On the morning of August 27, 2025, the first day of the National Conference of Youth and Children on Climate Change in Uzbekistan (LCOY Uzbekistan 2025), we departed from Nukus and headed towards Muynak. For many of us, this was more than a simple field trip. It was a journey into history, memory, and responsibility. Muynak—once a vibrant port city—today stands as a living testimony to one of humanity’s most devastating ecological disasters: the drying of the Aral Sea.
From a Sea to a Desert
The Aral Sea was once the world’s fourth-largest inland lake, stretching over 68,900 square kilometers in 1960. It provided livelihoods for thousands of fishermen, supported industries, and shaped cultures across Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan. But within just a few decades, massive irrigation projects diverted the waters of the Amudarya and Syrdarya rivers, causing the sea to shrink dramatically. By 2020, less than 10% of its original size remained (Orol dengizi, n.d.).
The consequences have been profound. Villages once located on the seashore are now dozens of kilometers away from water. Fish species vanished due to extreme salinity, and Muynak’s canneries—once famous across Central Asia—shut their doors. The exposed seabed turned into the Aralkum Desert, releasing toxic dust and salt storms into the atmosphere, affecting not only Karakalpakstan but also distant regions, even glaciers in the Pamirs and the Arctic.
Walking through the Ship Graveyard
Arriving in Muynak, we walked across the Ship Graveyard. Enormous rusted ships stood abandoned on the sand, as though time had frozen. For the young participants of the conference, many of whom had only read about the Aral Sea in books, this sight was overwhelming. Once these vessels were symbols of prosperity, carrying tons of fish every year; now they are monuments to ecological loss.
Our guide, environmentalist Yusup Kamalov, gave us an introduction to the Aral Sea’s story, explaining not just the ecological collapse but also the human dimension: health problems, forced migration, and loss of cultural heritage. Listening to his words while standing beside lifeless ships created a powerful contrast between past abundance and present emptiness.
Learning from Museums and Memories
The next part of the visit took us to the Aral Museum and the Old Fish Cannery. There, we saw black-and-white photographs of bustling ports, fishermen proudly holding their catch, and workers in the factory halls. Exhibits told the story of how Muynak was once a town full of life, where families built their futures around the sea.
But the museum also displayed documents and testimonies from the 1970s onward, when the water began to recede. Entire generations saw their lives collapse as fish disappeared, industries shut down, and the desert advanced. Locals’ personal stories—of hunger, illness, and migration—reminded us that climate change is never only about nature; it is about people’s lives and dignity.
Youth reflections and activities
The field trip was not just passive observation. The conference organizers planned interactive sessions—brainstorming, Q&A discussions, and storytelling with local residents (Concept Agenda, 2025). Many of us sang songs, shared reflections, and even engaged in group activities to imagine solutions for the future.
Standing in Muynak, we realized that we are not only visitors but also witnesses of history, entrusted with carrying its lessons forward. For children and youth, the message was clear: climate change is not a distant threat, it is already shaping lives, economies, and ecosystems.
Hope in the Midst of Loss
Despite the haunting silence of the ships, Muynak is not only a place of despair. Projects to stabilize the northern part of the sea, such as the Kokaral Dam in Kazakhstan, have shown that ecosystems can begin to recover when action is taken. Fish stocks have returned to parts of the Northern Aral, giving hope that at least partial restoration is possible.
For us as youth, Muynak became a place of commitment. The lessons of the Aral Sea urge us to promote sustainable water management, push for renewable energy, and advocate for policies that protect children, women, and vulnerable groups who bear the brunt of climate disasters.
A Call to Action
As the buses carried us back to Nukus in the evening, the sunset over the endless desert reminded us of both fragility and resilience. The Aral Sea’s story is one of mistakes but also of second chances. If the global community listens, learns, and acts, other regions may avoid a similar fate.
For me, the visit to Muynak was more than a trip—it was a turning point. Walking among the ships, I felt the weight of history and the urgency of action. The Aral Sea’s tragedy must never be repeated, and it is our generation’s responsibility to ensure that.
