Our Jadid Grandpares!

Called for enlightenment,

Shone like the sun. 

He thought of the people, 

Our Jadid Grandpares! 

How to get to Olay, 

All are the popular hand. 

The words are close to the nearest, 

Our Jadid Grandpares!

Fitratu, Avloni

Cholponu, Kadyrids

Aqilu wise bii

Our Jadid Grandpares!

They are an ointment, 

It is as if the heart is treated. 

Stored in our hearts, 

Our Jadid Grandpares!

Fergana region

Margilan

Erkin Vahidov Shite of Creativity 

8th D class

Farzona Hoshimova

Old Matmusa

Years later, Matmusa also

He got old like everyone else.

Gather your children for a while,

He also took the donkey.

Telling life one by one,

He remembered his youth.

A hero is a tandoor,

He remembered fondly.

There is beauty in your speech,

Ceramic pot, mill.

Harassment to the police,

There is no doubt about it.

You are a ready-made mold,

Matmusa said that.

You are a true and wise seeker,

Matmusa said that.

Regarding the organization,

It was difficult when I was a teenager.

In the roar of the lion,

He said I have a hand.

So that’s all

Set the event.

Sozlan is much more than that,

It made sense.

The sound of children

They look at each other.

Matmusavayo is waiting and exclaiming,

He combs his hair.

The main character is the end,

The conclusion is gone.

Sozi hit towards youth,

It’s good to remember the past.

My children, my tulips,

Don’t be curious, never.

Because now people

The broken heart is narrow!

Nilufar Anvarova, a student of the 8th grade of the creative school named after Erkin Vahidov, Margylan city

DR LALIT MOHAN SHARMA ON DR JERNAIL SINGH ANAND ‘S EPIC POEM ‘FROM SIEGE TO SALVATION’

SEIZING THE ESSENCE

Dr. Lalit Mohan Sharma

Having harnessed a creative instinct to compare and contrast, Dr Jernail Singh Anand finds himself in the presence of a thesis, confronts the anti-thesis and arrives at a synthesis between the East and the West,  the ancient and the contemporary, the spiritual and the mundane, actualising in his poetry the conflicting claims of the sacred and the profane,  moral ethical and the narrow personal egotistical, the precious and the spurious. In the preface to the poetic drama, Dr Anand observes that ‘the siege of troy led to the exhibition of great personal  valour and national honorifics, while the Mahabharata shows us the way to immortality through righteous action’. In Invocation, the author juxtaposes the two events :

How the West revels in individual

And the East in a collective destiny for mankind. 

The thirteen Canto poem unravels through interaction between Chorus and Professor as they debate and deliberate in an argumentative manner on the ethical and human consequences of this juxtaposition. Other characters from the epic poems also mark with their appearance the progression in ‘Siege to Salvation’. Even as ‘an impersonal fate directs ‘unquestioning minds’ in terms of religious mythology, Anand has the Professor articulate how poor masses suffer ‘ not only mediaeval obscurity/ But also the identity stricken massacres of modern times’. Ancient time of  the epics or the contemporary scenario, the fate of common man is at the mercy of ‘ vain power’, for it is ‘not only siege of Troy/ But also the siege of human  will’. Professor wonders if ‘ Iliad has no moral framework’. Is it only to ‘settle personal jealousies, not epical issues’. Does Mahabharata concern itself not with victory only, but victory of ‘ good over evil’?  Only beauty of Helen is extolled, but doesn’t it ‘deny her individuality and personal will’ ?  Isn’t such freedom  ‘imparted to Cleopatra/ And other great women of epics/ Like Draupadi and Sita of Ramayana’?

During this juxtaposition between the great epics, Dr Anand raises a sequence of questions and erases a plethora of doubts about the celebrated happenings; 1184 BC events being the reflection of the heroic age Homer recounted in his epic poems, and the Mahabharata, the great Vyas, contemporary to the epic events serialised in his work!  How these great poems impacted Western literature and that of the  East is universally acknowledged. Dr Anand has taken over the audacious approach to access works of Homer and Vyas in a simultaneous gesture of looking at them  as a single imaginative canvas. Consequences are the lavish details Anand presents in this epic drama, leaving the reader with a freedom to arrive at his own conclusions  and reflections.

    Dr Lalit Mohan Sharma

Poet, Translator and Reviewer,

                      Dharmshala, HP.

Visible, For Ellyn (Maybe?)

As I wait for our nearly ten hour conversation to upload

This poem is always already published in heaven

with respects to Patti Smith

“Oh wow”-Ellyn Maybe

“There’s something in the collective paw of the world”-also Ellyn (“Whiff of Wonder”)

So where do I begin

of all the

Encomiums pinned to the

goddess fold this is among

The flowers

the surface of the turf of the waves of the silver mine

The dramatic unfolding of the rose within the heart of matter melting into infinity

The remarkable steep climb down/up a very short/long limbed cliff

That makes the counterintuitive look like:

The breath of God

Or maybe the ear God scratches on its fins

Or maybe the…

Gosh

Golly

So yeah

so yeah

so yeah

(Giggles)

Wow, what a trip, right?

