Birth of a Dream
 
The birth of a dream 
Is when sleep passes through 
The veil of reality 
Into the ether of time 
Tethered by a cord 
Connecting the brain 
To the depth of the soul 
To advance into the realm 
Of timelessness. 

Nightfall and Shadows 

Nightfall and shadows gather around me 
Like a warm cocoon of memories 
Suspended in the exhalations of my breath. 
All the beloved voices my soul remembers 
Whisper in the soft radiance of twilight 
And stroll through the open door of my soul. 
All the people I love, hand-picked by time 
On a schedule marked by infinity’s choosing, 
Crossing the bar of forgetfulness and life, 
Await me on the golden shores of dreams. 
Never lost, the radiant smiles of love, 
Tucked into the tender folds of my heart. 
Memories are stealthy bits of longing 
That come tiptoeing down the corridors 
When the doors of love are left ajar. 
The paths of the heart are washed with tears 
That sparkle like dew in morning sunlight 
And vanish in the shimmer of the here and now. 
Concentrate on the absence of one beloved face 
And all the lonely corners of life, fill 
And dispel the shadows with waves of light.


Love’s Old Sweet Song 

I love the fragrant garden in your eyes; 
The exotic trade winds of your breath; 
The hidden lagoon of your devotion. 
I love the silence broken by your tread 
When with purpose you come to me; 
The hesitation when our eyes meet 
At the moment your desire showers me. 
You are master of the elements 
Swirling within my simple form 
Anticipating the moment our lips meet 
Igniting a fire of unquenchable desire. 
I hear through your touch 
I feel through your voice - 
Your every cell sings to my body 
A melody as old as time 
And I remember the song. 
Oh, my dearest, I remember the song. 

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.

First of all, here’s an announcement! Regular Synch Chaos contributor, poet Taylor Dibbert, has a newly released collection of his poetry, Invictus, available for purchase.

Also, past contributor Areg Azatyan’s novel The Flying African has just been released from Frayed Edge Press! Translated from the Armenian by Nazareth Seferian, the book follows the journey of an unnamed traveler, a young Armenian writer who spends fifty-four adventurous days in Africa, one day in each of the continent’s countries.

We are also hosting a free public literary reading in conjunction with the Association of Writing Programs conference next month in Kansas City, MO. This will be at 6pm on the evening of February 7th at Prospero’s Books. All are welcome to come and hear the readers!

Now for this month’s issue: The Ecosystem of Ideas.

Terry Trowbridge probes the intricate world of pillbugs under the ground while Don Bormon looks into the hardworking and cohesive colonies of ants.

Gulsevar Xojamova draws on the rainbow as a symbol of natural beauty and urges her country’s people to embrace the beauty and pride of Uzbekistan.

Sayani Mukherjee relates the “touch and go” nature of winter, when nature is not all dormant, but awaiting a streak of warm and dry enough weather. Azemina Krehic evokes the bitter, sucking, deathly cold of winter wind and snow. Meanwhile, Uzbek writer Nosirova Gavhar regales us with the beauty of nature and her country’s folk traditions in the spring.

Brian Barbeito suggests that woodland ecosystems should be considered a living thing in their own right, not simply the sum of living species. Ali Akramov looks into the effects flooding has on mountain geology and ecosystems.

Jerry Langdon’s poetry bridges the worlds of nature and culture as he writes of the destruction wreaked by fire, lightning, and a slow-burn romantic breakup. Mahbub Alam continues in that vein by drawing on the language of marriage to express a human union with the natural world, while Mahmudul Hasan Fahim explores the emotional, ecological, and social ramifications of different cultural funerary customs.

Z.I. Mahmud explores how poets Mary Oliver and William Blake reflect the inextricable unity of humans and nature through their Romantic and spiritual poetry.

Sayani Mukherjee‘s poetry explores the world of Paris, New York and London while Mark Young humorously compares himself to pop culture icons of past and present and Odina Rustamjonova looks into the strengths and weaknesses of the mass transit systems within Uzbekistan. Maja Milojkovic highlights a little-known cultural and linguistic connection between Tunisian Arabs and Serbians.

