events I felt clean, but like the numbers, it wasn’t possible from where I was standing to know for sure. 

You can’t always see the spiritual ledger. It is interesting that ledger also means a demarcation stone upon a grave because perhaps it not until we have a stone ledger that we can in the life review according to the canon of such experiences, see more accurately how our actions and words really affected others and the universe. 

I was low monetarily. The group in front of me was affluent and just exuded it. You can tell through intuition and life experience those who try to come off that way versus the actual.  When they left they forgot a purse leather green, the same colour as the jade some of them wore. Nobody noticed and they weren’t doubling back the way some people do when they realize they forgot something. There is about a five to ten second window you have to remember something is amiss before you have officially forgotten something. They were definitely leaving. I picked up the purse and went out the same door and called them back as they were getting into what looked like a new and definitely a tricked-up-decked-out high end SUV vehicle. 

‘Someone forgot their purse,’ I said, ‘holding it up.’ 

They came over and thanked me and took the purse. I returned it because it was the right thing to do. I went back to my seat in a booth, for booths are perhaps one of the greatest things ever created, and looked up through the adjacent window watching them leave. 

At a field there were streams cutting through like a water swath. I paused and stared at them, admiring the movement of water. I thought of Herman Hesse and his book. I had two copies of the famous work, but had given away the better, newer one. My old one was tattered and torn, plus coffee got spilled on it at some point. I didn’t know what that meant either. A large woodpecker that had been alighted in a nearby tree took off and I was frustrated that I had not had my camera out. Yet, I still admired its flight and the silhouette it made against the afternoon winter sunlight. 

I kept going around there. In the distance were train tracks but a train rarely as far as I could tell went by. There were large holes in the wall, the hillside, for the water to go under. It was a fine juxtaposition of water that appeared black against the snowy white sides. And then distant parts of the stream tumbled down a few feet in two places, bragging up its bits like cold clear and white flames and also many spark look a likes as if from a some giant sparkler. 

I went by a bookstore, an old used bookstore that I used to patronize. Proper gems could be found there and for inexpensive prices. Books were like treasures. But the store was gone, replaced by a work-wear store. The vests and coveralls mostly beige and black, stood looking back at me from the windows. It was as if the bookstore had never existed. Though on the outskirts of town, the perimeter purlieu, it had been a wealthy town, but didn’t have a new or used bookstore. I guess the world had changed.

So I headed back home and did chores, prosaic, mundane things, sometimes glancing out the windows as I moved about. There was nothing besides a puzzle on a dining room table, an old piano, and a painting on the wall. Also a bookshelf and coffee table by the couches beyond. The hardwood floor was weathered by time but had character and was still passable. I had never been a huge fan of the neighborhood or its dwellings, but it was clean and quiet and that counts for a lot. It was better than many other places. That view to outdoors didn’t hold a lot. A fence handsome that I had stained with a brush and roller, a good privacy fence as they called it, with lattice work up top that was not too plain and not too gaudy either. Snow was on the ground. It had been a long and cold snowy winter. I hoped the earth and sky really were pregnant with spring. A shed storing summer chairs and a table. On its door, there were two Ontario license plates and two Virginia ones. The first couple were from 1973, the year and place I was born, and the second set 1972, the year and place my beloved was born. Other than that, mostly just old barren branches waited out there, stoic and alone. 

One day with some luck, spring would finally start for myself and for them. 

—-

Lazy Cat

Lazy cat, you’re napping

In the sun again as if its June,

But in the center of the road,

Playfully flopped over the yellow line.

I can tell you’re a nice cat, black,

White paws and throat, pink nose.

I’m sure you rub legs, curl on laps,

Beg for a string, a fish, a saucer of cream.

You belong to the old woman in this house

Or the little girl in that house.

At first, I pass by: “That’s too bad.”

A neighbor’s car swerves;

A truck straddles your repose.

I pick you up and you’re not

Stiff yet. Blood on my gloves,

I set you on the curb, hoping

Loved ones will discover you,

Knowing someone will grieve

And surely give you a proper

Burial in their backyard.

