Ana Petrović was born in Jagodina, Serbia, in 1985. She completed both grammar school and medical school, weaving together the clarity of science with the sensitivity of art. Her poems have been published in several international literary journals, as well as in a world anthology of contemporary poets.
Her poetic voice, at once intimate and defiant, carries echoes of her favorite poets—Mayakovsky’s burning intensity and Yesenin’s tender lyricism—yet remains distinctly her own.
The diviner had said the moon was entering some special phase full of promise and prowess. The cat was sleeping at home. I went to the coffee shop. The man sitting in front of me was staring at the counter workers and I could sense he was not a good man. I was happy when he left. The other man must have been a gemini as he talked all day and night to many souls. If nobody was there he waited, patiently, like a cat can wait, or as still as the moon, even his eyes hardly moving, like some kind of advanced meditator. Outside I heard the air brakes of a bus or truck. Going out there, it began to rain.
What a strange and peculiar day,- the autumnal air arriving, capricious weather,- it getting sunny then cloudy then warm then cold all at fast turns. I went back home for past the electric bikes and scooters, and a picnic bench missing one side bench yet somehow still looking anyhow, structurally sound. I drew a picture of the mountains that had clouds, birds, and a house and horse and cart plus some trees in the foreground. A large red sun was setting behind it all. Not long after I fell to sleep and dreamt I had a class to attend but didn’t make it for being distracted by two women fighting, a group of leaves lit by nocturnal electric lights, a talk with a kind woman, and not being able to find a parking spot. I awoke and felt cool air from the twirling fan and the window open. I went downstairs to drink a glass of water and look out the window for the moon but can’t remember if I ever did find it.
a committee was celebrating independence on the field,
The turn of the flag at the end of the Jana-Gana-Mana.
A wise man comes and pulls the rope,
Goes up to top spot, leafy,
This time the flag will fly, and the flowers will storm.
But it is not happening anymore,
As much as the flag is over to the rope,
Yet the flag does not open,
A bird came to see this,
Try to open by his lip,
The flag opened.
Opened and the flag flying this time,
The flowers touched the ground,
kept a beautiful stream.
Short biography: Amb. Dr. Priyanka Neogi from Coochbehar. She is an administrative Controller of United Nations PAF, librarian, CEO of Lio Messi International Property & land Consultancy, international literacy worker, sports & peace promoter, dancer, singer, reciter, live telecaster, writer, editor, researcher, Literary journalist, host, beauty queen, international Co-ordinator of Vijay Mission of Community Welfare Foundation of India.
Gifted students are often seen as unstoppable achievers excelling in academics, skills, or creation. But behind the impressive grades and projects, many face burnout far earlier than expected. The reason? A mix of high expectations, perfectionism, and a constant push to stay “ahead.”
From a young age, gifted learners may be praised for their abilities rather than their effort. This can create pressure to always perform flawlessly, leaving little room for mistakes or self-discovery, and developing anxiety and fear from not reaching to others expectations. Add in heavy workloads, lack of social understanding from peers, and the fear of “not living up to potential,” and exhaustion sets in mentally, emotionally, and sometimes physically.
Helping them starts with balance. Schools and parents should focus on process over results, valuing curiosity and growth rather than constant output. Encouraging hobbies, downtime, and friendships outside of academic circles helps restore a sense of normalcy. Mentorship programs can also provide guidance from those who’ve navigated similar challenges.
Gifted students don’t just need harder problems to solve they need spaces to breathe, fail, and recharge. Supporting their well-being ensures their talents can grow sustainably, without burning out before their real journey begins.
My name is Jana Hossam, a passionate and driven student from Minya, Egypt, currently entering my final year of high school.
I’m the creator of GreenVolt — a plant-based electricity generator with IoT integration that provides clean, real-time monitored energy. I also developed the HEH System, a Smart Pavement project that converts heat, light, and motion into power.
As a facilitator, I teach more than 30 students and have interviewed over 100 participants from international programs. I’m also a freelancer in translation, writing, and minimalist logo design on Fiverr.
I actively participate in mentoring sessions, youth programs, and global initiatives like IRENA. With deep interests in tech, leadership, and education, I continue building a future that empowers young people — especially women — through innovation and impact.
The sun was shining brightly, it was the middle of summer…
I woke up early and was sweeping the yard. My grandmother was sitting and watching me.
“My girl, you studied all night, you didn’t sleep at all. You should rest a little!” she said with concern.
“It’s okay, Grandma, if I go one night without sleep, nothing will happen. God willing, I’ll pass the entrance exams, and then I’ll have plenty of time to rest.”
“If your parents were alive, they would have helped you,” she said sadly.
Just then, my stepmother woke up and came out.
“Ugh… what an unpleasant morning. Hey, Malika, did you iron your brothers’ shirts?”
“Not yet… I haven’t finished.”
“What a useless girl your mother gave birth to! When will you ever do things properly? You can’t do anything right—only know how to eat and sleep,” she shouted.
“Why do you keep scolding her, daughter-in-law? Leave her be. She’s already struggling so much,” Grandma defended me.
“Don’t interfere! It’s all your fault—spoiling her like this!” my stepmother retorted.
—
That’s how my days passed—my stepmother never stopped scolding me. My grandmother, however, helped me in every way she could and wished for me to be an educated, learned girl. I never gave up; I did my best.
I believed that one day I would become a great person and free both myself and my grandmother from this darkness. I lived with that determination.
If I managed to finish the housework one day, I wouldn’t finish my lessons; if I finished my lessons, the housework would remain. My stepmother’s temper worsened day by day. Not only me—she would even scold and quarrel with my grandmother. Every day, she found an excuse to say:
“When will I get rid of this witch of an old woman? She hasn’t died yet, and I haven’t been freed from her!”
