***

alley of non-existent views

despite the fact that the birds did not return 

from distant countries:::

spring has come

***

small misfortunes ooze from all cracks

birds die as soldiers lovers become unloved

and only the swallow flies overhead as freely as before the war

the swallow does not ask for names and secrets but simply flies

and together with the bird with a scalpel flies the potency of years forgotten by doctors

not taken into account by seconds of happiness when you are next to me

***

what are you doing while the world around you becomes dead

what do you crave

how many needles are in your skin

how much need + thirst is in your skin

we part forever as strangers

I will forever forget that you appeared before me 

as a swallow of new days 

and forever captured the long-dead

where to get the air that will no longer fill our bedroom

where to get warmth for a person with a sweater instead of a body

in what language to kill the past in which I still live stomping in the future

***

my duty is over

another boy not born in the dark sailed away to nowhere

soap bubbles of pink walls of the red night

when I came into this world fresh

and now I’m squeezed into the tea of death like an iron lemon

if my ex-husband decided to write a novel about me

then black poems of white darkness would turn out

the purity of the stars in the sky

among the hearty voids of the mountains the wind of change roams

a grown old child who will forever wait for his mary poppins

infinity murder

all in vain 

***

crunching feet and feet of foliage under our boots

trees have long wanted to punish us for our violence

but all trees can do is grow deeper into the ground and be silent

***

Drops play with their own transparency

I’d like to know what’s really in your head

I would like to know what’s really in my head

The ice grows over and acquires new scars

The hope inside me is the last to die

But outwardly I’ve been dead for a long time

Steam rises up as if there were no dreams at all

I bury birds on the pier and trample sand castles

This is how I trample and bury your portrait painted in my head

It starts to rain and your mouth opens to drink

I still love you like at the beginning

I’m still dying like the unborn Jesus

I’m still alive but in vain

***

masters of dreams

beetles hide 

in autumn leaves

***

other free birds sit in the trees

fear of freedom in feathers sits in the trees

people sit around blood and murder

people sit inside the blood and murders

***

What are we looking for instead of freedom?

a man walks alone along the road

and the road seems to him to be the road to heaven

what should we do during the war?

only to move on and seek peace

just live at any cost

What is a person in essence?

The whole gamut of despair from red to white

and that child who walks along the main road

where will the child go?

***

a storm is brewing

inside my heart

I Am She

I am She, the ageless feminine; 
Bringer of life via the veins of time and blood;
I am the midwife of celestial birth;
The ears of humanity’s soul songs;
The conscience of all who breathe and speak.
I am the life force of spirit and flame;
The bringer of knowledge through error;
Through waves of anguish and tears.
I am the moist lips on the act of procreation.
I am She, the joy of creation’s repetition;
The steadfast reaching for perfection
And the holy quest of all that is beauty.
Give to me your tears, your laughter,
Your creations, your brightness of spirit.
Place your love-flowers on my soul’s altar;
Share with me all that brings joy or sorrow.
I am She, Mother of a puling universe;
Everlasting as the light of the sun;
As the moon swelling tides of the mind. 
I am She, the ageless feminine; 
Bringer of life via the veins of time and blood.


How Do I Express Such Love

Deeper than darkest darkness; 
Higher than heavenly light;
Love that is true is boundless;
A carefree, uncharted highway
Leading to completeness in life.
The soft-spoken words of love
Are more soul-swelling lovely
Than the notes of a golden harp
Or the trills of a crystal flute
Echoing from love’s symphonies;
Skipping gaily over time’s promises;
Fading in gales of forever-afters.
I see you in my wildest dreams;
I hear your footfalls in the halls
Of all the empty house loneliness
That ever haunted my yearning.
Your love whispers on the wind,
Fill my ears with expectations
And dreams of love’s tomorrows.
How do I express such love for you?

Annie Johnson is 84 years old. She is Shawnee Native American. She has published two, six hundred-page novels and six books of poetry. Annie has won several poetry awards from world poetry organizations including; World Union of Poets; she is a member of World Nations Writers Union; has received the World Institute for Peace award; the World Laureate of Literature from World Nations Writers Union and The William Shakespeare Poetry Award. She received a Certificate and Medal in recognition of the highest literature from International Literary Union for the year 2020, from Ayad Al Baldawi, President of the International Literary Union. She has three children, two grandchildren, and two sons-in-law. Annie played a flute in the Butler University Symphony. She still plays her flute.

Drug addiction is a significant, global problem worldwide

     According to the resolution adopted by the UN General Assembly on December 7, 1987 (No. 42/112), “June 26 – International Day of Combating Drug Abuse and Illicit Trafficking” is celebrated worldwide every year.

       Since this day, the people of the world have united in the fight against the epidemic of drug addiction, the reason why drug addiction is one of the main problems of the world society and is a dangerous factor in our time. Every year on the 26th of June, various agreements are signed between the countries to limit the sale of narcotic substances and not to cultivate them.

       In February 1909, representatives of 13 countries gathered in Shanghai to fight against the cultivation of narcotic drugs in Asia and established the Shanghai Commission. Reading such information, we are convinced that drug addiction is a global problem.