The Granary

The granary stood

Leaning unassuming apart

From the barn and dairy

Painted the same red

As the machinery shed

Now fading more

Wood than pigment

Each a singular

Pungent redolence

Hay milk grease

The granary aroma

Was autumn and burlap

Plowing planting

Worry fruition

In its polished ribs

Boards slippery with chaff

The way the wheat

Sifted sliding over

Your palms was soothing

Familiar and primordial

An instinctual assurance

Women Studies and Women Writings: Sultana’s Dream

Examine Begum Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain’s feminist speculative utopian fiction “Sultana’s Dream” with textual references and critical perspectives.

Begum Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain’s Sultana’s Dream is a hallmark experimentalist avant-garde Bengali Renaissance story-telling of magical fantasy and surrealistic utopian fiction, chronicling the documentary testament of women’s revolutionary envisionings toward salvation from patriarchal misogyny within the cosmos of western colonialism. Sister Sara’s acquaintanceship is a blessing of that silver lining foretelling of women’s rights’ movement awareness campaignings throughout the post-futility of egalitarian feminist microcosmic world in Ladyland. As a pioneering forerunner of womens’ literature, the then authorial narratorial personae is considered as a heretic, heathen, pagan, agnostic and sceptic idolatress for her groundbreaking canonical narrative, “Sultana’s Dream”.

Sultana’s exploratory adventure of the utopian wonderland of a promised land of New Jerusalem unravels the audacity and resoluteness of Her Royal Highness’s sovereignty and integrity. The Queen of the swargiya’s boldness, fierceness and aggressive traits are lionized for emerging triumphant victor transcending predatory perpetrators in the visages, masques, personages and imagoes of imperialistic masculine feuding lords. Banishment of zenanas and patronage of mardanas satirically extrapolates the decline of male authoritarian dominance and subsequent uprising of the female reign to throne. This subversion of power polity is a swashbuckling spectacle and furthermore witnesses dilapidation of crumbling hierarchies upheld by traditional conventions of the then milieu. For instance, the domiciling of police commissioners and magistrates into the boudoirs underscores the core essence of female utopian officialdom that doesn’t peremptorily trials lawsuits at the expense of innocent residents of the city of naivety and gullibility. Hence, Sara’s repartee to Sultana’s conspicuous persiflage entails transcendental philosophic humility and altruism, “It is our religious duty to love one another and to be absolutely truthful.”

Despite veiling purdaah of pardanashin culture, women of aristocracy and elitism exhibit unsurpassing charisma in juxtaposition to their countervailing counterparts as showcased by the stalwart public intellectualism/educationalism and iconoclastic socio political treatises of the authoress. Begum Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain’s memorial engraving of Sultana’s Dream enmeshes her modernistic and realistic perspectives of femininity to meteoritic and nebulous phenomenological transformation in the era of scientific revolution and technological progress. This is starkly evident in the embellishments of the accolades and laurels achieved by the Headmistresses and her legion of distinctive comradely school girls in establishing the hall of fame solar and hydroelectric power projects energy schemes. Collective welfarism of the cooperative society is fostered by the solidarity and fraternity of the utilitarian feminist utopia. Restoration and reformation policies abolishing stereotypical obsolete gendered expectations limelights the contributory significance behind the crusade of the wave of feminism that was published in the then The Indian Ladies Magazine Madras (1905).

In this fairyland masculinity is emasculated because of the castration threat [penis effect] and commodification of femininity by the male gaze is thus dismantled. Hence voyeuristic perspectives of masculinity are inverted aftermath of fetishization and libidinization of the masculine objects of feminine subjectivity. The extradition of male in the mardanas have secluded them in a mirror image of the traditional culture of purdah. Effeminacy of men have transformed the role of the women as lionesses and tigresses captivators of “veteran mannish” through male enclosure enchantment. The male characters are deprived of their autonomy and agency through demasculinization and the female characters are overpowered with their calibre and intellect. “Solar ovens, rainwater harvesters, water balloons and pollution free hydrogen aircrafts” are exemplary facets of the ecocritical feminism harboured by the clairvoyance of the Queen of Ladyland: “We dive deep into the ocean of knowledge and try to find out the precious gems, which nature has kept in store for us. We enjoy nature’s gifts as much as we can.” Koh-i-Noor and the Peacock Throne are prospects of metaphorical power relations, power polity and power dynamics that the Ladyland’s Queen disavowed but avowed passive resistance and peace mongering with a consortium of mardanas.    

