1. Please share your thoughts about the future of literature. Also, when did you start writing?
Actually, I’ve started writing since 2014 during the Israeli aggression on Gaza City. What inspired me to write poetry is the necessity to raise awareness about the Palestinian cause and convey a message to the Western world that Palestinians have been suffering since 1948 and we are looking for justice and peace.
2. The Good and the Bad. Which is winning nowadays?
I do believe that those who seek love and peace will win in this life because those who seek war will destroy themselves. Peace will make the world a beautiful place full of light and mercy whereas war will make it a horrible and dark place none can endure to live. Throughout my literary journey I’ve passed many good things and people who’ve me feel like I’m not alone in this world by showing their sympathy and support. I’m as a poet, I write poetry about how war affects us as humans and destroy anything beautiful. I write about the suffering of my people for years and how my people starve severely. I wish I could write about the beauty of my country Palestine and share poems of love and peace.
3. How many books have you written and where can we find your books?
I’ve self-published four books. Three are poetry books and the fourth is a short novel. The first book I published was ” Gaza Narrates Poetry”, the second ” When Hope Isn’t Enough”, the third ” Stolen Lives,” and the last was “Falastin”. I’ve recently published a poetry book with the great poet John P. Portelli called “The Shadow”.
Most of my books are available on Amazon.
4. The book. Do you prefer e-books or hardcover books?
What will be the future?
I’m looking forward to publishing a new book. The title will be “The Genocide.” It will contain more than 40 poems that I wrote during the ongoing genocide on Gaza City and the horrible experiences I witnessed.
5. A wish for 2025
I wish and only wish that Palestinians who have been suffering for ages restore our legal and humane rights and that peace prevails in this world.
A phrase from your book
“My loyal Cactus, Your thorns are more delicate than the hypocrisy of Humanity”.
” I’m still alive but nothing has remained”
Eva Petropoulou Lianou, Greek author and poet.
Ahmed Miqdad is a Palestinian poet and activist, awarded the 2025 Naji Namaan Literary Award.
Ahmed Miqdad (b. 1985) is a Palestinian poet resident of Gaza. He has a B.A. in English and a Master in Education. Ahmed is the author of three collections of poetry (Gaza Narrates Poetry (2014), Stolen Lives (2015) and When Hope Is not Enough (2019)) and a novel Falastin: The Hope of Tomorrow (2018). The latest poetry collection is The Shadow: Poems for the Children of Gaza. He has witnessed over three wars and severe aggression by Israeli forces on the Palestinian people since the 1980s with a huge loss of life. He writes and publishes to raise consciousness about the Palestinian cause.
I heard the sound of familiar footsteps approaching our street. When I turned, I saw my old schoolmate standing there. I hadn’t seen her since the last days of high school, when she had suddenly married and left. Time had flown by. And now, she was at my door, carrying a tiny baby in her arms.
Her eyes were the same as before, her hair just as I remembered it back in tenth grade. It was as if the very girl I once knew had returned unchanged. Only the infant asleep in her embrace told another story — a story that had already marked her life with burdens far beyond her years.
I walked up to her and greeted her. My gaze fell on the child’s face, and my heart trembled. The baby looked exactly like his father, Qurbon. But the truth struck me like a cold wind — this man had denied his own child, refused even to acknowledge him.
“My husband now carries him in his arms,” she said, her voice filled with pride. “He treats him as if he were his own.” I stayed silent, questions echoing in my mind. It may be so today, but what about tomorrow? Will promises remain unbroken? Will this child’s presence one day be thrown back at him like a reproach?
Meanwhile, the baby slept peacefully, unaware of the weight of life, unaware of the wounds left by adult mistakes. Not even a year old, yet already a living orphan. His mother was still barely a woman herself, and his father had turned his back on the responsibility of being a parent.
As I held the fragile little body in my arms, a storm of thoughts rose within me. Who was truly at fault? The reckless choices made in youth? The blindness of love? Or the indifference of a society that lets such stories repeat again and again? I had no answer. Only one truth stood clear before me: the child was innocent.
My friend kept talking, complaining about another acquaintance, words spilling fast and bitter. I barely listened. My eyes were fixed on the sleeping baby, my mind trapped in a single haunting question: Whose hands will raise him? His uneducated mother’s? The stepfather who now shows him affection? Or the real father, who has rejected him, yet whose blood flows in his veins?
