Caring only that mud prints out bloom petals’ falls
You’ve kissed earthen boards and ashen walls goodbye
Released their sheltering hold with a sigh
You’ve embraced ancient beams dusted with time
Yet still unfold branches in their prime
Nearby skies hold sunset’s fading grace
Less fair than last month’s rosy face
Nearby voices whisper sorrow’s trace
Less sweet than former joy’s embrace
Watch wheel tracks crush velvet blooms below
Watch red lights and whistles stir dust’s flow
See you not how dark words, crowds, and cars oppress
Waiting to fade away
Waiting for your white flowers to cleanse time’s clay
Su Yun, whose real name is Chen Ruizhe, is a 17-year-old poet. He is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society. His works have been published in more than ten countries, including the poetry collections “Spreading All Things” and “Wise Language Philosophy” in China, and the poetry collection “WITH ECSTASY OF MUSING IN TRANQUILITY” in India. He won the 2024 Guido Gozzano Apple Orchard Award in Italy.
Since the beginning of January 2025, I have been fully committed to promoting the poetry exchanges between Chinese and foreign young poets, and now some achievements have been made. At this moment, I am leading Chinese young poets to participate in the “Paper Fiber Poetry Festival” jointly organized by four countries. The aim is to let the world know and understand the outstanding works of Chinese young poets more widely, and also enable more international poets to get close to the unique creative styles of young poets. Moreover, I will carefully translate all the poems of this poetry festival into Chinese and release them on Chinese websites, so that domestic friends can also appreciate the elegance of foreign poets and feel the charm of poetry in different cultural contexts. Promoting exchanges of Chinese and foreign poetry has always been our original aspiration. Poetry is like an invisible bond that closely connects our hearts.
It is particularly worth mentioning that when this poetry festival is held, it coincides with the early spring in China. The willows on the land are sprouting new buds, and the peach trees are just in bloom. Spring clothes are ready, and all things are thriving, just like the enthusiasm and hope we have for poetry and exchanges. In this beautiful season, I sincerely wish that all of us can, like the things in spring, burst with inspiration and create our own miracles in the new year.
A character in the film reminded him of a former coworker. Trying to remember the guy’s name, he briefly spaced out on the film. He wondered what the character who reminded him of his former coworker might have said to the woman in the green dress when he was trying to remember the guy’s name to make her so angry. He didn’t dwell on it. When the credits were rolling, he remembered the former coworker’s name. Claude. But what was his last name?
At the coffee shop after the film, he ordered a BLT. He associated BLTs with old-style coffee shops, the kind with Formica counters and swivel stools and faux-leather-upholstered booths. His wife ordered apple pie and a cup of coffee. Somehow, drinking coffee at night didn’t keep her awake. The apple pie was topped with whipped cream. “So what did you think?” she asked him.
“What do you mean?”
“You know, the movie. What did you think?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of liked it.”
“That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I’d like to discuss the film. Just once. You never want to talk about films. Don’t you know that’s part of the fun, discussing it afterwards?”
“Anthony,” he replied. “Claude Anthony.”
Muffins
He was wearing the slippers his wife had bought him for his most recent birthday and the pajamas she’d bought him for Christmas two years earlier. She was nude underneath her bathrobe, after a shower. He still enjoyed her neckline. They were sitting at the kitchen table, eating buttered corn muffins with their coffee. He had never buttered a corn muffin before they met, or a muffin of any kind. Sometimes they ate bran muffins, and blueberry muffins once in a blue moon, but corn muffins were a fairly regular weekend treat. She tried baking them once, but the ones from Jensen’s Bakery were so much better. She knew Polly Jensen from the local Democratic club and enjoyed a little chat with her when the shop wasn’t busy. He was reading the morning paper. “Listen to this,” he said, and read her a story of local interest.
“Some people never learn,” she said, got up, rinsed her mug, and returned to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Kind of a Message
“Someone called,” she told him when he returned home. He knew someone had called for him, otherwise she wouldn’t have mentioned it.
“Did they leave a message?”