Nikhita is a 19 year old. She is studying at SSVM World School, Coimbatore, India. She enjoys reading books, dancing, and playing the piano. Her imagination and creativity shine through her writing.
Different Feathers?
Has free verse been freed from tradition?
Was the latter determined adverse?
Is different different than better?
Just what is the price of free verse?
Does free verse have better transmission?
Is tradition decidedly worse?
Is better better than different,
and will the twain ever converse?
Be Realio-Trulio
Sonnets ill-used,
erroneous meter,
perhaps a reader
will be confused
when it’s perused—
although by name
it may be the same.
If form is abused,
rhyming refused
(not really a rose),
it clearly shows
its poet accused.
Though enthused,
none are excused.
The Piper’s Sonnet
Although I write this sonnet silently,
clandestine, as it were, so none may see,
I wonder whether someday I’ll allow
its light to shine and break its silent vow.
So why express in secret on a page
the thoughts in which I currently engage?
It’s hard to say, although on August 3rd
no surreptitious sonnet is absurd.
By that, I mean that none would not suffice;
by writing one, at least, you pay the price
the Piper calls for on this special day
so that his tune won’t swoon each muse away.
To write or not? I’ll do it secretly.
For now, a covert action just for me.
I Come to Raze Your Ears, Not Praise Them!
I went to a poetry reading
with a follow-up open mic.
It’s the first time that I’d been to one—
didn’t know what they might like.
So, alrighty then,
I could listen without care,
since diversity of poetry
wasn’t what had brought me there.
We all heard the featured poet
reading from his new chapbook.
It’s the first time that I’d been to one
and I read the one I took.
Well, alrighty, then,
they could listen without care,
since diversity of poetry
wasn’t what had brought them there.
The second poem, “Be Realio-Trulio,” is a “minison,” a form established by The Minison Project (https://theminisonproject.com/): 14 lines, 14 letters per line, and a 14-letter title.
The third, “The Piper’s Sonnet,” was written a month ago for Surreptitious Sonnet Day, August 3rd.
The last, “I Come to Raze Your Ears, Not Praise Them!” was written to the tune of Ricky Nelson’s 1972 hit tune “Garden Party.”
“For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord plans to prosper you, and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
Jeremiah 29:11
Preface: I have walked seeking God since my earliest days of life. God has been my focus because of my need to know that I belonged to someone. I felt surrounded by an empty place and dark place, but felt comforted by the seven day candle representation God’s Holy Light, the burning colors of the votive candles burning and finally, the magnificent array of colors flowing through the stained-glass windows.
This was my sanctuary from the darkness that pervaded all aspects of my life outside of God. Here in the church, I felt God’s heart for me – in this place of salvation.
My aunt Lucille adopted me legally at age eight, but God accepted me since my birth. When she introduced me to Him, I knew that He truly loved me and He created me, and adopted me into the family of His Son, Jesus.
My aunt Lucille exposed me to Holy Redeemer Catholic Church on New York Ave in DC. Morning mass was a part of her religious ritual. Each weekday I accompanied her to Holy Redeemer. Sitting there amidst these elderly women of the church were regular attendees for weekly mornings mass -Monday thru Friday. On Saturday, we went to another Catholic Church Saint Aloysius on North Capitol St. Saint Aloysius was different to me. It was different inside. It seemed larger than Holy Redeemer. It wasn’t those old ladies there and just a few other attendees at Saturday morning mass. Being the only child at Holy Redeemer added to the feeling of being out of place.
However, at Saint Aloysius there was a sense of privacy with God that I did not feel at Holy Redeemer. It was just me and my aunt sat in the pews with plenty of space.
One day. there was a circumstance in which the priest approached my aunt. When I would receive Holy Communion, I would take the body of Christ out of my mouth and put it on the floor where I had been kneeling because I did not like the taste of it. She was embarrassed and ashamed for being scolded by a priest for my desecration of the body of Christ. I didn’t know anything about desecration, but I didn’t like the taste in my mouth. I was also that child who, when he didn’t like his food he would feed it to the dog. I can still see the priest using a white cloth – probably a handkerchief – to pick up the body of Christ off the marble floor. I don’t remember her words to me, but I remember the shame and guilt she felt.