Isabel Gomez de Diego sends up a mix of personal and grandiose moments of contemplation and holiday celebration.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa highlights the value of personal development, urging us to take the daily steps to prepare our hearts and lives to be ready for extraordinary moments of grace.

Nafisa Abralova’s drama highlights the importance of education, discipline, and responsibility for children under our care while Charos Toshpulatova traces the development of the idea of and legal precedent for the rights of children.

John Mellender addresses growing up, laying aside or recognizing the limitations of one’s youthful idealism. Muhammed Aamir evokes a future world where we can regenerate our loved ones with the help of technology. John Edward Culp envisions his future great-grandchildren eating together and showing concern for each other in the same park where he’s doing the same for his loved one.

J.J. Campbell mixes a bit of nostalgia and anachronism in his monthly pieces on loneliness and despair, as he’s “playing jazz in a world of heavy metal.” Saad Ali mixes together history, poetic device, and love in his variety of experimental pieces.

Kristy Raines speaks to the emotional connection of true love while Ifora Bahramova paints a simple domestic scene of love between a mother and her young children. Ari Nystrom-Rice evokes childhood playground memories in his poem on the loss of a close friendship.

Safarova Zarnigor analyzes a delicate poem from Faynberg about love lasting over time while Sevinch Saidova relates the story of a man who struggles with addiction and health issues and the family who loves him unconditionally. Oona Haskovec reflects on her loneliness and desire for caring friendship, staring at her hands while eating alone in her kitchen.

Oaoao Pbobo reminds us of the joy of learning to read and write and the doors it can open for us. Nigora Tursunboyeva explores the depths of poetry and emotional resonance within the work of Uzbek children’s author Khudoyberdi Tokhtabayev. Aziza Umurzakova highlights the role preschool and young children’s education can play in a healthy nation.

Diyora Bakhodirovna outlines how new educational technologies may enhance student learning.

Nozima Baxtiyorova suggests that the technology used to continue children’s education during Covid-19 could be extended for their benefit as the pandemic lessens. Malika Kaxarova explores linguistic figures of speech and the role they play in cognition and the field of cognitive linguistics.

Mahbuba Juraboyeva outlines the importance of proper and professional speech to the legal profession while Bahora Baxtiyorova celebrates an important business leader in Uzbekistan who harnesses modern social media methods for communication and advertising. Elmaya Jabbarova honors the power, dignity, and beauty of her homeland of Azerbaijan while Faleeha Hassan conjures through her words a fanciful street scene complete with fish vendors and confetti and sandstorms and J.D. Nelson’s five monostichs hint at imagined vignettes from daily life.

Dilnoza Ochildiyeva outlines the history and heritage of her Uzbek homeland while Maftuna Imamova discusses strategies for enhancing Uzbekistan’s economic position in world markets.

Mesfakus Salahin dreams of a more peaceful and compassionate world in the future while Anila Bukhari illustrates how girls should be allowed education and freedom.

John Grochalski speaks to the many small and larger ways we assert our independence and existence as individuals. Skye Preston crafts a flash Gothic-esque sketch where a young woman vows not to take after her parents, and we find out why.

Sabrid Jahan Mahin points out the mysteries still unknown about how our brains work, although they are the strongest problem-solving force we have. The San Francisco Ballet’s new show Mere Mortals, here reviewed by Christopher Bernard, explores the Greek myth of Pandora and the fine line between human exploration and empowerment and human selfishness and evil.

Chimezie Ihekuna challenges himself to reconsider conventional wisdom in his frustrating search for truth. As for truth, Dr. Abdul Awal explores scientific, philosophical, and spiritual insights found within the Koran. Graciela Noemi Villaverde presents a protagonist whose heart has hardened because he no longer listens to the tender muse of compassion, mystery and poetry, while Mirta Liliana Ramirez depicts a heart that regenerates after repeated emotional destruction.