“Kind of,” she said. “The caller only said, ‘He’ll know what this is about.’”
“Did they leave a name?”
“No.”
“Did they leave a number?”
“No.”
“A man or a woman?”
“Woman.”
Who could it be? he wondered. A woman. She probably thinks I’m cheating on her. But I’m not. I’ve come close, I’ve been tempted, but I’ve never cheated.
There is a conversation between souls that only the heart can hear (English Version)
The meeting of souls… a language only the heart understands
In a time filled with noise, silence is sometimes the most eloquent means of understanding. In a world governed by material relationships and false appearances, the meeting of souls still holds a profound secret that cannot be explained or written about, but rather felt and experienced.
What is the meeting of souls?
It is a feeling that cannot be begged for or contrived. When you meet another soul, you feel comfortable with them without prior acquaintance, and you feel as if they have been inside you for a long time. You know them, and they know you, they hear you without speaking, and they sense you even from thousands of miles away. It is that silent understanding, a harmony that needs no justification, and a presence that does not ask for permission.
Souls meet before bodies
Ibn al-Qayyim, may God have mercy on him, said: “Souls are conscripted soldiers. Those that recognize each other will get along, and those that do not recognize each other will disagree.”
This statement clearly indicates that souls may reunite before their companions’ bodies meet in this world, as if there were a previous world where good souls reunited. When they meet on earth, they recognize each other without warning.
The meeting of souls is not bound by time.
You may meet someone for a single moment and feel closer to them than anyone you’ve known for decades. You may spend years with others without feeling any real connection with them. Meetings are not governed by time, but by honesty, transparency of feelings, and purity of intention.
Is it love? Friendship? Or something deeper?
The meeting of souls cannot be summed up in a single mold. It may be love, friendship, or a fleeting relationship that remains etched in the memory. But it always leaves an indelible mark on the soul and teaches us that the most beautiful bonds are built not with words, but with sincere feelings.
Why do we long for certain souls?
Because, quite simply, our souls know who they like and are drawn to those who are similar to them. We may miss someone we haven’t spent enough time with, but we have experienced a rare, unforgettable feeling with them.
In conclusion…
The meeting of souls is a divine gift that doesn’t come every day, or with just anyone. It’s a hidden blessing and a reminder that what unites people is much deeper than appearance, name, or circumstances.
If you find someone who you feel is similar in spirit to you, hold on to them and be honest with them. That moment may not happen twice.
تلاقيالأرواح… لغةلايفهمهاإلاالقلب
في زمنٍ امتلأ بالضجيج، بات الصمت أحيانًا أبلغ وسيلة للفهم. وفي عالم تحكمه العلاقات المادية والمظاهر الزائفة، لا يزال تلاقي الأرواح يحمل سرًا عميقًا لا يُفسر ولا يُكتب، بل يُحَسّ ويُعاش.
ما هو تلاقي الأرواح؟
هو شعور لا يُستَجدى ولا يُفتعل. حين تلتقي بروحٍ أخرى فترتاح لها دون سابق معرفة، وتشعر وكأنها كانت في داخلك منذ زمن، تعرفها وتعرفك، تَسمعك دون أن تتكلم، وتشعر بك ولو من خلف آلاف الأميال. إنه ذلك التفاهم الصامت، الانسجام الذي لا يحتاج لتبرير، والحضور الذي لا يطلب إذنًا.
الأرواح تتلاقى قبل الأجساد
قال ابن القيم رحمه الله: “الأرواح جنود مجندة، ما تعارف منها ائتلف، وما تناكر منها اختلف.”
وفي هذا القول إشارة واضحة إلى أن الأرواح قد تتآلف قبل أن تتلاقى أجساد أصحابها في الدنيا، وكأن هنالك عالمًا سابقًا تآلفت فيه الأرواح الطيبة، فحين تلتقي في الأرض، تميّز بعضها البعض دون مقدمات.