Further Reading, References, Podcasts and Endnotes

Chapter Title: Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain (1880-1932), Women’s Political and Social Thought, An Anthology, Hilda L. Smith and Berenice A. Caroll, Indiana University Press 2000.

Wikipedia Reading

A Brief Textual Analysis of Sultana’s Dream, Sudeshna Majumdar, Assistant Professor of English, Rampurhat College 

Behind the Scenes – Sultana’s Dream

Fabian&Fred

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The Purity of Vivian Maier


Vivian D. Maier (1926–2009) was an American photographer whose work was discovered and recognized only after her death. During her lifetime she took more than 150,000 photographs. She is not known ever to have shown them to anyone.

No hail to fame, not even a shy
nod to sharing, it would seem.
Just her own small delight;
the tough love of light.

A photograph? 
Not a serious thing
when she was young and taking,
as they say, pictures:
mere proof of fact,
magnet for fashion magazines,
hook on the local newspaper stand,
damning piece of evidence,
tool for advertising,
and glamour’s sinuous liar;
captive in a web of shadows,
bare, brutal, impossible
almost to deny.

The only one invisible,
the photographer,
capturing reality
in a little black box.	

Maybe that was why
Vivian Maier, governess,
lover of children, 
caregiver, one of the
perpetually invisible,
slightly awkward
with her black magic box,
took all those photographs—
the crowds, the streets, the mansions,
the disillusioned sidewalks,
the phantoms of the alleys,
the secrets blazoned to every sun,
the hands, the faces, the entire world—
in secrecy and stealth even
the shadow of herself;
the ephemeral caught 
in amber—
to capture, to master,
in pure little rectangles of joy
with her invisible eye.

_____

Christopher Bernard’s book The Socialist’s Garden of Verses won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the “Top 100 Indie Books of 2021” by Kirkus Reviews.

My latest book is a lighthearted story about two rival groups of small-town teenagers set in 1968. At a deeper level it is about what makes and breaks community. It can be viewed at

Anyone who has survived the challenges of adolescent society and its cliques will be able to relate to this story about a failed teenage romance and a rivalry between church youth groups from different towns.

Jeff Rasley is a writer, Himalayan expedition leader, lawyer, president of the Basa Village Foundation USA and the Scientech Foundation of Indiana, and is a director of the Indianapolis Peace and Justice Center. Jeff has authored over 90 feature articles in law, travel, spirituality, politics,

LION’S SHADOW

(Translated from Serbian)

Clad in lion’s skin, he stands in stillness,

his gaze — a fire burning through the ages.

Within his grasp, the world trembles,

yet his heart speaks only in silence.

Not a hero, but a shadow of defiance,

neither god, nor man without a road.

In every sinew — a hidden wound,

in his smile — the dusk of old.

He bore the burden the world bestowed,

but never let his dreams corrode.

For Heracles is not just force —

he is the flame that walks the darkened course.

LAVLJA SENKA

U lavljoj koži ćutke stoji,

pogled mu kroz vekove gori.

U pesnici svet se lomi,

a srce — u tišini zbori.

Ne junak, već senka bunta,

ni bog ni čovek bez puta.

U svakom mišiću rana,

u osmehu — večna tama.

Nosio breme što svet mu dade,

al’ nikad snove da mu ukrade.

Jer Herakle nije samo snaga —

on je plamen što gori iz mraka.

Maja Milojkovic

Serbia

Poem based on the sketch of

Artist

Κωνσταντίνος Φάης 

Ιδρυτής του πολιτιστικού εγχειρήματος

Ηρακλής ως πυλώνας Πολιτισμού

Maja Milojković was born in Zaječar and divides her life between Serbia and Denmark. In Serbia, she serves as the deputy editor-in-chief at the publishing house Sfairos in Belgrade. She is also the founder and vice president of the Rtanj and Mesečev Poets’ Circle, which counts 800 members, and the editor-in-chief of the international e-magazine Area Felix, a bilingual Serbian-English publication. She writes literary reviews, and as a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and international literary magazines, anthologies, and electronic media. Some of her poems are also available on the YouTube platform. Maja Milojković has won many international awards. She is an active member of various associations and organizations advocating for peace in the world, animal protection, and the fight against racism. She is the author of two books: Mesečev krug (Moon Circle) and Drveće Želje (Trees of Desire). She is one of the founders of the first mixed-gender club Area Felix from Zaječar, Serbia, and is currently a member of the same club. She is a member of the literary club Zlatno Pero from Knjaževac, and the association of writers and artists Gorski Vidici from Podgorica, Montenegro.

