The world of dreams

 At that time, even though I was still young, I still had a small love for books. I still read that book, and I still read this book. But books seemed to me to consist of ordinary pages. Over the years, I realized that books are not just ordinary pages. the book itself is a world, not a manuscript, the book itself is a world. A person reading a book lives two lives at the same time.... Only one life ends when a certain period of time is reached, and the other is absorbed into eternity with memory. while leaving...

                                   Part 1
   The door to the land of the book or the beginning of the story
  When I was in the fifth grade, I suddenly became interested in fiction. .It has become my biggest dream to read all the books in our school's library and achieve many achievements. I started my work by reading the books in the children's literature section of the library. I was captivated by the works of the famous writer Khudoyberdi Tokhtabayev. 

It was at this time that my studies were over and vacation was about to begin. I rushed home. I didn't know why, but I was in a great mood that day. After eating, I started looking through the books I got from the library. First, I looked at Jack London's White Fang, and then Pakhmaq, Avazkhan, and so on. My eyes fell on a book with a white cover and no name written on it. After all, I had never bought such a book. I was surprised. As soon as I opened the book, a light shone from it. but it was empty. 

Not many days later, about a week later, I took my books and necessary things and went to my grandmother's village. Because my grandmother spends her annual summer vacation I thought about a book with a white cover. The next morning, when I entered my grandmother's yard, this dream did not leave me. I rushed to the cave. This cave is so ancient that the locals called it the Cave of Life. 

Near the cave, a crystal-clear spring gushes out. The ground is covered with green grass. The mountain and the rest of them were connected to the rocky hills, so it was difficult to find such a royal and peaceful place to read a book. With my light, some rays of light flashed blindingly, and I suddenly appeared in a completely different world.


Rashidova Shahrizoda Zarshidovna was born in 2010 in the Karakol district of the Bukhara region. Currently, she is a 7th-grade student of the 20th school in the district. In my tune and in my tune 
 Motherland, We bow to those who know you, "I will do everything", Rainbow stars, Bilimdon 2018, Zakovat, etc. 

She is the first prize winner in competitions. Her creative writings were published in German and British publications such as Just fist edition, lulu, Rashidova Shahrizoda Zarshidovna's work was covered in Ezgulik newspaper. Her stories are on the Wikipedia open encyclopedia and published in a number of anthologies, including Towards My Goals, New Uzbekistan creative collections. 
 She's also the author of the book The lion called the first flight of the artist.

----------------------------------------------------------------------
to try harder
 

i usually have to be

pretty fucking close

to drunk off my ass

to try to talk to any

beautiful woman

i don't know

 

i remember a night

in a club back in

my twenties where

i approached this

gorgeous black

woman and said

some gibberish

 

she laughed and

told me to try

harder

 

i laughed and said

something stupid

enough to make

her smile and tell

me to go get her

a drink

 

when i came back

 

she was making out

with some other guy

 

apparently, i wasn't

drunk enough for the

beer muscles to kick

in

 

but i did enjoy her

amaretto sour
-----------------------------------------------------------------
the locusts
 

happiness is

one of those

rare events

anymore

 

i treat it like

a comet or

the locusts

 

it's not what

i want in my

life, but i

suppose it's

just the way

it is

 

they say

money can't

buy happiness

 

well guess

what

 

neither can

being poor
----------------------------------------------
in cowboy boots
 

drove past a woman

mowing her grass

in cowboy boots

 

i smiled

 

got home to find

my grass being

cut by the cousin

that molested me

as a child

 

i don't think

you'd call this

a smile
--------------------------------------------------------
the lines of pain
 

trace

the

lines

of pain

on this

broken

face

 

the

sweet

caress

of your

bloody

fingers

 

may

it be

the

last

thing

i

remember
--------------------------------------------------
looking for trouble
 

it's been years since

i went out drinking

looking for trouble

 

the last time that

happened i was

taking a girl to

go buy crack at

seven in the

morning

 

after a long night

of drinking and

fucking around

in some strip

clubs

 

looking back

 

i probably should

have had her buy

some for me


J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is old enough to know better. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review and The Asylum Floor. He has a new book out with Casey Renee Kiser from RaVenGhost Press, Altered States of The Unflinching Souls. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

I Walk Into Your Heart

I see everytime everything in your eyes

It is fair and fresh

I breathe in your love

That rebirths my heart 

The art of your living gives me shadow 

It is green and pleasant 

I walk into your heart

The road to your heart is natural 

It is long and endless

It is like a bed of roses

I never get tired

You make all the seasons spring for me

You are spring in all seasons

I hear the whisperings of the flowers

They tell me the story of your beauty

They want to steal your beauty

I ask the moon about her beauty

She tells me the mystery 

I read the north breeze 

There I get the poems of your fragrance

I asked Vinci about Monalisa 

He was wordless

As Monalisa is painted love

I asked Jibanananda about Bonolata

He was in dream

As Bonolata lives in dream

I visit your soul and see real happiness

You are real and our love is real.