تلاقي الأرواح لا يرتبط بالزمن
قد تلتقي شخصًا للحظة واحدة، فتشعر أنه أقرب إليك من كل من عرفتهم لعقود. وقد تمضي مع آخرين أعوامًا، دون أن تشعر معهم بأي تواصل حقيقي. فالتلاقي لا يحكمه الزمن، بل الصدق، وشفافية المشاعر، ونقاء النية.
هل هو حب؟ صداقة؟ أم شيء أعمق؟
تلاقي الأرواح لا يمكن أن يُختصر في قالبٍ واحد. فقد يكون حبًا، وقد يكون صداقة، وقد يكون علاقة عابرة تبقى محفورة في الذاكرة. لكنه دائمًا يترك في النفس أثرًا لا يُمحى، ويعلمنا أن أجمل الروابط لا تُبنى بالكلام، بل بالشعور الصادق.
لماذا نشتاق لأرواح بعينها؟
لأن أرواحنا، ببساطة، تعرف من يطيب لها، وتنجذب لمن يشبهها. وقد نشتاق إلى من لم نعش معه وقتًا كافيًا، لكننا عشنا معه شعورًا نادرًا، لا يمكن نسيانه.
في الختام…
تلاقي الأرواح هو منحة إلهية، لا تأتي كل يوم، ولا مع أي أحد. هي رزق خفي، وتذكير لنا أن ما يجمع البشر أعمق بكثير من الشكل أو الاسم أو الظروف.
فإن وجدت من تشعر بأنه يشبهك روحًا، فتمسك به، وكن صادقًا معه، فقد لا تتكرر تلك اللحظة مرتين.
Lonely wings barely held her in the air as she searched
unable to find him on the ground below a gray sky
As a heart so wounded felt destined to give up
it discovers a fragrance in a Spring breeze calling…
She heard the tune of her love as he searched for her
longing for the caress that would comfort his heart
The song found her over the sounds of crashing waves
with words formed like a melody from a hollowed-out flute
His yearning heart found her beyond the clouds above
and sang her name through the tears rolling down his face…
Their embrace told a story no words could ever express.
Written in the Stars
When two beating hearts claim each other
no stranger can penetrate that powerful force
It was written in the stars from the beginning
and a golden ring of love surrounds us through eternity
I will never leave you, nor will I ever break our vows
for my passionate heart would break without you
All I cherish and want is what you have given me already
and through life and through death will our story remain
because some stories, like ours, were never meant to end.
Ours was a rare fairytale, made to be told through the ages…
My One True Love
Every beautiful memory has you in it
You fill my heart like an unforgettable melody
that plays over and over in my head
You are, and will always be my one true love
and in your arms will be where I will remain
In my darkest moments you are the light that saves me
and our life together is effortless and comfortable
I have no other wants in life but you
and my heart will never belong to anyone else
We have shared many dream over the years
and you have shielded me from any harm
I will never ask you for more than your love
You are the most beautiful colors of true love
which I will keep tucked in my heart through eternity.
With love always…
Kristy Ann Raines is an American poet and author born in Oakland California, In the United States of America.
She is an accomplished International Poet and Writer. Kristy has two published books on Amazon titled, “The Passion Within Me”, and also an anthology written with a prominent poet from India, Dr. Prasanna Kumar Dalai titled, “I Cross my Heart from East to West.”
Kristy has also written two fantasy books titled, “Rings, Things and Butterfly Wings” and “Princess and The Lion”, her biography and a collection of thoughts on her life called, “My Very Anomalous Life”, and a few books of children’s stories waiting to be published.
Kristy has received many literary awards for her unique style of writing and for her work as an activist and humanitarian.
Kristy is married, has two children, three beautiful granddaughters, and is awaiting the birth of a great-grandson due in July!