This question pressed upon my heart like a heavy stone — and no answer would come.
Dilobar Maxmarejabova, born in Yakkabog‘, Qashqadaryo, is a young writer and a second-year student at the Journalism and Mass Communications University in Tashkent. Specializing in English Philology, she is passionate about literature, poetry, and storytelling, and often reflects on themes of identity, resilience, and the beauty of her homeland. Beyond her studies, she leads youth initiatives such as the “Rivojlanamiz Club,” where she organizes literary competitions and reading circles to inspire creative expression among young people. Dilobar aspires to pursue further studies abroad and dreams of becoming a voice for her generation through journalism and creative writing.
Our interlocutor is one of the distinguished representatives of contemporary Azerbaijani literature — poet, writer, translator, linguist, pedagogue, PhD in Philology, Associate Professor, and member of the Writers’ Union of Azerbaijan, Firuza Mammadli.
— For you, what is the most important difference between prose and poetry? Which one reflects your inner world more fully and deeply?
— From the perspective of form, the difference between these two genres is evident. It is also true that both are products of artistic imagination.
Prose, as a rule, takes shape in terms of plot, composition, content, and expression.
Poetry, however, is realized within specific norms, relying on the accurate and purposeful selection and arrangement of poetic aspects hidden in the inner layers of language units — in other words, the semantic possibilities of words and expressions.
In classical Azerbaijani poetry — in forms such as the ghazal, qoshma, gerayli, lullabies, and others — this principle has always been preserved. Rhythm, harmony, rhyme, refrain, internal meter, syllable count, sound prolongation, and so on have been among the main elements that regulate the appeal of poetic thought.
In modern poetry, apart from these poetical-technical elements, the free verse form — which relies solely on the poetic spirit accumulated in the semantic layers of words — has also become one of the prevailing examples of contemporary creativity.
In my view, poetry is a special state of the poet’s soul. It can be compared to a lightning flash that illuminates a single moment. Of course, in narrative poetry, in poems and verse plays, unlike in lyric poetry, the author needs time and lyrical digressions, which makes it difficult to liken them to lightning.
Poetry is the poet’s secret meeting with his own feelings.
Poetry is the rebellion of the silence within us.
Poetry is the outcry of our soul.
— You are a poet, a writer, a translator, and a scholar at the same time. Does working simultaneously in all these fields not cause difficulties for you?
— Poetry, prose, scholarly research, and teaching are the complete expressions of my public life. Each of them, being the product of both mind and heart, seems to wait for its own turn to be realized. A poem does not come every hour. Free moments, then, are more suitable for scientific research or prose.
— The serious obstacles and difficulties you faced on the path of science…
How did you overcome them? Today, how are young women being drawn into research, and in your opinion, what should be emphasized to inspire them?
— I did not face any serious difficulties while conducting my research. But completing the work and defending it cost me dearly. There were people who tried to obstruct my defense. I had written and submitted for defense my dissertation on the topic “The linguistic and stylistic features of Y.V. Chamanzaminli’s novels Girls’ Spring and In Blood*, dedicated to our incomparable writer, a victim of repression. During the defense, one member of the Academic Council — a pro-Armenian scholar — fled the session to prevent it from taking place. By repeating this act twice, he delayed my defense for two years. Finally, I defended the work and sent it to the Higher Attestation Commission in Moscow for approval. The same person sent an anonymous letter there as well. As a result, my work was sent to Turkmenistan for a review by a so-called “black opponent.” Only after receiving a positive review from there — which took another two years — was my dissertation officially approved with the title of Candidate of Sciences.
My entire public activity has always been accompanied by obstacles and envy.
As for young people today, I do not see much genuine interest in scientific research. But my advice to young women is this: the path of science is difficult but honorable. When stepping onto this road, they must first take into account their inner world, their passion for the field, their willingness to sacrifice, and their readiness to endure psychological attacks. They must prepare themselves spiritually for such struggles.
My second piece of advice is that if they cannot bring genuine novelty to their field, they should not pursue it merely for the sake of a title.
As for encouraging them, I cannot say I have strong arguments at hand.