This was a pattern between us…she seem to always be apologizing for me. Dee was aware of my quiet nature and allowed me to be quiet.
Sitting in church alone was a way for me to be safe from all the noise of the darkness outside. Inside of me and outside of me in the sanctuary was quietness that transcended the darkness. The lit candles and stained glass windows offered more colorful light. To me, light offered safety.
Dee was part native American and half-negro and had a very strict belief that children should be raised to be respectful and listen to adults. However, her lessons were teaching me how to be with God. Her words continue in my memory: “you belong to God.” She often reminded me of this. Therefore, I sought God’s safety from the place of darkness that surrounded me.
There was noise and more noise in and outside the house. The streets were full of noise and more noise. Still, I sought God in the streets of noise and darkness that existed surrounding me. The fear of darkness wasn’t in the night, but a continuous journey into the daylight – which also dark.
Sitting in the quietness of light in Holy Redeemer Church was a reverse of being surrounded by not only darkness, but the fear of what may happen to me outside of the sanctuary of God. God’s sanctuary was a different experience, as the feeling of being consumed left and was replaced by security. It was a different stillness than the stillness of being hidden from the treacherous streets. The candles flickering and the white color represents God’s presence on the altar in front of the Tabernacle.
The church was my refuge, my sanctuary, my safe haven from the treacherous street of darkness. In the church, the votive candles burned with glasses of various colors of blue, red ,and yellow. The votive candles were on a stand with several rows of candles and the variety of colors blended together in unison. I was mesmerized by the light and the quiet. Sometimes the sound of a candle would quietly reach a place deep within me. The most quiet candle burning was the candle of God’s presence, and was a white candle made of beeswax. For me, this handle of God’s light represented purity.
The wonderful colors would seem to fade as my eyes slowly, with purpose, scanned the altar and rested on the light of God as the candle could somehow flicker and be still almost the same time.
This shiny marble floor added to the light of God’s surroundings. It was the total opposite of being in the darkness outside. Now, the light of God was surrounding me and filled my inner most being. My very essence was now safe. While I slept, death surrounded me in the streets and feelings of fear covered me. I walked in fear and slept in fear of my surroundings because of the volcano of sounds of the streets that slipped into the cracks of the apartment walls.
But when I came to know God, a stillness came inside of me – a place that nothing had reached before. It was the innocence of knowing that God existed in the total stillness of my thoughts. My heart was still and calm. It seemed to be still in unison to the stillness of the light of a flickering wick. The feeling of peace and the comfort of my heart were beating in unison with the flickering light.
Surly, God would live here in the light shining from the candles and stillness. I couldn’t imagine how God could live out in the streets with all the trappings of inner-city life. Yes, God would live here with the light of His light. God’s quietness flowed into my essence and held me safely in the light of His presence. I sat alone in the majestic palace of the essence of God’s presence surrounding me, protecting me, and giving me life like the breath of God at my birth. I was not alone, but was His creation that fit into this glorious sanctuary.
Dee often times would not speak and I watched her more intently. By watching Dee, I would learn to listen for the quietness of movement. She moved with a quietness and stillness. It would be fair to say that I loved her. She was always there while surrounding me and teaching me and loving me by giving me to God to care for.
The inner-city wasn’t a sanctuary, but rather darkness even in the daylight. The darkness surrounded my thoughts, my emotions and my body. My serenity faded, and the bright light of the sun made me close my eyes as I exited God’s house.
My neighborhood was full of the trappings of darkness and noise- lots of noise. There were gunshots and screaming and babies crying into the night, as if they also felt the dead and darkness. This filled each moment of my waking and night life. I cried for safety. I would cry myself to sleep in the darkness of my bed. Yes, I cried without ending and afraid my gasping for air would be heard in the darkness. So, I held my breath as the tears soaked my pillow and my heart ached.