Bill Tope relates the tale of a courageous woman who rises up from near-devastation and solves her own rape, while Doug Hawley ponders whether the same person can handle the public and “beautiful” aspects of art and the more practical and business oriented features in his piece on two twin sisters.

Peter Cherches explores identity, plagiarism, the bounds of self-expression and alter egos in his short story that looks into what it can take to make it as a writer. Duane Vorhees renders the act of writing into something physical, dragging words and thoughts and other substances across the page.

Joshua Martin reviews Irene Koronas’ new collection gnostos, which plumbs the depths of a plethora of connected areas of knowledge and thought. He also covers Daniel Y. Harris’ new book The Metempsychosis of Salvador Dracu, which also merges human thought in the form of code and in poetry and illustrates the permeability of our concepts of personhood.

Jim Meirose also suggests an interplay of the biological and astrobiological and linguistic in his short story while Alma Ryan’s speaker dances through a portal into an artist’s dream of beauty and precarity, where paper figures live and die among splashes of paint.

James Whitehead speculates on how concepts and language itself could become a prized economic good fought over by villages and nations.

Ahmad Al-Khatat talks of how he would give up much, but not his hard-won life experience from surviving war. Meanwhile, Norman J. Olson addresses the futility of armed conflict.

Mykyta Ryzhykh speculates on “graves without flowers” – the unremembered dead – and on “flowers without graves” – the potential of celebrations without death – and mourns the loss of human and even animal dignity in alienating modern life and warfare.

Jacques Fleury addresses the inherent systemic racism of being loved as a brand who can perform and make money for others, not as a person.

Daniel De Culla denigrates fascism wherever it may arise: Spain, Argentina, Italy, or the United States.

Biloldin Mahmudov outlines diplomatic etiquette, instructing aspiring diplomats while at the same time granting grace and dignity to the role.

Stephen Jarrell Williams expresses hope for humanity’s and Earth’s future through his science-fiction poetry.

Michael Robinson speaks to the personal, spiritual and physical renewal he found after surviving open heart surgery. Annie Johnson also delves within the individual psyche, tracing a dream journey.

Kholida Toirjonova reflects on how one day she will leave behind those who may or may not properly mourn her, and it will no longer matter.

Salomova Dilfuza brings up the brevity of life and urges us to make the most of our limited time, while Sevinch Erkinova doesn’t regret a moment of her life, joyful or sorrow-filled.

Thank you very much for reading this month’s first issue of Synchronized Chaos. We hope that you do not regret even one minute of your read, and we encourage you to comment on the submissions and engage in dialogue with the authors and artists.

New York


Merriment of London walks
Sunshines of New York
The latte amore, my Paris
I bespoke every little detail
With my buckets in hand

I go down a little
Like white swans in 
Deep blue lakes
My overarching newly molten 
Blues 
My guitar friends like those
Who know how to tune
Into a little merriment
My forever Paris in his hand 
Lakes Cities Sheds Apple branches
Spread everywhere
Like a little kid 
She got her cake a blueberry almond pie
My London walking in evenings
Forevermore in bejewelled spectacle

I go up now
In New York
Amidst thousands hand clappings 
I found home
A little louder 
A little bird her squeaky quick
The little blueberry muffins
Understanding
London the pink world
My one day in London. 

MURDERER OF FATHER                                                                                       

                    or the state of uneducated teenagers

              (a lesson from an enjoyable life in Turkistan)

                                                                                       Makhmudkhoja Bekhbudi

Translated by Nafisa Abralova                                               

                            Three act, four scenes. Initial Uzbek nation tragedy

Characters (dramatic personae):

A Rich Man – 50 years old

Tashmurad – the Rich Man’s son, 15-17 years old

An Imam – instructor at a Muslim school or religious figure with new perspective

An elite person – (with clothes of Europe), studied in the Russian language

Khairullo – clerk and guard of the Rich – 18-20 years old

Tangriqul – killer of the Rich

Davlat and Nor – (virgin children) – need approximately four sum to their pockets

Liza – Russian woman, in role of foul

Artun – Armenian man who owns the drunk-house

Pristuf – including two policemen, two guards, three neighbors of the Rich Man

Boybuchcha – wife of the Rich Man – 35-40 years old

Necessary things:

A serving tray of sweets, bread, table-cloth.