— In literature, what is the most important concept for you? For example: the spirit of the era, the author’s personality, or the thematic problems of the work?
— Naturally, creativity values all three. Any work created is a product of its own era, carrying with it at least some information for the future about that time. For instance, the rich legacy of our writers such as M.F. Akhundov, J. Mammadguluzadeh, A. Hagverdiyev, N. Narimanov, and others serve as examples of this.
In my view, the author, when creating a work, must present it from a completely objective standpoint, without displaying tendencies. Thematic problems, of course, find their artistic expression within the boundaries of time and space in the work.
— In society, do you think the value of people of art and science is adequately recognized?
— Unfortunately, no.
— What events in your life are tied to the concept of “self-sacrifice”?
— My entire life is the equivalent of “self-sacrifice.” Every step I have taken has been accompanied by obstacles, threats, conspiracies, intimidations, “accidents,” and deprivation.
The path I have walked for education, science, art, and profession I do not call a struggle, but rather a war.
— For you, what are the specific qualities of the image of a “woman writer and scholar”?
— A woman who is a writer and scholar must either not marry, or if she is fortunate, unite her life with someone who is understanding, appreciative, and values science and art as she does. Otherwise, if fate ties her to someone who pretends to be a poet without truly being one — that is a disaster… Among women of art, very few are fortunate enough to be happy in both family and creative life.
— As a woman, writer, scholar, and human being, how would you define yourself in a single sentence? In your opinion, what is science — to learn, to understand, or to accept?
— If I were a little younger, I would call myself a “hero” for having achieved all these titles (woman, writer, scholar, human). But now — at 85 — I call myself a “sufferer.”
As for learning, understanding, and accepting… Yes, science is learning, it is understanding, but I am not in favor of blind acceptance. If it represents absolute indicators of objective truths, then I accept — because that acceptance itself is the beginning of the road that leads to learning and understanding.
— How do you envision the literature of the future? With artificial intelligence, will not the emotions of the human heart lose their true value?
— If artificial intelligence is to create the literature of the future, it will likely be in detective or epistolary genres. Yes, artificial intelligence cannot fully express the subtleties of the human heart. It will mostly reflect what is encoded by its programmer. Motivated by the psychology of that programmer, it cannot, in general, acquire truly human qualities.
— In your view, how is the influence of women scholars in Azerbaijani society growing and developing?
— The rise in the influence of women scholars, poets, and artists in our country is an issue that requires special attention.
— Are there truths in our country that you have analyzed but never put into writing?
While pursuing your dreams, have you ever felt yourself drifting away from your own self?
— In brief, to the first part of your question, I can say that there are many such truths, but I do not see the need to elaborate.
As for the second part: in my youth, such moments were frequent. Now I am far from dreams. I am a solitary dweller in the cell of bitter truths.
— Victor Hugo once said: “There is a sight more beautiful than the heavens — the depth of the human heart.” Do you think today’s poets and writers have truly descended into this depth of the human heart?
— No one can know another better than oneself.
The elders have said that poets are the engineers of the human heart. Yet only those poets who can transfer another’s sorrow or joy into their own hearts, and make those emotions their own, can descend to such depths.
At such a moment, poetry speaks through the poet’s pen with the cry of
“I.” This, however, becomes an opportunity for critics to strike:
“That poet only writes about themselves.”
In truth, some of those who read such poetry see their own sorrow in it, and read their own grief through those lines.
Among swimmers, there is even a branch called “deep divers.”
Likewise, for a poet to descend into the human heart, they must possess the nature of a deep diver — and the strength not to be wounded by reproach.
Furthermore, the lingering breath of “Soviet” atmosphere in public opinion and criticism still plays no small role here.
Today, there are many who write. Naturally, it is impossible to follow them all. But descending into the depths of the human heart and bringing up pearls from there — that is not the task of every poet.
Jakhongir Nomozov is a young poet and journalist from Uzbekistan. He is also a Member of the Union of Journalists of Azerbaijan and the World Young Turkic Writers Union.