Many years were filled with soaked pillows and holding my breath as I continued to gasp for air. It was the same kind of gasp made when crying and the gasping for air. The voice in my head said, “Shut up or I’ll give you something to cry about.” No, I cried without sounds that would be heard in the safety of my bed under the sheets.
The time passed slowly before there was a shift from darkness to light and the feelings of abandonment inside of me. Because my mother left me with Dee at two weeks old, tere was an emptiness of not belonging. Therefore, I sought to belong and Dee had said that I belonged to God. I was not convinced of that. This was before I was taken to Holy Redeemer Catholic Church by aunt Lucille. Prior, I would receive lessons from Dee, who had a personal relationship with God and Jesus Christ. She always said that I belonged to God. She always spoke about God and Jesus. I don’t recall anything she said, other than I heard His name seemingly all the time. Before going to Holy Redeemer Church, seeking God meant walking the darkest streets of New Jersey Avenue. There is one night that is still clear on my memory where I experienced the darkness of New Jersey Avenue before P street. It was perhaps about seven years old at the time. The important part of this memory is that I was seeking God in the streets of DC as a very young child. The night lights were dim not bright but dim the brightness of the streets that come from the headlights of the passing cars.
Mostly, I remember feeling void and lost. So lost that even today at sixty-eight, I recall vividly that experience of walking physical in darkness. Another time that changed my life completely was a time when I was standing on the corner of Q street and I forgot the intersection. The light was green and then red and the light was green and then it was red. I shook as I was unable to breathe. I know I was six or seven at the time, because I hadn’t been adopted by my aunt Lucille yet. Dee said that she was tired of our parents not coming for us and she was tired. Even at that very young age, it was a burden not to belong and I had feelings of being unwanted and a burden to Dee. So, I stood there as the light kept changing colors. Where could I go? Who wanted me? Slowly, I began the walk to my aunts apartment on North Capitol St. I knew the streets because it was the way we went when Lucille picked me up from Dee’s.
Did I want to go to my aunts? No. Yet I had no place that I could go in the night that I stood at the light. Truthfully, I never felt loved, which was understandable.
I went to my aunt that night and stayed with her until I was twenty-one. All those years, I never truly felt wanted by her or my uncle Bernard. However, i managed through that hardship until returning to Holy Redeemer. Sitting in Holy Redeemer Church in the quietness of my soul and God being God was quiet. He was undeniably peaceful. I loved to be alone with God. Alone with all the safety and attention without needing to hide. It was ok to be still and quite but not out of fear but rather to just be still and breathe.
Day after day sitting in the sanctuary of God in Holy Redeemer Church. I had been adopted by the age of eight by Lucille. Still, I had no home – no sense of belonging, but sitting there inside the sanctuary was home. It was not only a physical retreat, but something much deeper and calming and familiar to my inner sanctuary. Although there was still chaos outside and other noise, in here, God had come to that empty place within. My longing for Him has continued, since those very first encounters back while sitting in the pew waiting and waiting and listening for God to speak. Like waiting for that light to change before crossing the street – just waiting to be connected again and again by the Holy presence of God.
Perhaps, I knew God wanted me since those very first time when sitting in His Holy sanctuary in His heart. You see beyond the colors of the votive candles burning and the sunlight piercing thru the stained-glass windows and the altar with God’s light burning. There was a sense of quietness and firm stillness inside of me. The surrounding atmosphere of the Holy sanctuary blended together deep inside of me and the outer sanctuary was in unison. No, there was no audible voice, but rather a voice of serenity which never faded
Home was finally accepting that God wanted me and had adopted me at eight or so, but it was God that wanted me while caring for me. I was used by Lucille, but cared for by God. Lucille rejected me and God accepted me. Lucille harmed in many ways which is not needed to be expounded upon. I will only repeat that harm came to me when I was adopted by her.
Salvation Lived Moment by moment (The gift of life for all eternity in each moment now)
“The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The LORD is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
Psalm 27:1
“Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. For the Lord GOD is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.”