A tea-pot, a tea-bowl, kalian.

A carpet, a quilt, a pillow to the hotel.

A bed.

A stick.

Ten bottles of water and kvass.

Five-six glasses.

A trunk.

A purse with something like money.

A big knife.

A pistol.

A iron tool to open the trunk.

The perfect clothes of policemen, two guards the sticks.

                                Act 1. Scene 1.

                       A hotel. The Rich is sitting with Khairullo.

Imam (enters): Assalomu alaykum.

Rich: Va alaykum assalom. Welcome to there. (He stands up and shows place to the Imam and sits again)

Imam: May Allah increase your wealth even more. (He prays)

Rich: May your prays be accepted, In sha Allah.

Imam: Of course, night of Jumma is right time to the preys be accepted.

Rich: Thank you, Imam.

Imam: You are welcome.

Rich: Khairullo! Bring tea and the serving tray!

Khairullo: It will be fine. (He brings tea and the serving tray with sweets, he pours tea and they drink)

                 Tashmurad enters rudely without greeting.

Tashmurad: Dad, I am going to the cinema, give me money!

Rich: Who are you going with?

Tashmurad: With my friend named Tursun.

Rich: Ok, come early and don’t go to a bad place. (He gives money from his pocket)

Tashmurad: Ok, ok, you talk too much.

          Imam looks at the Rich and Tashmurad and he lowers his head.

Rich: What’s up, Imam?

Imam: Well, your son has become a big boy, may God give him long life. Does he study in the new method school or in the old one?

Rich: Not both.

Imam: Do you homeschool him?

Rich: No, no, I do not think about teaching him!

Imam: I wonder why you do not teach him? Indeed, our study is both a condition and a debt, knowledge is the honor of the world and the hereafter.

Rich: In my mind, the honor of the world is wealth. As for the hereafter, there will be a destiny written by Allah. For example, we see that people respect the rich more than the learned. There are also more banks, and if someone wants to get a loan from the bank, they take the rich people like us as guarantors. Banks do not give money to people who do not have a guarantor, that is why everyone respects us a lot.

Imam: These words of yours are acceptable in the present time, but the values and respect of the guarantors and the rich are temporary, until the people come to their senses. Because they only respect you when they come with work. And the whole nation really respects scientists and intellectuals.

Rich: No, they really respect us too. Even Russians and Armenians respect us.

Imam: Okay, let’s put respect aside. If you teach your son, he will help you with your calculations, he will learn well about prayer and Islam, and it will also be a reward for you.

Rich: It is not difficult to be a clerk. I give Khairullo seven sums every month, he works as a secretary during the day, does hotel work at night, and even reads books until I fall asleep.

Imam: It is good, but you must educate your son in Sharia and religion.

Rich: It is good, but you must educate your son in Sharia and religion. My wealth alone is enough for him.

Imam: What do you say about the conditions of Islam, Namaz..?

Rich: I know the prayers for Namaz five times, I will teach him myself.

Imam: Then what about writing and literacy? However, an illiterate person is useless.

Rich: Your opinion is strange, because I am also illiterate, but I am one of the richest people in our city and I know everything.

Imam: You were practically rich in the past, but that is no longer possible. Even for daily living, knowledge is needed. As you know, for twenty to thirty years our trade has passed into the hands of Armenians and Jews and other foreigners. The reason for this is that we are not educated. In addition, we see uneducated children who ruin their father’s property and end up being humiliated-he becomes a bully. Therefore, I suggest you educate your son in school.

Rich: Hey Imam, are you criticizing me? Son is mine, wealth is mine, what is yours? One of those who read is you, but you don’t even have bread to eat. Again you advise me. Khairullo, lock the hotel, I want to sleep.