This anthology contains work from Synchronized Chaos’ contributor Graciela Noemi Villaverde and may be ordered here.

Curated by John P. Portelli, Unsilenced: Poems for Palestine brings together poets from Palestine, the diaspora, and globally—including renowned names like Fady Joudah, Leila Marshy and Marwan Makhoul alongside some 50 international poets.

This collection is not just a book—it’s a fundraiser. 100% of proceeds will go to support Gaza, providing support and solidarity.

Now for this issue! Staying Human.

Haroon Rachid contemplates his country’s potential turn towards war, vowing to hold onto his humanity through culture, thought, and study. Bahora Bakhtiyorova reminds us of the impending challenge and risk of climate change. Ahmed Miqdad despairs of life in war-torn Gaza as Maria Miraglia mourns and rages about the loss of children. Mykyta Ryzhykh speaks to the trauma of surviving wartime as a civilian as well as the grief of romantic rejection and heartbreak. Mesfakus Salahin portrays a person who has lost his humanity and become like an automaton in the face of trauma. Elisa Mascia speaks to the challenges of holding onto truth and authenticity in a harsh world.

Eva Petropolou Lianou, in a piece translated into Albanian by Eli Llajo, shares a sensitive soul’s reflection on living in a harsh world. Brooks Lindberg addresses the limitations of being in space and time with a human body. David Sapp speaks in his poetry to some of the ever-present anguish of being human: mortality and grief, anxiety and trauma, as Steven Bruce poetically expresses lonesomeness and acknowledges the inevitability of death. J.J. Campbell vents about a variety of physical, emotional, and relational pain and loneliness as Liliana Mirta Ramirez writes evocatively of an impending storm.

Soumen Roy explores both the expansive sense of feeling at one with the universe and joining in its creative energy and the despair and emptiness we feel at other times. In a similar vein, Lidia Chiarelli speaks both to the fanciful whimsy of dreams coming to life and the urgency of preserving our environment before it becomes a wasteland. Mahbub Alam also references tragedy and restoration in the human and natural world as Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa speaks to the joy of unity among people of different backgrounds and the futility of revenge.

We find solace in a variety of places.

Dr. Jernail S. Anand illuminates the healing and restorative power of poetry as Sayani Mukherjee takes joy in verse as a bee does landing on a juicy and fragrant flower. Elisa Mascia celebrates a fresh flowering of creativity.

Brian Barbeito speculates on the beauty and mystery of wild nature as Stephen Jarrell Williams describes how intertwined even modern people are with the lives of natural creatures. Isabel Gomez de Diego photographs food and blossoms, sensual joys of life. Rizal Tanjung reviews Anna Keiko’s delicate poetry about everyday experiences and thoughts. Christina Chin and Uchechukwu Onyedikam celebrate the mystery and beauty of everyday life in their joint tan-renga poems. Qurbonboyeva Dilafruz Sherimmatovna and Andaqulova Mohinur Juraqulovna share recipes and serving suggestions and a history of the Central Asian dried dairy food qurut. Kylian Cubilla Gomez’ photographs celebrate children’s colorful toys and adult knickknacks.

Murrodullayeva Makharram offers her rapturous joy at a dream visit to Mecca and the Kaaba. Maria Miraglia’s poetry explores religious doubt and the staying power of cultural belief. Izmigul Nizomova’s short story illustrates how spiritual faith can help people process intense feelings of romantic passion or grief, as Maja Milojkovic speaks to her belief in an ever-present God.

Nilufar Tokhtaboyeva’s rhyming poem mirrors the energy of the sea. Dimitris Fileles also looks to the ocean, for peace and comfort.

Balachandran Nair comically mocks artists and writers whose ego isolate them from family and community. In contrast, poet Eva Lianou Petropolou Lianou reflects on fellow poet Vo Thi Nhu Mai’s warmth and kindness as much as her craft.