Since my stepmother was the only one working in the house, our household wasn’t in good shape. She spent most of her earnings on herself and her two sons. To buy books and notebooks for my studies and medicine for my grandmother, I sometimes went to the evening market to sell small goods. Somehow, I managed.
One morning, while making breakfast, I was putting the kettle on when my stepmother said:
“Hey, Malika. Why are you so slow? Here—this is my most expensive dress. Iron it carefully, understand?”
Then she looked at me mockingly:
“Why are you staring like that? Right, you’ve probably never even seen clothes like these.”
I stayed silent and started ironing. While I was ironing, my grandmother said:
“Malika, dear, your tea must be boiling—go check on it.”
In my hurry, I left the iron on the dress without realizing it, and the dress got burnt.
What followed was chaos and shouting that’s hard to describe. My stepmother was so furious that she practically lifted the whole house with her screaming. I was standing in the kitchen trembling so hard that I didn’t even notice I had spilled boiling water on my own hand.
Still yelling, she came at me with fury in her eyes. She had always looked for a reason to hurt me, and now she had found one. She dragged me into the room where I had been ironing. Without thinking twice, with her eyes red with rage, she pressed the hot iron onto my right hand.
“That’s for defying me and burning my dress on purpose!” she shouted.
The pain was unbearable—I screamed and cried, writhing in agony.
—
Well, those days passed, but…
The questions Why? For what? What was my fault? still haunted me.
Years went by—it’s been two or three years since that incident. I entered university. God willing, I wanted to become a lawyer. Now I’m in my third year, living in the dormitory in Tashkent, far from my grandmother’s love. I miss her terribly. I call her occasionally from my friend’s phone, but I still miss her deeply—I haven’t seen her for almost eight months.
When we talk, she always says:
“I’m fine, my dear. I take my medicine on time. Don’t worry about me. Focus on your studies. You must become the lawyer I always dreamed of. Don’t think about me.”
But I knew my stepmother was still making her life miserable. I constantly worried—was she healthy? Was she eating properly? Was the house peaceful? These thoughts disturbed me even in class.
What could I do? If I went home, I’d fall behind in my studies. Oh God, please give me patience…
—
Finally, I finished my third year. Now I was in a taxi on my way home—so happy, so excited to see my grandmother again and feel her love. Not even the difficulties of the long journey could spoil my mood.
After two days of travel, I finally arrived at my street. I ran from the corner in excitement—but for some reason, the front of our house was full of people. The men wore traditional coats and skullcaps.
I was puzzled—what was happening here?
Then I heard someone say, “She has passed away, my girl.”
Those words were enough to make me lose myself. Everything blurred before my eyes, and the only thing I could hear was that sentence repeating in my head. I couldn’t say a word—I just sank to my knees at the gate.
When people tried to bring me back to my senses, I suddenly ran inside…
This cruel world had not only taken my parents from me—it had taken my grandmother too. I could only imagine how much pain she endured without me…
—
Years passed. I fulfilled my grandmother’s wishes and my own dreams. Perhaps they were her last will—of that, I have no doubt.
Now, I work as a judge in the Tashkent city court. I believe there are two main reasons why a girl would choose such a profession:
«First, repeated encounters with injustice in her life.
Second, a strong sense of pride in her homeland»
I had both reasons. And besides, this was my greatest goal—my duty to my grandmother and my country.
Today, as I sit by my grandmother’s grave, I recall the events of the past, one by one.
“Grandma… I’m here! Your beloved granddaughter has come to you as a judge. Forgive me for leaving you alone. I couldn’t save you from that place. But now, I will not allow such things to happen again. No child’s life will be like mine. I promise—and I will do everything to keep that promise.”
The holy life of Prophet Muhammad (S) is the central theme of Sirah literature. It is preserved through historical records and Hadith transmissions. Within this tradition, the role of the earliest female companions (Sahabiyyat) was indispensable, as they transmitted many Hadith that have a vital role in Sirah literature. Their narrations ensure how the Prophet (S) performed his life as a public leader, as a spiritual leader, as a family member, and so on.
The foremost transmitter, Aishah (R), who narrated more than 2,000 Hadith, recognized by Companions and later scholars as an authentic source about the Prophet (S). Her knowledge preserved essential details of the Prophet’s worship, character, and family life. Without her contributions, a major portion of the Prophet’s life would not have been remained in Sirah literature. Similarly, Umm Salamah (R) transmitted valuable Hadith, including her narration of the Treaty of Hudaybiyyah, which highlighted the Prophet’s political wisdom, patience, and ability to maintain unity in difficult circumstances. Another important figure, Asma bint Abi Bakr (R), narrated the event of the Prophet’s migration (Hijrah) from Makkah to Madinah, a major event in Islamic history. Likewise, Fatimah bint Qays (R) preserved the narration of the event of Tamim al-Dari and the Dajjal, which revealed the Prophet’s method of validating reports and guiding his community.
The legacy of these Sahabiyyat was carried forward by the Tabi‘iyyat (women of the next generation). Amrah bint Abd al-Rahman, one of the most trustworthy transmitters of Hadith, was a student of Aishah. Similarly, Fatimah bint al-Mundhir, granddaughter of Asma bint Abi Bakr, a notable Hadith scholar in the 1st century Hijrah, studied from Asma bint Abi Bakr.
This indicates that how Sahabiyyat shaped the foundations of Sirah literature through their narrations. Their Hadith transmission not only preserved the Prophet’s personal, political, and spiritual legacy with authenticity but also illustrates how women, often marginalized in other societies and communities, were empowered by knowledge in the Muslim community, and it served as evidence of women’s intellectual authority in early Islam. The later expansion of Sirah studies is inseparably linked to their efforts.