       In addition, more than 500 million people are infected with this disease in the world, and these indicators continue to grow. Most of them are under 30 years old. As a result, more than 211,000 people die prematurely every year. The average age of people who die from drug addiction in Europe is 35 years. According to experts, 1.6 million people contracted AIDS as a result of drug use, 1.2 million people were diagnosed with hepatitis B virus, and 7.2 million people were infected with hepatitis C virus. At the same time, 57 percent of crimes committed in the world are committed by drug addicts.

    Therefore, in order to strengthen the fight against drug addiction, the UN Conventions “On Narcotic Substances”, “Psychotropic Substances” and “Conventions on Combating Illicit Trafficking in Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances”, and in the territory of the Republic of Uzbekistan in 1999 “On narcotic drugs and psychotropic substances” law was adopted.

   Measures are always being taken to eliminate this global problem, illegal consumption and circulation of psychotropic substances. However,  have we ever thought about why people become “captives” of such narcotic and psychotropic substances?

   Physiological and psychological changes that occur in people can sometimes lead people to consume drugs. For example: various disagreements with family members, ignorance about the dangers of alcohol and drugs, severe depression, simple curiosity, misalignment of values ​​in modern society, strong western psychological influence and lack of promotion of a healthy lifestyle, it is examples like these that unknowingly start people addict to drug .

   Sometimes, some people who want to be materially rich put an end to the lives of several people in the way of their selfish goals. They intended to educate the population, especially young people, about psychotropic substances and then profit from them. But as it is said that every work has its reward and punishment, it is inevitable that they will be prosecuted for this activity.

 In conclusion, it is necessary to avoid becoming a victim of bad vices such as drug addiction. It is the duty of each of us to be aware of what is happening in the society and around us, and to fight against the rise of drug addiction, without being indifferent to the fate of the whole humanity.

Zebo Ibragimova was born on February 24, 2005 in Urta Chirchik district of Tashkent region. Working as the leader of the Youth Union Primary organization, she was recognized as the winner in nominations such as “The Most Middle-aged Girl”, “The Most Poet Girl”, “Spring Queen”.  Her creative works are publishing in national and international newspapers,  journals and anthologies.

Doppelgangers by A. Iwasa
 
I'm convinced everyone has at least one doppelganger.  There are only so many ways a human being can look.

For years I was haunted by one, who also had the same first name.  I became aware of this the first time I walked into Common Ground, a café in Kamm's Corners, Cleveland.  I walked up to the counter, and a really pretty barista said, "Hello Alex."

I was smitten but dumbfounded.  I asked, "How do we know each other?"

She squinted a little, and said, "Oh, funny, you look like my friend, Alex."

A few years later I was on my way to Common Ground for my second time and told this story.  My ride's older sister was sitting with me in the back seat and said, "That was me!  You look like my friend Alex, and I was the only cute girl working there, then!"

I could have keeled over and died.  She was still all kinds of cute, and now she was starring at me.  Perhaps this was when I found out Alex fronted Cows in the Graveyard.

Rewind to 1996, and I'm walking through a way over sold Mushroomhead, Incantation, Forlorn show at the Phantasy Nite Club in Lakewood, Ohio.  An extremely attractive young woman walks up to me and exclaims, "Alex!"

I ask, "How do we know each other?"

She looks me over and says. "Sorry, you look like my friend Alex."

"I am Alex!"

She laughs and replies, "Oh, funny, you're also named Alex?" then walks away leaving me disappointed.

A year or two later I'm walking through Parmatown Mall, and briefly talk with another mall rat.  Later he told me as I walked away his companion said, "He looks like my friend, Alex."

He told her, "That was Alex."

"No, Alex sings for a band."

"Alex sings for a band."

"Not him, different Alex."

I was also told she thought Alex was hot, for whatever that was worth.

A few years later I was on my way to Washington, DC to protest the war in Afghanistan before it started.  We stopped in Kent, and a student I didn't know sat down next to me and we got to talking.  Eventually she told me I looked like the singer of a band she just saw.  I asked if the bands was Cows in the Graveyard, but she couldn't remember.  I was ready to lose my mind!

The next summer I was at a drum circle behind the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on a Sunday evening, and a lovely young woman I just met told a mutual friend she might have still been dating at the time, "Doesn't he look like Alex?"

He simply replied, "Alex is hot?"

"You think so?!"

"Yes!"

"I don't."

We make eye contact, I'm frowning deeply.  She laughs awkwardly and says, "What I'm saying?  Alex is hot."  We sort of become friends that summer, but I was always a bit suspicious that she was using me to make her ex jealous.

In October that year, the International ANSWER Coalition organized demonstrations against the second Iraq War before it started, and I went to the action in Clevo's Public Square.

Somehow I ended up in a conversation about doppelgangers, and I heard the worst doppelganger story ever:  "About every five years someone walks up to me, punches me in the face, and then says, 'Oh my God, I'm so sorry!  I thought you were someone else!'"

