Poetry from Graciela Noemi Villaverde

Light skinned Latina woman with reddish blonde shoulder length hair, curly at the ends. She's got brown eyes and red lipstick and a small necklace, black jacket and floral black blouse.

Peace

Silence falls like a soft blanket,

on the thirsty, exhausted earth,

a river of calm, that flows without pause,

erasing the echo of the savage war.

The clouds, white doves in flight,

draw a serene canvas in the sky,

where the sun, a master of fire,

paints a new world with light.

The wind whispers a sweet melody,

to the leaves that dance in harmony,

a chorus of life, that sings without noise,

in a garden where peace

blooms and multiplies.

And in the heart, an oasis of calm,

where hope sprouts, like a flower in spring,

a promise of the future, without drama,

a song of peace, that resonates forever.

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina, based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.

Poetry from Mahbub Alam

Middle aged South Asian man with reading glasses, short dark hair, and an orange and green and white collared shirt. He's standing in front of a lake with bushes and grass in the background.
Mahbub Alam

A Trip

Life is a trip

Not to spend in a certain place

Life is a journey

Not to be suffocated in this same way

Life is an experience

Automatically with the time collected

As the water absorbed by the sun in the fields

In the different places of the earth

Like the meteors in the sky

This journey never stops

And a production of many things

With the wheels moving of the machines

Varieties of tastes – pungent, sweet and sour

Make our hearts rising and falling

In a stormy and moderate weather

Ah! A trip is my dream to reach you my goal

I feel my love in my body and soul

Flying from the known to the unknown world

Moulds our thoughts so high in the starry air.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh

28 September, 2024

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a Senior Teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, little magazines. He has achieved three times the Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos for seven years.

Poetry from Nosirova Gavhar

Central Asian teen girl standing out in a grassy field. She's in a flowered blouse with long dark hair.

The wall

…. As the night turned to darkness, when we were about to close the restaurant, a beautiful woman with a long hair, wearing a beautiful dress, with red blood running down her face came in:

– Please don’t close the restaurant for another half hour, she asked.

– Okay, madam. Do you have a guest? What do you order?

– Yes. Set a table for two. Let there be wine next to it.

– Well, now we will prepare a romantic table for you.

As time passed, there was no sign of her boyfriend. It was already time to close the restaurant. As I approached the woman, she was drinking only wine and not eating anything.

– Madam, is your guest coming?

– He won’t come anymore.

– I didn’t understand. Why?

– A year ago, I could not tell him about my inner feelings. We were just friends. When I met him, I noticed that he was staring at me for a long time, but I did not say anything until he opened his mouth, but I turned my attention to the other side.

The day I decided to admit it all, I couldn’t find him. He went somewhere without telling me. This restaurant was the first place where we met.

The woman put her head on the table and continued to drink wine. Since loneliness overshadowed her, she fell into the bottom of her heart and talked to herself, she was trying to destroy the wall she had created from the inside…

Basket

Five years ago, the basket in which she left her child was standing on the house net, and now the woman could not do anything other than to smell the child’s smell.

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», «Juntosporlasletras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korablznaniy» and «TalentyRossii» 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, «KayvaKishor», «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.

Poetry from Elmaya Jabbarova

White woman with long black hair and a black blouse with flowers on it.
Elmaya Jabbarova

Healing

A noble heart for charity,

There is no malice or anger in him,

He always prays, holds good wishes,

Bitter words and hatred stay away from him.

The healing of ailments is from God,

A doctor on earth is one of the doctors,

Sometimes it’s for mysterious, magical reasons,

Miracles happen every day in the world.

A salve is a single word, a compassionate look

The ice melts, it rains heavily,

The artist’s brush makes a thousand patterns,

Wounds heal every day in the world.

May the dove of peace fly,

Let him erase the word War,

Have mercy on the stony hearts,

Let life go on every day in the world!

Elmaya Jabbarova was born in Azerbaijan. She is a poet, writer, reciter, and translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Sharginsesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for Africa», «JuntosporlasLetras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African’s CAJ magazine, Bangladesh’s Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.