Imam (looks people): We also need money to study and become mullahs. And such is the case of our wealthy people. So with this departure, the world and the hereafter will be disgraced. Reading was the same assumption to everyone: men and women. Eh Rich, I made advice to you and fulfilled the duty on my neck. We will see your son’s condition when he is an older child, and you will still regret that you did not teach him.

Rich: Hey Imam, I don’t need an Admonisher. (depending on the people). This man distracted me from my work, from my sleep. Khairullo, lock the hotel.

Imam goes out in a row. Rich man sits nervously.

An elite person: Assalamu alaikum.

Rich: Vaalaikum assalam. Khairullo, bring a chair. This person cannot sit on the ground.

Khairullo brought the chair. The elite person sat down and smoked.

The elite person: Mr Rich, you don’t seem to be in a good mood, may I know why?

Rich:  An Imam came, “Why aren’t you teaching your son?” said. I barely escaped chasing him. We almost got into a fight.

The elite person: Yeah, yeah, it was a very interesting event. (Looking at people) There is also a mullah in this city who commands the rich. Alhamdullilah. I need to find that Imam. Ziyoli. Ah-ha, interesting and intriguing event indeed (referring to people), there is a well-known and respected mullah in this city who guides the people. Thank God, I found the true path and now I must visit the southern holy shrines. Boy, sir, may your words never fail, I also wanted to speak a few words to you for a long time. But now is not the right time, so please give me a few minutes of your attention so that I can talk about beneficial knowledge.

Rich (looking at him): Now I understand, you also consider me as someone who teaches children (referring to people). Today I am sitting on my left side thinking about unexpected matters, let’s put aside these thoughts and go towards our destination. Goodbye! Bring my pipe! (Both remain silent, the pipe arrives. Boy lights it up).

Rich: Goodbye!

Khairullo: Excuse me!

Rich: Take care of my place, I need to sleep (yawns), there will be a lot of work tomorrow and I need rest (yawns again).

Khairullo: Alright then.

Elite person (seriously): Rich, sir! I told you that I wanted to talk about necessary knowledge for the nation but it seems like you are not interested in listening to my words. For the second time, please listen to me for a few minutes so that I can talk about beneficial knowledge for you and the nation.

Rich: Do you want to force and burden me with your words? And why did you come here? To punish me?

Elite person: No, I came here for another reason but got distracted by the discussion of knowledge. So let me change the subject and explain about knowledge properly to you. Maybe young boys like you should be taught religious subjects.

Rich (looking at the people): Well, it seems like there are not enough mullah stories. Okay, my dear friend, do not be disappointed, finish your talk tomorrow. I am sleepy now (yawns), go and teach the children.

Elite person: This is a new and different era. In this era, without knowledge and skills, the people’s dignity, land, and property will gradually disappear. Even morality and culture will deteriorate, and even religion will become weak. That is why it is necessary for us to teach Muslims, especially in this era there are two types of scholars: one is religious scholars; the other is contemporary scholars. Religious scholars include imams, preachers, teachers, religious judges, muftis who manage the religious and moral affairs of the common people. These students should first study scientific and religious subjects in Turkistan and Bukhara, then go to Mecca, Medina, Egypt and Istanbul to complete their religious studies or become competent clerics (Boy listens attentively). Do you understand boy?

Rich (raising his head): Yes, yes, tell me more.

Elite person: To become a contemporary scholar, children should first learn Islamic reading and writing as well as their native language after studying at madrasas (religious schools) or schools under the government’s system. After completing their education at gymnasiums (high schools) and city schools they should be sent to universities in St. Petersburg or Moscow to study medicine, agriculture engineering , law , fine arts , economics , philosophy , teaching profession , etc . They should actively participate in Russian society and state affairs and reach high positions in the government . If they contribute to the welfare of our nation according to our current needs as well as serve Islam by becoming partners of the Russian state even if they become partners of the Russian state , send Muslim children who have studied this way to educational institutions in Farangistan (Europe), America or Istanbul for further education . Our beloved prophet said: If knowledge is found even in China, seek it out, isn’t that right? (Boy falls asleep) These things are not possible without money but with the support of great people like you, wealthy Muslims from the Caucasus, Orenburg and Kazan spend a lot of money on educational programs and teach disabled children. Of course, you probably didn’t understand what I said, southern boy. Boy, ah!

