It's raining.
When it rains,
I have a lot of questions.
Changed inside,
Gentle winds.

The rain doesn't stop,
There is no sleep.
Excitement in my mind,
It hurts like hell.

I wish he would stop now
Rustling voices.
Lek did not stop crying,
Cry like a baby.

These noises will stop,
Chehra Khan puts flowers.
Smallpox, tulip, rubella,
Like flowers want.

Third Eye, Remote Viewing, Memory, Psychic Impressions, Recall, 1750 South Ocean BLVD, Circa 1983 

Instead of imagining the basics, I go further, not only to the grounds but to details. Details that would not matter to anyone, but that matter to me, to see. I went into a trance. I could see that the pool has a cement form around the perimeter and is white and there are black numbers that designate the depth at various places. A wooden structure that houses the pumping system. Thick green grass that meets cement walkways and an Astro turf putting ground. Planters. There is a container of oil that you are supposed to wash your feet with to get off any bit of tar that might have stuck to your foot on the beach.

A wild part of grasses that grow from the sand before the beach proper. You can’t step much barefoot anyhow if long it’s too hot. A towel must be put in the seat in the rental cars the seat is too hot. A newspaper box blue and one yellow out front. Cement fences. A building across that is white with yellow trim. The railings then are aluminum. Not fancy. Utilitarian and for function. Hurricane shutters same colour as railings. Tiles. There are tiles on the balcony floor. But some people have outdoor green carpeting. My friends are from Michigan. They will knock in the first few minutes. They live next door and can somehow know I have arrived. They will ask me to go out with them and I always will. Immediately. Before anything. And we will run in the sun and dive in the sea and be in the pool.

The waters of everywhere will cool and refresh and enlighten us. Later I can smell the iron-on prints in the cool t/shirt shop. The shirt will go on my tan and healthy shoulders. I never use suntan lotion. I don’t burn them. Now I burn in a few minutes. There are people fishing. There is a hedge. A palm tree. Ground lights yellow orange green pink and blue. Shells. A small plane flies a banner. A big plane gets me there. Eastern. Ward Air. Don’t take me away. Each time, I dread the idea of leaving. There is only a day left. I won’t sleep here tomorrow night. I have to go home. Don’t take me home. This is supposed to be my home. Don’t take me away. Just don’t. Don’t. Please don’t. But you did. Sadness. Impossible incredible sunken sadness. 

…

5 poems (***)

***

strange pigeons

paint the night with their bodies

hungry children

beg while picking up pigeon crumbs

***

what does the right pike of a suicide exposed to the wind say?

what happens to the frostbitten left cheek?

mother’s biblical face turns silky as son pulls out graveyard surprise box from under his bed

***

internet people live the longest

a dog that died ten years ago still puts

likes on social media

instead of its killed dog owner

***

while God is sleeping the children press all sorts of buttons on his smartphone

and do not understand what this leads to

angels drink living water meanwhile and get drunk

what is the name of the little boy who will never become Jesus Christ?

***

wool-apple eyes of death

birds looking for a thought cage

and all the survivors turned into drowned people in a dispute with the ocean of the future

sand castles of childhood await the next tide

Baggage

He thinks

He can handle

Her baggage,

With time

He’ll understand

How wrong

He’s been.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. “Rescue Dog,” his fifth book, was published in May.

My Turtkul!

     Independence! What a beautiful line of words! At its core lies a world of meanings and freedom. There is no greater happiness in the world than the freedom of an individual, a society, a nation. After the years of independence, many cities were built, parks, buildings and facilities were built, as well as many schools, buildings and dormitories for higher educational institutions. It is not an exaggeration to say that Uzbekistan has changed beyond recognition and has made progress. 

   In recent years, Tortkol district has developed like other districts and cities.  

  The lands of our Tortkol district lie on the shores of Amudarya. We have a very beautiful, poetic nature, kind and friendly people. These farmers of the old land have come down to the language of the country with their selfless work since time immemorial. 

  20,000 hectares of land in Tortkol district are cultivated. Now this indicator is increasing day by day. 

  Tortkol districts differed from other districts with their own characteristics. In particular, the hard work of the residents of this district, the equal love of books by young and old people, especially the fact that there are more poets in Tortkol district than in other districts, is recognized by the whole of Uzbekistan.

    Tortkol district is the first capital of Karakalpakstan, scientists who spread fame to the world, most of the achievements in literature and art, culture and sports are also in Tortkol district.

   The people of Uzbekistan have great respect and love for Tortkol district. Because Tortkol district has achieved a lot like its active young people. 

   Our district was established on July 3, 1927, and has been widely known not only in Uzbekistan and the world for almost a century. 

  In our district there are more than 22 mahalla citizens’ meetings, more than 15 village citizens’ meetings.

   The achievements of our district are many. For example, six of our veterans who took part in the Second World War, 4 of our venerable mothers and fathers who are over 100 years old live in our district. About three hundred of our veterans working behind the front live. 

  This, of course, awakens special feelings of pride in our hearts.

  Tortkol District Governor Rustam Shamuratov, Tortkol District Authority and citizens of Tortkol District have an incomparable role in the achievements of Tortkol District, which is such a beautiful country, loved and honored by such a country. 

  The mayor of Tortkol district R. Shamuratov has also contributed to the development of Tortkol district in recent years. In recent years, roads have been paved, new kindergartens have been opened, various confectionery brands, facilities have been built, and their role is incomparable in the fact that attention is being paid to the education of young people.

    Abdulla Oripov, the national poet of Uzbekistan, the beloved poet of the hero of Uzbekistan, said about Tortkol district: 

  – Every time I went to Karakalpak land, which is like an endless desert, I was fascinated by its beautiful nature and I was satisfied with the hospitality of my aunt’s children. My visits to ancient and modern Tortkol were no exception. It is not an exaggeration to say that I wish Tortkol to become the pride of this country. In fact, it is not an exaggeration to say that the hospitality of our people and the beautiful nature of Tortkol surprised all our poets and writers teachers. Yusupov (People’s Poet of Uzbekistan and Karakalpakstan, Hero of Uzbekistan) Tolepbergen Kayipbergenov (People’s Poet of Uzbekistan and Karakalpakstan, Hero of Uzbekistan) Sirojiddin Syed (First Deputy Chairman of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan) also expressed very warm opinions.

 We are proud to be the children of the Tortkol nation with such a bright future and a history of almost a century.

Oghiloy Aminova was born in Tortkol district of the Republic of Karakalpakstan. Member of the Writers’ Union of Argentina. Holder of the International Order of “Friendship”.