Born in Rosario, Santa Fe Province, Argentina, she is a National Normal Teacher. Professor of Literature and holds a Bachelor’s degree in Literature from the Faculty of Humanities and Arts at the University of Rosario, Argentina. Writer: narrator, poet, and essayist. She has participated in numerous national and international anthologies. She belongs to the cultural collectives Juntos por las Letras (Together for Letters), chaired by Mirta Ramírez (Chaco, Argentina); Puente de Palabras del Mercosur (Bridge of Words of Mercosur), directed by Gladys López Pianesi (Rosario, Argentina); Mosaicos y Letras (Mosaics and Letters), directed by Teresa Ávila (Córdoba, Argentina); and Cien poetas por la Paz (One Hundred Poets for Peace), whose mentor, Verónica Bianchi, resides in Córdoba, Argentina. She has received national and international awards for her work and career: Estrella del SUR (Uruguay), Gaviota de Plata (Silver Seagull), and Obelisco de Oro (Alexandra Foundation, Buenos Aires). First Prize for Fiction. Ediciones Anka, Buenos Aires 2024. Alfonsina Storni Award for her novel RUFINA by Mercedes SADE, Buenos Aires. She participated in all the virtual book fairs with various national and international cultural groups, presenting books, reading her own poems, and giving presentations on authors from each region. And she participated in person at the Book Fairs of Buenos Aires, Rosario, and Córdoba. Her poems were included in all the LIBROS INMORTALES (Immortal Books) published by Mirta Ramírez, which feature national and international poetry and visual artists, as well as in the magazine published by Juntos por las Letras: TOTHEM. She has published: A TIME TO LIVE (short stories and poems) RUFINA (novel), now in its second edition. Selected by the Córdoba Legislature for its 2025 Reading Plan LIKE WATER (poetry collection)
Nikolina Hua’s Echo IV: Free Nations in C Minor is a richly allusive and labyrinthine poem that navigates the psychological depths of a mind deeply attuned to the inner soul and wider society. Its verses move like whispered confessions, cloaked in clever ambiguity and metaphors.
At first glance, the poem seems abstract—perhaps deliberately so. But beneath its surface lies a disquieting echo of societal upheaval, rendered not through direct reference, but via dreamlike symbolism. The lines ‘hair tangles with phosphorus’ and ‘cherry trees beneath imperial drones’ hint of gentle vulnerability in the midst of wider violence, although inflicted by whom, it is deliberately obscure and therefore readers can universally sympathize with the emotions evoked.
The musical motifs are particularly evocative to me as a composer, the term ‘C Minor’ harmonizes with the tension ubiquitous across the entire poem. The work is also terse, the stanzas are short and each line pauses frequently, almost in doubt. Apart from sounds, the poem is also deeply colourful in its imagery, such as ‘black ribbons freeze on unnamed streets’, or ‘fists gripping blue’, each colour a metaphor, yet of what?
The influence from Russian literature can be sensed from the psychological undercurrents: an obsession with guilt, a longing for seeking meaning onto a world that resists coherence. These themes are Dostoyevskian in texture—one can almost feel the spectral presence of Notes from Underground in the speaker’s intellectual and affective isolation. Yet, despite the linguistic artistry being of specific provenance, its message speaks universally to the human condition.
The choice for obscurity instead of clarity is in itself a strength. By being a cryptic mirror, it invites the readers to find their own struggles within the poem’s ambiguous torment. By being obscure, Echo IV: Free Nations in C Minor ends up revealing so much more about ourselves.
Full poem can be found here
FREE NATIONS IN C MINOR
Orcs gnawed the capital’s door,
cherry trees scream beneath imperial drones.
Existence is a slit throat.
Hair tangles with phosphorus,
ghost hymns ride through occupied smoke.
Speech chokes on its own tongue.
Black ribbons freeze on unnamed streets.
Bones in gloves, fists gripping blue,
nails scrape through basement rust.
Hands remember what mouths can’t speak.
A million fingers pull the tyrant down.
This is how I claw myself free:
Change this. Change that. Never turn back
or the money drags you down
ankle-first into wolves’ den.
Beating grief against their ribs,
free nations sing in C minor.
The dark sea holds its breath.
Ng Yu Hng is an award-winning composer whose works explore musical time, liturgy, and intertextual dialogue. He holds a Master’s from the Royal Academy of Music (Countess of Munster scholar) and a King’s College London alum, winning the Purcell Prize. His music has been performed across 15 countries and published internationally, with commissions from ensembles worldwide.