Rich (smiling, raising his head proudly): Yes, yes…

Elite person: Oh, let me tell you something about the bad habit of our Turkistan people. If someone learns Russian and gets a job in government service wearing an official uniform, they make fun of him. If he becomes a spy or a black market worker and wears old clothes of Europeans or the clothes of gamblers, nobody says anything. They think that this is normal and ignorance of the world. Isn’t that right, boy?

Rich  (lying on his side): Xur, xur, xurra, xurra, xurra…

Elite person: Oh my god! May God’s mercy be upon the Islamic ummah, especially us Turkistanis! (Leaves with tears in his eyes).

Curtain falls.

SECOND SCENE

Scene in a tavern: a boy and three men are lying dead.

TANGRIQUL: I don’t understand why I don’t feel drunk even though I drank so much. I’ve been drinking for days and my ears haven’t turned red. Fill it up with more wine! (Fills their cups).

ALL: Cheers to Toshmurod the boy! Cheers! Cheers! (They drink).

DAVLAT: Let’s go. I drank Manuv’s wine and now Liza came to my mind. Oh Liza!

ALL: Oh Liza, where are you?

NOR: The cruel fate has separated me from my beloved; if only she could come back.

DAVLAT: This is all nonsense. Let’s call the fortune teller and try to bring our father back from the grave.

NOR: Give me your hand, you nomad, if you want to find something (grabs his hand). Done.

DAVLAT: Hey Tangriqul who believes everything you say. You’re lying to everyone. Go and drink. It’s your turn, it’s my turn. Talk and lie down. Or don’t you want to make these people feel bad? We all have a five tenge coin in our pockets. Go on! Open the door and lie down.

TANGRIQUL: Let’s go. We don’t hide anything from you. If I tell the truth, I drank Manu’s wine and my ear turned red, you said it was Liza, now even if I become like this myself, my mind is on Liza and if you don’t bring Liza, you won’t be able to talk to me. But since you brought it up, Davlat, do it!

DAVLAT: Don’t worry about it, if Liza is here, you will see her soon, won’t you? I’ll take your head.

NOR: Boy! Do you have water for washing?

TOSHMUROD: Yes, sir. Let me bring some water for washing.

TANGRIQUL: You talk so much and waste time with meaningless words. If only you were as fast as your words. Hurry up and wash me (Davlat starts shouting loudly). Next!

ARTUN: What’s going on?

DAVLAT: Send someone to call Liza.

ARTUN: Why?

DAVLAT: Yes, didn’t she say that she won’t come until she gets fifteen thousand tenge? Give her fifteen thousand tenge and also pay for the taxi fare. I’ll send Nikolay over there. If there is no Liza, bring someone else, what do you care?

TANGRIQUL: Artun! Wait a minute, we’ll give you the money.

ARTUN: Really? Then give it to me now so that I know that Liza won’t come without money. Yes, give me fifteen thousand tenge and a little extra. I’ll bring back Nikolay. If there is no Liza, we’ll have fun with someone else, right?

DAVLAT: First bring her here, then I’ll give you the money.

ARTUN: Alright, I’m ready (leaves. They all start enjoying themselves and remain silent).

DAVLAT: Pour the wine! (Nor pours it for them).

TANGRIQUL: Asking for money right away made him sober up.

DAVLAT: If it’s the opposite of work, it will be like this. If you have money, bring it out. Bring out your money carriers (they all bring out their wallets, but Davlat doesn’t have enough). There is nothing here. We need to find a solution.

NOR (mockingly): Hey boy, we are poor cripples. If you tell us what you want from us, we won’t have any money left? Look at the palm of the boy’s hand (shows his hand).

