Stop Please, killing
Still, I hear the echoes of the words
That the dying baby of Syria or Palestine uttered.
He said in the next world he would complain to the Lord
Who has created us all.
He threatened the world that he would say everything
The cruelty and injustice that he suffered.
He would ask his Lord what was his crime
And why was he killed?
When the innocent was taking to the grave
The air was heavy with tears and sighs
The helpless mother how helplessly she cries.
Certainly, certainly our creator had heard
That heart rending complains the baby had made.
The Almighty God had punished the world
By sending Covid – 19 Corona Virus.
The world has then seen the rallies of death.
But the hardhearted killers would never stop
To violate the rules of the Almighty Lord.
Still are they killing countless a day
Destroying the houses, hospitals and tents.
Which religion allows you to kill innocents
And burn hospitals, churches and mosques as well?
Blood of Muslims, blood of Jewish
Blood of Christians , Buddhists and Hindus
All are red and look the same.
Then why such rivalry why such crimes,
Why the slaughtering of people
And deprivation of right?
Stop please, killing stop genocide.
Don’t drop your bombs don’t fire missiles.
(Manzar Alam from Bangladesh)
HER NAME
At the bottom of the river you sleep,
and then you emerge
on the soft palm of the sacred hands
that lift you out of the water.
You feel your awakening;
there was enough sleeping,
others would like to see you the way you are.
Oh, a stone black for this world,
but for eyes that see deeper
your name is… Shila.
Oh dear, you immediately soften the river
where you were found
as if she is also rejoicing with you
seeing you above her very clearly,
and in her bosom rested your dream.
Drops of water are gliding down
your dark smiling face,
and a ray of light illuminates your sweet gaze.
You travel on the sacred palm to the river bank,
they place you on pure silk to rest,
and then you go to your throne,
not for you but for others
who are eager to see you.
You are neither a black stone nor a woman,
You are a living soul that has a form and a name.
My hand moves towards you,
I give you a flower that smells like spring,
and my soul wakes up again
when it sees awakened eyes,
and understands the meaning of yourself.
Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia.
She is a person to whom from an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard" was circulating through the blood.
That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them.
As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube.
Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers.
She is the recipient of many international awards.
"Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle".
She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro, and she also is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.
Migratory Soul
My soul is resting here under an umbrella,
Hearing the rhythmic roar of big waves,
Observing dead Oyster shells heart quivers.
They come from mysterious abysmal burg
After completing their life journey.
Looking at the vast open sky,
I whispered to the chariot wind;
When are you taking my migratory soul,
To that unspotted sea of empty garden?
Soon heart filled up with an obscure pain.
Aklima Ankhi is a poet, storyteller and translator from Cox'sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh, she has a published book of poetry named "Guptokothar Shobdochabi" written in Bangla. She is a post graduate in English Literature and she is a lecturer in English.
In The Autumn Afternoon
One day in the celebration of autumn
I would be your mate
Mind stirs on
In this faint afternoon
The sky smiles on the red sun with the colors of the leaves
Over head and the surroundings welcome all the way
The flock of birds and the colorful butterflies
Someone from the back seem to say something astonishing
Mind dissolves by the flowing water
Peeping here and again flying there
Play in soft, green dense bushes
All happiness of love takes place
Makes a new tune in the heart
All your glory talks out smiling
Ah! the beauty of the golden scene.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
31, October, 2023Md. 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 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 from America for seven years.
French Fry Etiquette
She left me sitting alone in McDonalds
Didn't take a bite of her Big Mac
Or touch a single one of her French Fries
She grabbed her Coke then walked away
And never even looked back
I thought about eating the fries
Although I had lost my appetite
It wasn't because I was hurt by the drama
She spreads ketchup on top of all of them
Instead of dipping each fry
I'm sure you know
the type
When it comes to eating French fries
Her method doesn't follow proper etiquette
Even though it bothered me I never said a word
Because she gets pissed off so quickly
And becomes
belligerent
I didn't understand what just happened
It left me totally confused
Why did she Super Size her order
If she wasn't going to eat the food
We had a date to go for dinner
I couldn't figure out why she got upset
I told her she looked gorgeous
But maybe a little overdressed
She looked surprised when we arrived
And said McDonalds you've got to be kidding
How insensitive of me to take her to McDonalds for dinner
Knowing her favorite hamburger joint is Burger King
JSB
Judge Santiago Burdon
Stray Dogs and Deuces Wild, Not Real Poetry, Quicksand Highway, Fingers in the Fan, Tequilas Bad Advice, Lords of the Afterglow, Overdose of Destiny
Shopping
A sky of pigeon gray. The sun a beautiful stain.
Air without a breath. Crowds in motley,
cheerful, insouciant: no one is worrying
too much. A little girl
falls and cries out, her white shoe
behind her on the sidewalk. But her mother’s there:
no tragedy, just a few small tears.
I can smell oil, leaves, soft pretzels, grass.
The day moves like a parent
trying to carry too many presents.
Several fall, and one or two are definitely lost,
but, surely, there are more, many more, where they came from.
_____
Christopher Bernard’s collection 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. His two “tales for children and their adults” – If You Ride A Crooked Trolley . . . and The Judgment Of Biestia, the first stories in the “Otherwise” series – will be available in December 2023.
Birds of my land...
The sun's rays wake up the birds
the wind dries the raindrops
the smells of the day, the city
wake up alone
my city is the most beautiful
I know
On the street laughter
when it starts and the song when it reminds me to love you and you are all happiness
You are the most beautiful everyone knows that
The sun's rays wake up
the birds the wind dries the raindrops
the smells of the day,
the city wake up alone
my city is the most beautiful Because I know that...
Borna Kekic is a poet in Zagreb, Croatia.