We all laugh heartily, I can't top that one, but I share my haunting story to a few good laughs.

Later I keep hearing people shout, "Alex!" but they're never calling for me.  I notice someone else answering all the calls as he dorks with the PA.  He has brown skin, about my height, glasses, shaggy hair (we both had long, long hair, then cut it about the same time)... and a backpatch:  Cows in the Graveyard.  I walk up to my long lost brother, and introduce myself.

I retell my story of how I'd been hearing about him for some six and a half years.  He'd like to know who all these pretty women were.

Godless Libraries

“Our duty is manifest,” Greg intoned, peering down through the bright lights and into the seats which were filled with members of Citizens Concerned for Children; this was yet another right wing group that he coveted. 

He hoped to recruit them in his unrelenting quest to ban virtually all books from school libraries.  The crowd shouted its approval.   Greg smiled.  He was happily in his element.

Greg, Governor of his state, held up his hands for quiet only halfheartedly; he adored adulation from the unwashed masses.  

“Do you know what your children are reading?” he boomed out ominously. He held up a book–“Rubyfruit Jungle”– and the crowd booed on cue.  In back of the room, Fox News filmed the address. Sean Hannity provided a running commentary.

Taking up the volume, Greg ripped it into two pieces, then cast it to the floor, where it landed with a loud splat, which echoed throughout the huge hall.

The audience went “ooh,” at the Governor’s display of outrage and pure physical strength.

“Here’s another one we don’t need,” he declared, holding up “Beloved,” to the hisses and catcalls from those assembled.

Clutching the book over his head, he ripped the book in two.  The cloud politely applauded, duly impressed. 

Unknown to the audience, Greg had had the books’ spines broken prior to the meeting.

He said, “We want to get rid of “The Bluest Eye” and “A Catcher in the Rye” and “Huckleberry Finn” and “The Hate U Give,” and “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings.”

With each successive declaration the crowd’s excitement grew.

“Do you know what the presence of these books in the library leads to?” he asked.

Someone shouted out, ” Black Lives Matters!” Another yelled, “Critical Race Theory!” Greg nodded somberly in agreement with each shouted statement. “It means,” he said gravely, “godlessness!”

The crowd was in a frenzy now, excited almost beyond even Greg’s expectations. “Are you with me, then?” he demanded.

“Yes!” shouted the audience and four hundred fists were thrust righteously into the air.

“All right then,” said the Governor, cuing a queue of young men who fanned out across the room.  “I’m going to ask you good folks for a love offering,  These funds will be used to finance the campaigns of candidates who agree with you, that these godless books should be removed from our libraries.  Please give generously.

As the boys avidly gleaned the riches from the assemblage, Greg appeared to grow thoughtful, leaned into the mic and said, “And tomorrow, we’ll talk about restoring prayer to our classrooms.  We’ve got a Constitution to safeguard, people!”

The Town Fool

Bob never stays at home
He never wanted to be alone
In the street corner with lively tone,
Dancing with pointed hat like a gnome
You have odd jobs you want to be done,
And your lazy hubby's out of town
Just call Bob, he will not let you down
Don't give Bob money, or he'll be gone
Bob loves cookies and hot chocolate,
Surely your groceries won't be late! 
Once a stranger used it as a bait, 
And poor Bob met a violent fate
The whole town went into great uproar
No one believed, for Bob, such horror
Stranger caught, he's seriously beaten
Even judge didn't think twas bad thing
Why the fury? He's just the town fool.
Getting all worked up, they're just ain't cool! 
Bob may seem to you just a fool,
But he's well-loved by all the people


Women Empowerment 

W isdom gathered through blood and tears
O bligations done with loving smiles not fears
M arriage is a bonus and not a necessity 
E ngaging in any desired opportunity 
N urturing the family, society, human community 

E nvironmental awareness for rehabilitation
M otherhood deserves honor and protection
P eace and prosperity is her deepest ambition 
O utspoken yet meekness of the soul makes sense
W omen encompass the balance of existence 
E nvisioned future without its chaotic norms
R ejuvenate nature in its realistic forms
M en can be stronger with women as equals
E mpowered without barbaric rituals
N ations will have survival chance to course
T ruth be told, women can be your salvation or curse.


Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry. 

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.

My tongue that entered my ear as lullaby,
My valiant tongue in the bosom of the ages,
I will write you every moment,
My blood, my language, oh, my motherland.

Come strolling, meaning my language,
Always sing like a nightingale my tongue,
He has the spirit of Navoi, he has Babur,
Let every dialect be beautiful, my language.

Every word has a hundred meanings in my mother tongue,
Every flame is a fire in every heart,
Everything ripples in this language,
Endless treasure, legend in my tongue.

This is my language, which the whole world respects.
This is my language, inherited from my ancestors.




Abdunazarova Khushroy was born on December 21, 2008. She is 15 years old. Currently, she is a pupil of 8th grade of the 15th DIUM of Mingbulak district, Namangan region. She is interested in English and Mathematics. She wants to become a interpreter in the future. And also she is a member of the international organization "All India Council for Technical skill development".