Poetry from Don Bormon

Young South Asian teen with short brown hair, brown eyes, and a white collared shirt with a school emblem on the breast.
Don Bormon

Autumn

Autumn is a season of natural beauty

It comes after rainy season

Autumn is the third season of the nature

This is the season of flowers

This time clouds blow like cotton

Which creates a nice season

This time the wind blow gently

This wind also blows my mind

The river side fulfil with white flowers

This makes the nature look clean

We are always thankful to the Creator

For various types of seasons.

Don Bormon is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Poetry from Wazed Abdullah

Young South Asian boy with short black hair and a light blue collared shirt.
Wazed Abdullah

My green country in Monsoon’s lap

Monsoon clouds gather, dark and deep,

Rivers swell, their secrets to keep.

Paddy fields dance in the pouring rain,

Life awakens, free from pain.

Children splash in puddles wide,

Nature’s bounty, a vibrant tide.

In every drop, a story flows,

Bangladesh breathes as the monsoon grows.

Wazed Abdullah is a student in grade nine at Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Poetry from Donna Dallas

Call Me Well Again

I’ve survived another you

saliva infectious 

dreary and shopworn

I tear through the streets wildly 

search for 

someone’s discarded shred of home 

soft sheets 

a fireplace perhaps

light operatic music 

it’s just a fantasy

non-existent

any minute your truck will come barreling through

my thoughts of salvation

I’ll get by on a lower dosage 

of you

We’ll cut it down to three days a week 

I’ll end up stalking you

grip the light post 

to climb the rim of the dumpster 

try to peer in 

your window 

You’re agitated now 

I’m so low I’m a slinking

belly scraping beggar 

no real reason I’m lingering outside 

in thirty-five degrees 

wearing a denim jacket 

you shuffle me to the truck

I’m edging away 

from two failed marriages 

put it all on them 

but it was me me me 

When I’m well again

I’ll come calling

fresh as babies’ skin

holding a tray of Starbucks

While I Wait for my Lover 

The buzz and hum of New York City

fills the air 

I tuck into a restaurant for cover 

small

Italian 

quiet 

The couple at the table next to me

sort through sonogram prints

I feel a pang of jealousy at 

the little fetus forming in this woman’s 

belly

My lover 

late – and certainly not mine alone 

has no interest in children 

For his sake 

I forego this 

I cannot help but stare 

longingly into the abyss of those 

black and whites 

that little heart 

tiny head

this embryo I turn my body 

away from 

for martyrdom 

yet it’s the thing that calls to me

from some primal part of

my makeup 

I’m on the edge now

sacrificing the eggs 

I feel bouncing around 

in my uterus 

for some blind pact 

that later seals the deal

of which we will be much 

happier 

together 

without kids 

While I Wait for my Lover (Cont.)

The woman feels my eyes 

says it’s a boy

smiles uncontrollably 

I worm around in my seat

the couple finally gone

I am left alone

and this is how it will be

as I decided I’ve passed that exit 

many many highways before 

I’ll just wait for my lover to show up 

and order us scotch on the rocks 

for the long pull of loneliness 

has begun to root 

What Will Your Mother Say

When she finds your corpse

with foam bubbling

down your chin

eyes sunk deep 

in your sockets

black spreading around

your lids and mouth

the needle still stuck

frozen

You

in your aloneness

You 

in your dying

As your mother cracks open

lays across you

the spoon now cold

your spirit beats against the window 

pleads

with God

to let you

back in

To see her in a pile 

of grief and longing 

so deep

your soul evaporates

into the pain

What will she tell

your siblings

the school

the bus driver

the crossing guard

it was an accident

always is

Wait for the autopsy

to understand

what went wrong

deep in the gully of absent parenting 

divorce

boyfriend fondlers

What Will Your Mother Say (Cont.)

booze

cigs

marijuana

heroine

here……..

As you lay hardened

frothing

a slow last milky tear oozing

She still wants you

she begs 

to glue you 

for a day – just one day

even if it’s your druggy lean against the wall

eyes open to a slit

turtle movements 

slurred speech

if just that…than the hell of this 

to speak of you

now

in your deadness