DAVLAT: Don’t worry about that. Nor. I thought of something if the boy agrees.

TANGRIQUL: What is it? What?

DAVLAT: Wait, you know

TASHMUROD.  Brother Tangriqul, are you going?

TANGRIQUL:  I will go to the other world if the gods order.  It’s your yard.

DAVLAT: What do you say, Nor?

 LIGHT:  I will also go if you say you have one of many.

 STATE:  No, just two.  Don’t be suspicious of those who saw it.  Today is tomorrow.

 NOR:  Little boy!  Do you know the location of your father’s coffin?

 TASHMUROD:  In my father’s dormitory.

 DAVLAT:  How many doors does the dormitory have?

 TASHMUROD: Three.

 DAVLAT: Which door do you enter?

 TASHMUROD.  One of the doors opens from my mother’s house, I enter and open the door on the side of the yard, and then my brother Tangriqul enters.

 DAVLAT:  Blessings!  Looks like you’ve stolen before.  No!  Fill up, let’s drink!  (Fills the light and drinks. Looking at Tangrikul and Tashmurad) Are you going now?

 TANGRIQUL: Of course.  What is the matter?

 DAVLAT: (looking at the two).  Farewell, heroes?

 TANGRIQUL: Olgani (the State takes aside Tangriqul, hints and secretly gives information and commands).

 NOR: Amen, Allah… (All) Allahu akbar.  (The state gives blessings).

 The curtain is drawn

 THIRD ACT

 As usual, the rich man was sleeping on the bed, and we put the house on one side.  Tashmurad gently enters through one door, looking this way and that, opens another door and stands aside.  Tangrikul enters with a key and an iron tool in his hand, a knife on his waist, he goes to the chest and puts the key, but the chest does not open.  He looks at Tashmurad.  He gestures and asks for advice.  Tashmurad ordered to break the chest with an iron tool.  Tangriqul breaks the chest with an iron tool.  Rich wakes up with the sound of a box.  The rich man was frightened, took the club and ran to Tangriqul saying, “Oh, oh, oh, oh.”  Tashmurad grabs the club.  Tangrikul stabbed his neck in his armpit with a knife.

 RICH (falls apart): Wow, my dear (sighing, grunting. Tangrikul takes a bag of coins from the chest, hides a knife and an iron tool, the sound of several people can be heard from outside).

 PEOPLE.  What’s up, someone said dod?  (They enter a rich woman with several men, they see Tangriqul and Tashmurod).

 TANGRIQUL: Tashmurad, horse!  (Tashmurad shoots a pistol in the air and now shows the weapons to the people and runs away).

 BOYVUCHCHA:  Alas, from the hand of the oppressor!  What a day it was, wow dod!  (He claps his hands, throws himself on the rich man, tears his face and hair).  Hey, young man Tashmurad!  Bloody bird!  If only you had smallpox!  Oh dear!  Tashmurad!  Whoa, dod-ey!

 IMAM(enters): Mother, you have no choice but to be patient.  The cause of this misfortune and calamity is ignorance and ignorance, absurdity and lack of education.  Ignorance has ruined your house.  Beilm will send your son to Siberia.  The scourge of neglecting your dear child will take its life away from you.  Your child was not raised or educated by his father.  In the end, you got into trouble, bad wives led you astray, and you became a victim of ignorance.

 BOYVUCHCHA (excited): Oh, wow, baby!  Oh, my dear, oh, oh, wow!

 IMAM: Boyingiz didn’t listen to the advice and finally this bad incident appeared.  Andy, you really have no choice but to be patient, Mom.  May Allah give you patience.

 BOYVUCHCHA (perfect impatience makes the snake sigh).  Dod, oh oy!  Oh my rich!  I lost both of them, they will send my husband to the grave and my child to Siberia!  Wow, wow, wow!

 FOURTH SCENE

 (Same as the second one, tavern)

 No, Davlat kills by drinking and singing.  Tangriqul and Tashmurad sneaked in, hid the pistol and the bloody knife aside, took out the wallet and threw it on the table;  they kill.