“As the Orpheus of all secret misery, he is greater than anyone:”-Friedrich Nietzsche, Die fröhliche Wissenschaft
Standing in the moon drop shadow’s hidden alcove
Watching the spiders of the rain disintegrate and turn to smoke
I admire the solemn procession of marble angels that sweep their
brooms diagonally across the looking glass
Involuted architecture, frost giants with the glazed eyes of
Galactic law
The fatal symmetry of a rainbow cutter ship
Odysseus’ swift fleet notwithstanding
In Circe’s lair he pollinated witch nations
In the eye of Polyphemus he discovered the glyphs of demonic altars
Cave paintings of the Orphic mystery rites
Bacchus torn apart and recreated
as a stand-alone objet d’art, his head crowned with an
aurora of violence, misty violet dawns from
Arthur Rimbaud
As the rotting Leviathan drifts in star sperm
As the empire of blood-crusted widows draws eyes in the
moon’s shy footprint
As the bleeding deer shudders in split-second Cubist increments but obeys the high ritual of Diana and does not die
Not yet
Not eternally yet
Our hearts draw oxygen from the secret sails of the sun
We respire with lungs made from the winds of the
wings of
Madness
We fly to a Hell sitting balanced on a small planet juggled along
with stars
with rippled stripes of radical freedom
with what queer jesters they have to do
With black-eyed Oedipus they seek the cause
they disregard the Sphinx’s leonine muscles, glistening
pelt that roars with lies
that fools crash, the Siren’s cove where sailors drown
the fortunes of heroes shorn like the head of Orpheus
Descending beneath the earth, as the jaws of destiny
close about him…
An alchemist of sorrow, he turns the Midas touch
against itself, mourning perpetual dawns.
και εμπνευσμένου μετά του Μπωντλέρ
“As the Orpheus of all secret misery,
he is greater than anyone:”-
Friedrich Nietzsche, Die fröhliche Wissenschaft
Στέκεται ως σταγόνα φεγγαριού
Κόντρα στον κρυφό σηκό σκιάς.
τις αράχνες εγκαθορεί, όπως διασπώνται
στην καπνισμένη ομίχλη της βροχής.
Αποθαυμάζει την πανηγυρική λιτανεία
μαρμάρινων αγγέλων που παρασύρουν
ανάποδα τον κόσμο σκουπίζοντας
διαγώνια το είδωλο καθρέπτη.
Πεπλεγμένη αρχιτεκτονική από γίγαντες
παγετώνες με στιλβωμένο βλέμμα
Καταπάνω στο γαλακτικό μάτι του νόμου.
Η μοιραία συμμετρία στο ουράνιο τόξο
παγοθραυστικού, αλματώδης πάραυτα
και γοργόπλοος ο στόλος τ’ Οδυσσέα.
Τ’ άνθη επικονίασε με έθνη μαγισσών
μες απ’ τη δόκιμο φωλιά της Κίρκης
Στον μονόφθαλμο Πολύφημο ανακάλυψε το
μάτι και τη γλυφή ενός βωμού κακοδαίμονος.
Οι σπηλαιογραφίες τελετουργούν ακόμα
τα Ορφικά Μυστήρια, το ξέσκισμα
του διαμελισμένου Βάκχου, και την
επανένωση του κορμιού εις σάρκα μία
Ως ένα αυτεξούσιο έργο τέχνης, το
κεφάλι του εστεφανώθη την κορώνη
Από την εωθινή Ηώ της βίας,
Απ’ τη μενεξελί πορφύρα της αυγής
Απ’ το λυκόφως του Αρθούρου Ρεμπώ,
Όπως το κουφάρι του Λεβιάθαν σάπιο
παρασύρεται στ’ αγγειόσπερμα αστεριών
Όπως μια αυτοκρατορία μαυροφορεμένων
που πήζουν τον θρόμβο παλαιών πληγών
θωρώντας τα τρυφερά χνάρια στα φεγγάρια
Όπως το πληγωμένο ελάφι τρέμει από τις
αιρετικές προσαυξήσεις των μετακυβιστών
Όμως, υπάκουο υπομένει στη μέγα τελετή μύησης
-τη Θεά Αρτέμη- σώνοντας εν τέλει τη ζωή του
Όχι. ακόμα. Όχι. στην αιωνιότητα του ακόμα.
