Teachings
 
Miss no chance to be still.
Lean back against the sink while you brush,
don't roam
into the sickening maelstrom of sights
that remind you why you should fear.
Don't yearn for your worry stone.
Take it from the pocket where it waits.
Feel its softness,
Test its minor heft,
Smell the stone aroma,
Touch it to your tongue, if you dare,
and listen to its heart.
No far-off waves, just you.

 

My joy is spring

Spring always gives us happiness 
Everyone feels a sense of joy
Most girls dance and use a powder
Old ages make us laugh to enjoy

I am happy about the season
That's why flowers are everywhere.
I like spring, but I don't know how 
My heart blooms when spring is here.

The nature of spring is captivating
Various birds fly on one side
My heart cries out for alerting
Every facet of spring with me alongside.

O'razaliyeva Charos lives in Uzbekistan, Syrdarya region, and attends a creativity school which is named after Halima Xudoyberdiyeva.

LET NOTHING YOU DISMAY


My father’s geographical tendencies were nurtured when he began to walk. His gentle mother’s hands on his small shoulders moved him toward or away from things like a guiding light.  There was a velocity to his knowing where his feet were planted, fast and fastidious, as if nothing else mattered.  

The familiarity of blood meant turbulence in the strictest sense of the word, and gave usable information years and years later. 

Intercessory prayer had us both kneeling at the altar in a church filled to the brim with a visual coding that was second nature to us.  The  cynical among us called it sorcery, or worse.  I had eyes like glass, which magnified what I held in the stillborn heart I was born with. I dictated to my father everything I saw. When a murder of crows softly cooed in my general vicinity, I thought of how transitory comfort is to all living things. Here one day, gone the next.  

My father stood back, crossed his arms in front of him and I knew he feared it was an omen because geography aside, we were a superstitious people, given to signs and symbols, and robed in the inflected dialect we held so close, despite the years.  When my father turned from me I pushed away the urge to guide him. We can read each other like a book, but it doesn’t mean we have to.  

Answers to prayers are eventually bestowed.  We hold patience, above all, in pockets where we will dip our hands for reassurance. All in good time.  All in good time.


Michelle Reale is the author of several poetry and flash collections, including Season of Subtraction (Bordighera Press, 2019) , Blood Memory (Idea Press), and In the Year of Hurricane Agnes (Alien Buddha Press).  She is the Founding and Managing Editor for both OVUNQUE SIAMO: New Italian-American Writing and The Red Fern Review. She teaches poetry in the MFA program at Arcadia University.

Freedom Fighters

In the heart of struggle, courage ignites,

Amidst the darkness, brave souls take flight,
In Bangladesh’s story, they stand tall and true,
Freedom fighters, forging a path anew.

With valor as their shield, and justice as their guide,
They marched through fire, side by side,
Their voices echoed, a rallying cry,
For liberty’s cause, they dared to defy.

Through tears and triumphs, they pressed on,
Their spirit unyielding, their resolve strong,
They fought for freedom, they fought for right,
In the darkest hour, they brought forth light.

Their sacrifice remembered, their legacy bright,
In the annals of history, their valor alight,
Bangladesh’s heroes, in memory evergreen,
Their courage and passion, forever seen.

Muntasir Mamun Kiron is a student of grade ten in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

I'm gonna be happy

One day a flower will open for me,
The way will always be open to me.
It's always a fun day
I will be happy, believe me.

Spring will surely come for me,
Trees bloom early in the morning.
You can also have lunch at a glance at the flowers
 I will be happy, believe me.

A rose will soon grow for me Honey is really the happiest Summer is a big work for me I will be happy, believe me.

Ilhomova Mohichehra, 7th grade student of Zarafshan city, Navoi region, school No. 9.

The Unknown
 
I told you not to be demure.
Not to trust the elderly sage with the long beard.
That knowledge is won by astute observation.
By deliberate observation.
By prayer and meditation.
Do not trust what is easy.
Easy always loses.
Persevere and let life guide you.
You have suffered.
Give up trying my child.
Let the winds of change be your metamorphosis.
This is not a dream.
This is the intolerable life of the unknown.
Give yourself over to it.
Let the fantasy and delusion melt into thin air.
Walk the irretrievable journey into oblivion and sunshine.
Let the gifts of life reveal itself to you.
Bend a knee and welcome salvation.
 

Add Subtract


Nothing is ever subtracted

Since the world we know is complete

What’s taken away 

   is added somewhere else

Its quirky cluster of molecules 

   shaken and re-assembled

   into dog hair and mushrooms

   or fact and flatulence

So let your subtraction embrace addition

And enjoy the guises hung 

   In the deep closets of reality.