Dr. Ahmad Al-Qaisi takes pleasure in the simple joy of coffee with a friend as Kareem Abdullah crafts tender love poetry and Christopher Bernard’s poetic speaker vows to love their honest-to-a-fault friend even if love is complete foolishness. Shoxista Haydarova pays tribute to her loyal and caring father, as Manik Chakraborty reflects on the nurture of his mother. Murodullayev Umidjon speculates on the nature of friendship. Umarova Nazokat celebrates a mother’s tender love as Nurullayeva Ra’no highlights mothers’ care, devotion, and concern for their children and Dr. Jernail Anand reflects on the vital role of mothering. Maftuna Rustamova reminds us to honor and respect our parents because of the love and care they have shown us, as Graciela Noemi Villaverde describes the unique personalities of each of her beloved grandsons. Chimezie Ihekuna turns to the loyalty of family as a balm for human vulnerability as Priyanka Neogi speaks to the love and responsibilities of marriage.

Duane Vorhees’ poetry explores physical and romantic intimacy while digging deep into the self. Michael Todd Steffen presents a memorial tribute that’s a character sketch of a strong and driven person with plenty of personal agency, for good or ill.

Taylor Dibbert asserts his newfound self-love after years of experience. Babajonova Charos draws inspiration from Pablo Coelho’s characters’ journeys to self-actualization and intimacy in The Alchemist. Alan Catlin crafts a literary and personal narrative through a list of memories.

Self-respect can encompass more than merely the self, and many writers take pride in their cultures. Marjona Mardonova reflects on the strength and dignity of Uzbek women and girls as several elementary school students in China contribute poetic thoughts on their hometowns, nature, heritage, and inspiration. Rizal Tanjung translates into Indonesian an essay by Konstantin Fahs on how ancient myths still speak to Greece’s contemporary struggles and questions of identity, highlighting the universal nature of these questions.

Z.I. Mahmud explores themes of racism, misogyny, and Black women’s reasserted dignity and healing in Alice Walker’s The Color Purple. Daniel De Culla presents a tale of vigilante justice served at an aquarium.

Bruce Roberts recollects the decorum and honor he saw in the days of American president Abraham Lincoln and laments how far the United States has fallen since then.

Uzbek writer Azizbek Shaymurzayev celebrates and honors the soldiers and leaders who founded Uzbekistan. Dilbek Ergashev offers up a poetic tribute to Uzbek writer Muhammad Yusuf, who captured the nation’s heritage and met an untimely death. Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna finds elegance in a portrait of a woman reading.

Yet, Yusuf certainly passed along the baton in the relay race of Central Asian literary and academic thought. Farangiz Xurramova outlines grammatical differences between Uzbek and French. Yunusova Khodisa contributes many scholarly essays in the humanities, including one on the form and structure of words, another on play as a technique for teaching foreign languages to young children, a piece on the need for clarity in a language teacher’s speech, another on methods of translation and strategies for developing competence in the discipline, and finally, an article on ways to teach different types of communication activities in a foreign language.

Moving to other fields of inquiry, Azganush Abdulmajalova’s poetry finds wonder in invention, physics, and mechanics. Shermatova Hilola Mirzayevna and Tolqinboyeva Odinaxon outline possibilities of modern information technology. Aytuvova Khurshida’s essay outlines modernizing reforms in education, particularly the use of technology. Muminova Farida highlights the importance of teaching primary school students critical thinking skills.

Dr. Perwaiz Sharharyar, in poetry translated by Maria Miraglia, highlights the world-expanding power of travel. Vo Thi Nhu Mai’s gentle poetry celebrates animals, the world’s children, and the vibrant multicultural city of Perth.

Latofat Amirova craves a life of rebellion, curiosity, and adventure while Jacques Fleury probes the uncanny dark motifs of Edgar Allan Poe’s creative genius.

In a similar spirit of artistic exploration, Texas Fontanella contributes some exploratory beats and guitar chords. Vernon Frazer’s new book Nemo Under the League, reviewed by Cristina Deptula, splashes together text, line, and image. Terry Trowbridge grows a fanciful poem about a potato facing surveillance and arrest as Zeboxon Akmalova’s poem reflects the experience of overhearing fragments of conversation as J.K. Durick explores our reactions to words, sounds, and numbers in daily life. Mark Young’s “geographies” explore fanciful locations as works of art.

Finally, Bill Tope’s short story satirizes the world of small magazine publishing and reminds us all not to take rejections too seriously. Humor can prove one of the small, and larger, ways we hold onto our humanity as we navigate this world.