Οι καρδιές μας αντλούν οξυγόνο απ’ τα
αφανέρωτα ιστία του μυστικού ήλιου
Αναπνέουμε με πνεύμονες φτιαγμένους
απ’ τους ασκούς του Αιόλου με τα φτερά
μας κόντρα στον κουρνιαχτό της τρέλας
Πετάμε στην άβυσσο της κόλασης καθιστοί
σε ισορροπία πάνω σ’ έναν μικρό πλανήτη,
Ταχυδακτυλουργώντας με κρίκους αστεριών.
με ριγέ κυματισμούς ριζοσπαστικής ελευθερίας
για την κατάντια του ετεροδιαφορετικού ζογκλέρ
για την αιτία στα μαυρισμένα μάτια του Οιδίποδα
Γιατί οι ανόητοι αγνοούν τα λιονταρίσια μούσκουλα
της Σφίγγας, που με αστραφτερή δορά ψεύτικα βρυχάται
Καθώς, συντρίβονται οι μωροί, στον όρμο της Σειρήνας
Πνίγονται, εκεί, οι ναυτικοί με την κοντοκουρεμένη
ειμαρμένη των ηρώων, σαν το κεφάλι του Ορφέα
που σκύβει κατεβαίνοντας στον Κάτω Κόσμο, τα
σαγόνια του πεπρωμένου συνθλίβονται σιμά του
Ο Αλχημιστής της θλίψης, αποστρέφει το
άγγιγμα του Μίδα ενάντια στον εαυτό του,
εις το διηνεκές θρηνεί για τη χαραυγή του…
Cassandra Alogoskoufi is a distinguished Greek artist whose extensive talents span writing, poetry, playwriting, and visual arts. Born in Athens, she currently resides on the picturesque island of Salamis while working as a shipyard clerk in the nearby area of Perama. Cassandra’s academic credentials include two notable degrees: one in Informatics and Telecommunications from the Kapodistrian University of Athens, earned in 2009, and another in International and European Studies from Piraeus University, completed in 2023. This academic background provides her with a unique intersection of technical and cultural knowledge, enriching her artistic endeavors.
Her creative output is broad and multifaceted. She has actively contributed to approximately 50 anthologies, showcasing her poetry, short stories, and prose across a diverse array of themes and stylistic approaches. Her literary work is characterized by magical realism and a deep exploration of narratives that bridge reality and imagination. Cassandra’s poetic voice captures emotions and human experiences with eloquence and originality, while her prose adds layers of complexity and nuance.
Beyond writing, Cassandra is a skilled visual artist, working primarily with acrylic painting and other mediums. Her artworks have been featured in various magazines, reflecting her ability to convey narratives and emotions visually as well as through words. Cassandra’s talent has received international recognition; she represented Greece at the BJCEM Biennial of Young Creators in 2009, a prestigious festival that unites artists from 27 countries working across seven artistic disciplines.
Her artistic development has been nurtured through significant scholarships and residency grants. She was awarded a two-year scholarship from the Institution of Takis Sinopoulos (2007–2009), a Cimo scholarship from Finland in 2009, and a residential scholarship at the Literature House of Paros, known for its European Center of Literary Translation. Cassandra has also apprenticed under numerous respected mentors in literature, theater, translation, and dance, shaping her versatile artistic identity.
Living with her family and a pet parrot named Tito, Cassandra continues to balance her professional work with a vibrant creative life. Her artistic journey is marked by continual growth, cross-disciplinary engagement, and contributions that resonate within and beyond Greek cultural spheres. Her work not only enriches contemporary Greek literature and art but also leaves a lasting impression as an innovative and dedicated creator.
Alex S. Johnson is a prolific American author and multidisciplinary artist whose creative legacy spans genres including Bizarro fiction, erotica, horror, and science fiction. At 57 years old, Johnson has amassed a diverse professional background encompassing roles as a college English instructor, music journalist, editor, publisher, songwriter, human rights activist, poet, and visual artist. He resides in Sacramento, California, carrying a rich blend of cultural experiences and artistic influences.