Isaiah 12:2
Living each moment in the present moment without fear. My salvation has come and my redemption has been accepted by me. My walk to Calvary step by step with my Cross and my Crucifixion and now my full Resurrection thru Jesus Christ. You see, it was Jesus walking with me to Calvary and helping me carry my Cross and my Crucifixion was my inner-self accepting Jesus’ gift of Resurrection for me. This is my daily life – to accept and recognize the truth that without Jesus’s Resurrection I would not be free in spirit.
The freedom has awakened my soul to the truth about my being adopted into the family of God. The Holy family of God who created me with a plan and purpose for my life not just here and now, but for eternity. Moment by moment remembering that thru Jesus, my freedom has been paid in full. Yet, it was thru many hardships for decades that I sought God.
August 15th, 2025 it came into play that yes, I had been redeemed long before when being about eight sitting in Holy Redeemer Catholic Church watching the candle of God burning in front of the Tabernacle and the votive candles with an array of colors. In the stillness and quietness sitting there for an audible voice of God.
I felt His presence inside of me as I left the church. However, it is now in the present moment God has been surrounding and inside of that deep deep place known as my soul.
My soul is there quietly listening to Him and when the thoughts come and my hands write from a place in which is deep inside, my faith is strengthened and renewed. I learned that God communicates in the quietness of light as the the white flickering candle which burns in front of the Tabernacle. It was that light which brought a comfort and serenity to my worries and calmed my mind.
God’s Holy presence has carried me since age eight years old. Now at sixty-eight years I can say that I have lived thru His grace and love that gives unequal faith because His faithfulness and fullness encompasses my being. I’m faithful to Him.
“Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness. Delight yourself in the Lord, and he will give you the desires of your heart. Commit your way to the Lord; trust in him, and he will act.”
Psalm 37:3-5
“For the Lord will not reject his people; he will never forsake his inheritance.”
Psalm 94:14
“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my expectation is from him.”
Psalm 62:5
The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
Psalm 34:18
Prayer of Faith
In remembrance of you my Holy Father, my heart finds rest. My faithfulness is rooted in your teachings to my soul of your faithfulness. My actions now are a continuous reminder of your deep desires for me to prosper in your Heavenly Kingdom. You patiently waited as you taught me at eight years old, for the time to unite with you for all eternity. You are my treasured inheritance and I shall never forget that you saved me thru your Holy presence. Yes, you did not harm me, but saved me. My time has not been in vain for you have honored me with your opened heart which led me to the fountain of resurrection. My soul is full.
their backpacks filled with new crayons and glue sticks.
Morning begins with Mass. The students pray
together, sharing optimism and faith—
until the gunfire starts. Round after round
sprays through a stained-glass window, firing wild.
Two kids are killed, and 18 more are wounded.
Terror, shock, and panic fill the church.
One boy, shielding his friend, shot in the back.
A wounded girl keeps pleading, “Hold my hand.”
There’s no escape. The shooter barred a door
with a 2X4. Brought three guns. Used them all—
a rifle, shotgun, pistol. Perfect tools
for someone standing outside, shooting in.
Just like the shooter’s heroes in the news.
It takes a lot of hate to mow down children—
faces bright with eagerness and promise.
What kind of mind resents their zest and joy?
Seeks only to destroy, destroy, destroy?
And why can some young person filled with rage
buy gun after gun after gun– no questions asked?
This feast of hate was crowned by suicide.
Without guns, toxic hate would not be fatal.
* On August 27, 2025, a sniper shot through a Church window at children attending a Mass that opened the school year for Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis. Two dead, 18 wounded.
ICE WELCOMES STRANGERS
ICE targets brown—brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin.
Storm troopers drag whole families from rich fields,
leaving crops half-picked. These bounty hunters
seize brown workers from construction sites,
hotel staffs, work crews, courts, meat-packing plants.—
disrupting businesses, creating holes
that can’t be filled. A green card’s not a shield.