August 

Teal blue of my fairy strands
The murderous blues
The hauntings of sun dried cuts
Kill your belongings
It's August
They said
But I'm still
Hooking my drunken soul
My red wined Coolings 
Can't 
Your own dealing
Homicides across globe 
My spirits a childish grimace
Enjoy your youth
Sip be merry 
A good natured wife
Milk of human kindness
Halted on 
London bridges 
Cycling through ages
Your white coloured tie 
Pattern of your very being
Still my child's sweater
Warm sipping 
A home cooked meal 
But 
The city's on fire 
A Phoenix Soul
Soon  a torpedo glory 
Sky high nebulas 
I screamed through
Be drunken white 
Your own patterns
Still it's August
They said
And My. 

Entreaties from the Pinnacles of Despair

Know yourself before knowing others
Believe in yourself before you trust blindly 
Judge yourself better than judging blood, 
and bones of a smiling on friendly faces.

Don’t carry your past sins into your sober life 
Get some sleep before the liquor drink you 
Get some rest before the cigarette inhale you 
Cry and let your tears drown the knife by your flesh.

You can only change the world with your knowledge 
Be the leader of your dreams and open arm’s happiness 
Change the directions of death, anxiety, and depression 
Remember you are miserable because your coffin has fallen 

_into the hands of people you once adopted and adored 
They farewell the world in silence with only the presence of 
death. Meanwhile, you try to call them, text them and ask 
your parents if they heard anything about them from trip to exile.

Avianics

Slightly south. Woolwash

Lagoon. This is the black

swans’ waterspace. Their

movement full of grace,

calming, better than yoga

or deep breathing. & across

the water two raptors, prob-

ably black-tailed kites, para-

llel paths & then a sudden

plunge, swirling, turning &

turning in the gyre, a perfect

double helix courting ritual.

They near the ground. Any

smaller bird goes running.

Eventually, fly species

Children may resist the bug to experi-

ment at times & get adult authority

but their great rental yield is

inspirational & transformational

so I Entreaty for Your Collaboration

in Reception of a Help validating &

prioritizing old-growth forest remnants

& never went to the authorities.

My agonist aunt writes

To dampen the effect of sex

pheromones on the mixperson

when making a cake concoction

from backyard grasses & pain-

reducing medicines, it is often

efficacious to include infusions

of green tea with bee honey &

Citrus limonum to reduce any

antagonism &/or destructive

conflict arising in nearby gynes.

An / epic art / fraudster tells all

Here in the Tampa Bay area, the

big-eyed children — alluring,

at times unbelievable — deliver

a musical version of caveat emptor,

swinging easily into the melody

even though their grasp on the

words is a bit rough at times &

the wifi on the property isn’t al-

ways effective. Still, being able

to sit in a lawn chair & listen to

intermittent music is better than

adhering to the mitigation hier-

archy. Maybe reset the network.

Or, perhaps, calm down, lie flat.

other than illicit acts

A common phrase among

scientists & students is that

a cartel exists, induced by

climatic & anthropogenic

factors, & that could quite

easily cause changes to the

serotoninergic & immune

systems of linguistic search

engines. But more research

is needed — another common

phrase from the same cohort.

A Cow

The sun, which has lost its summer power, barely shines, and it was not even warm. The coldness of the day moved to the heart of the old woman sitting in the corner of the yard. The heart of the old woman who lost her only child a few years ago was frozen, as if facing the ice. The old man, who could not keep silent about her condition, one day brought a white cow with red spots, which was very beautiful.

The old woman looked at the cow for a long time and approached it and started stroking it. As the days gave way to the months, the old woman loved the cow like her own child and did not stay away from her. The cow also gave white and delicious milk every day only for the old man and the old woman. The old woman was struggling with the cow, and the cow was listening to her.

Towards evening, dark clouds surrounded the gloomy sky. The sky was constantly roaring with grassy streaks. The old woman was upset and thought about her cow. After a sleepless night, she ran towards the corner of the yard. Except for her eyes, her face was white, her lips were trembling. There is no cow. The yard wall was broken, apparently the cow was stolen. The old woman was crying, and the old man ran to the street. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find the cow.

When he came home, the old woman was lying on the edge of the yard. The old man got scared and helped the old woman, the old woman was sobbing: «my child is in a bad condition», «he is not well». Hearing that the old woman was not well, the neighbor came out two days later to prepare a hearty, meaty meal. Then the old woman:

– Thank you so much. But I can’t have this food.

– Why?

– You said the other day that you and your children have not tasted salt for two days, that you are living in hunger, and that it is difficult to support a family without a husband. I do not want to eat their food. Give it to your children. I will be happy.

The neighbor, whose eyes were on the ground and her face was red, was sitting in silence, unable to open her mouth.

– «We have everything,» – she said without raising her head.

When the old woman said «Ok» and opened the food brought by the neighbor, her heart was pounding, and the tears in her eyes formed a stream on her face. In a trembling voice:

– «My child» – she said as she fell to the ground, seeing the meat of her cow, the death of her child, whom she lost a few years ago, was embodied before her eyes.

But this time she could not bear the separation…

Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntosporlasletras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korablznaniy» and «TalentyRossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «KayvaKishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina;s «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.