Johnson’s educational foundation includes a Master’s degree in English literature with an emphasis on Rhetoric and Composition. His early fascination with writing began in elementary school, where he initially crafted stories about anthropomorphic fruits and vegetables. His literary tastes and writing style are heavily influenced by icons such as William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, blending intense, hyperbolic narratives with layers of showmanship and cheekiness.
His bibliography includes novels such as “Bad Sunset,” a stylized Spaghetti Western infused with Bizarro and splatterpunk elements, and “Jason X IV: Death Moon,” a science fiction/horror tie-in for the Jason X movie series. Johnson’s collections like “Wicked Candy” and “Doctor Flesh: Director’s Cut” further showcase his unique approach to genre fiction. He also edited anthologies like “Axes of Evil,” which centers on horror stories connected to heavy metal music culture.
Johnson’s writing often explores profound human emotions and psychological depth beneath exaggerated or surreal premises. For example, “Bad Sunset” features Jesus Christ as a protagonist, blending archetypal and mythical characters to probe themes of spirituality, skepticism, and individual moral navigation. His works balance entertainment with philosophical undercurrents, reflecting his skepticism of religious institutions and emphasis on personal enlightenment.
Actively involved in the literary community, Johnson has contributed to specialty anthologies inspired by H.P. Lovecraft and William S. Burroughs and maintains an ongoing presence in both writing and editing within speculative fiction circles. Apart from writing, he enjoys drawing, playing guitar, and engaging with film and music cultures, which inform his artistic creativity. Johnson’s career is grounded in a love for words and storytelling more than commercial success, emphasizing a lifelong commitment to artistic exploration and sharing imaginative landscapes.
Spring is a dawn. A dawn that awakens the entire world and gifts warmth, joy, and delight to every heart. With the arrival of spring, nature revives: trees begin to bud, and the earth’s green attire refreshes the soul. New plans, dreams, and sincere intentions blossom within the human heart. One of the most beautiful aspects of spring is how its brightness manifests itself in people’s moods. Not only the world around us, but our inner selves also become lighter and more radiant. Today, every corner of our country breathes spring. Parks, gardens, and recreation areas are filled with people. Everyone rushes to enjoy the season and spend time with loved ones.
Especially the youth — they fill every green field with laughter. They eat together, play games, laugh, take photos. Such scenes inspire a deeper appreciation for life. On one such inspiring day, we — 35-24 group students , under the guidance of our teacher Ma’mura Erkinovna — set out for a picnic in Anhor Park. The warm sunlight, the fresh air infused with the spirit of spring, the presence of dear friends, and heartfelt conversations all became part of an unforgettable memory. Some unexpected moments, little mistakes and imperfections only added more color to our day. Indeed, it is such seemingly simple moments that nourish the heart and soothe the soul.
A picnic with close friends is not merely a break — it is a heartfelt ceremony that binds hearts together. Not only food is shared, but also joy, affection, and loyalty. In today’s fast-paced world, with time rushing by, we often struggle to find even a moment for ourselves or to reach out to our loved ones. But fleeting minutes on the clock ask us to appreciate them, to enjoy love and the beautiful memories it brings. Truly, in this temporary world where everything eventually fades, only emotions, inner wealth, spiritual growth, and precious memories belong to us.
And the moments spent with sincere friends seem to pause time itself. They create lasting memories that live on in the heart — becoming part of our soul’s deepest core. The picnic we had with our group of nearly twenty coursemates and our beloved teacher is one of those moments — unforgettable and forever engraved in photos and hearts. We are thankful to our teacher, Ma’mura Erkinovna, for bringing us together, encouraging unity, and helping us experience the beauty of nature in its purest form. Indeed, going out into nature with good friends is not a mere outing. That’s why many young people choose to adorn their spring days with such picnics. To some, a picnic may seem like a common activity — something anyone can plan anytime. But for me, it is a ceremony of strengthening trust, loyalty, and affection. And spring is the most exquisite season that nurtures such sincerity.
Ochildiyeva Shahnoza
1st year student at Uzbekistan Journalism and Mass Communications university