TANGRIQUL: Bring my chili!

 Artun brings chili, checks.  Artun leaves.  Tangriqul takes  DAVLAT to one side, talks about confidential matters, and makes hints. Davlat placates the “poor” with a hint.

 TANGRIQUL (opening the wallet, drinking water, patting Tangriqul and Tashmurod on his shoulder). Excellent, excellent (Government rings, Artun enters).

ARTHUN: Do you order?

DAVLAT: Ma, take the money, hurry and bring Lizann!

 ARTHUN:  Headrest.  He comes now (they take the money, they drink. Liza enters).

 LISA: Good evening!  (everyone will see).

 DAVLAT: Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…

 LISA: Mercy (killer).

 DAVLAT: Pour , to Lisa’s health.

 NOR (spouring, squatting).  Cheers to Lisa’s health (drinks).

 Nor sings, whistles are heard from outside, footsteps are heard.  People at the meeting will be confused and surprised.  Armed policemen, police officers, guards enter.  Lisa opens.

 The police arrest four people, search some of their belongings and everywhere, and find a bloody knife and a pistol.  He hands the pistol to the police officer. 

 Tangriqul and Tashmurad run away.  Guards catch.

 Tashmurad cries loudly and becomes restless.

 Pristup points.  They bring out a sledgehammer and hit Tangriqul and Tashmurad.  The hands of the other two are tied.

 Pristup ranks sinners and guards.

 Elite person (enters, looks at the sinners and regrets. Looking at the people).  This is the result of children without knowledge and education.  If their father had taught them, this crime and adultery would not have happened, and they would not have drunkenly, and they would not have had a bad diet.  As long as he lived, he would not stay in Siberia, slavery, and hell.  If they didn’t drink alcohol, they wouldn’t have to suffer and work forever in this world and the hereafter.  Oh, it was really ignorance that killed the rich man and made these guys suffer forever.  It is lack of education and ignorance that make us homeless, childish, and uneducated.  A nation that has progressed in the world will progress with the help of science.  Those who are captives and captives are also from ignorance.  As long as we are not disciplined and do not educate our children, bad events and misfortunes will always reign among us.  There is no other way to make these things disappear, except to study and study.  May Allah Ta’ala always be an example to others and give you patience.

 PRISTUF (in a commanding tone).  Drive, stop, march (direction).

                The curtain closes

Circle Family

Can someone find me a map? 
Where  there is no bloody barbed wire fence 
There will only be lines of love 
Villages of humanity will undoubtedly reach the sky 

The paths along the way will be dreamy
 The song of communism will be heard in the flock of birds 
The tone of union will anchor the language of the earth
The footprints will not be pierced by the arrows of hatred
 A flower's aroma will grow in the congealed wound 

Let our children draw that map
 Poetry will touch the edge of that map 
All the accumulated troubles will be removed
There will be no tears in the world of circles 
Hungry eyes will not burn.

UNSCRUPULOUS
 
Hope buried 
Under the rubble of ignorance 
Gray cries 
Screams that make you laugh 
Laughter that is scary 
Values: discarded 
The sky cries while the afternoon dies 
At which bend in the road He lost her? 
When did the magic leave him? 
A trumpet sounds under a voice of command 
Will fulfill your destiny as an opaque rite 
Earth man 
Fool man 
Unscrupulous
Sneaky hail about a pink laugh 
Man of trembling intelligence overshadowed by her folly 
Apologize for nothing 
And screams making only noise 
She is a region of echoes 
Plastered rose that is filled with pure air and is reborn, the next day
She can feel the elements and spin 
With them
She can go from repose to dreams and from dreams to eternity 
Yes she is poetry and a thousand times choose to be 
She can lose herself in hers center without losing the essence of it, 
Throbbing like her blood, wandering like a cloud 
Earth man 
Of false arguments of misunderstood philosophy  
Stay in your loft of hypocrisy and miss what for the last time made him feel alive.

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects, of the Hispanic World Union of Writers .UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is a commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.