I agree

That was wild!!!

A really intense, pleasurable, purely innocent

walk on the moon’s moon

walk on the star’s spume

Walk along the

Hands of the

Golden clock walk in the

Shade of the garden of the

Fauns

and frankly, fuck

Adam and Eve

Nothing against them, but boy is that mythology

Begging for a reboot ‘

‘

Let’s let lapsarian swim some

Laps at the bottom of Rimbaud’s alchemy of the Word

L’alchemie du verbe

Let’s allow the glow to

Gather at our

Toes let’s

Freeze frame this desolate timeline for once and

All

Let’s make quantum theory look like Santa Claus

Flowing in and out of the chimney of God’s

Hair

Let’s make quantum computing look like if

Iceland

was really

Sweden was really

A

Forest of star-spangled

Elephant meerkats

Let’s turn over

First principles

Let’s unearth

the

Satellites we stole apparently Emily Dickinson

Let’s deface the astral mime-field of

Walt Whitman let’s and

Let’s and

Lettuce

See

What is at the end of

The final fork

Oh beauty of a dream of life, terrible and

wonderful and

throned in blood

Oh verite cinema complex where

dragons hit the

Snuff pipe of radiation

Oh Weimar complex where the

Dusseldorf vampire is doing bumps with

The Sno-cone nose of

Adolf Hister

Let’s turn over a new lava lump

and glow

glow

glow

Like

Fabulous

Opera…

Love is a multiple Folio William Shakespeare’s sonnets

paddled out through the

Desert of the waters of the

Future

Love is a pincushion made of

Elves in a

Sidereal blast you

jogged me at the

Elbow saying

In the end it will

be

Okay in the

End it was our communal landing strip where

Bob Dylan and

Dylan Thomas and

William Blake and

All the other

Rock and roll niggers were

Examining the

World’s largest

Tuning farce inside the

Grimdark nostrils of

the grumbling stones.

Photo credit: Alex S. Johnson, taken from a ten-hour zoom conversation Sunday March 23rd, 2025 or it was a minute.

The Heart is Where We Belong.
– Author Haroon Rashid

We always feel that life is there,
Somewhere, where we want to search for.
But why do we forget that life is within,
The Peace is within, the charm, the spark,
The light and the dark, everything is within.

What do we search outside for?
What is beyond our horizons? Nothing.
There’s nothingness in the air,
There is no flair in the hair.
Everything is in the heart,
And heart is where we belong.
And the heart is with you.
Yes, with you.

And with you, this spark, this light,
This charm, this life, everything comes out.
So live your best life,
Give your heart where it belongs,
And live the life, love the life, and feel alive.
—Written by Author Haroon Rashid

Author Haroon Rashid – Biography

Haroon Rashid is an internationally celebrated author, poet, and scholar renowned for his profound literary works and contributions to global peace and education. He gained worldwide recognition for his poetry book We Fell Asleep in One World and Woke Up in Another, which deeply resonated with readers across cultures and was later translated by Nobel Prize Laureate 2024 Eva Petropoulou Lianou. His book Author Haroon Rashid Quotes further solidified his reputation as a writer who masterfully blends wisdom, spirituality, and human emotions into his work.

Haroon’s literary achievements have earned him numerous accolades, including the United Nations Karmaveer Chakra Award and the Global Peace Award from the Mother Teresa International Foundation. His influence extends beyond literature, as he has been honored with an Honorary Degree in Humanity from La Haye, France, and the Golden Eagle Award for Literary Excellence. He has proudly represented India at various international literary and peace events, including the Paper Fiber Fest and the International Congress of Education in Mexico.

Beyond writing, Haroon Rashid is an advocate for sustainable development, serving as an ambassador for SDG4 (Quality Education) and SDG13 (Climate Action). His works emphasize themes of peace, cultural harmony, and personal transformation through enriching humanity. As the National Vice Chairman of Youth India at the Mother Teresa International Foundation, he actively promotes youth engagement in education and humanitarian efforts.

Haroon Rashid’s influence has reached global platforms, with invitations to speak at prestigious events in Mexico and Greece, and features in O, The Oprah Magazine and The Oprah Winfrey Show. Through his writing and activism, he continues to inspire millions, leaving an indelible mark on literature and global consciousness.

Poem 1: 

In Memory of Donald Vruwink (Senior)

Your almanac was always breathing.

The heart’s imaginary twin

Will die. “We’ll all be lovely then,” 

You’d say. My bones are done, done reading

The soil. A clever fever’s scribbling

Its high opinion of the moon

On it. We’ll all be lovely, then

We’ll banish imitation’s sibling. 

The death of plethora seems tawdry

When thunder darts the dirt with thin

Flashes. We’ll all be lovely, then

Tornados will be riding shotty. 

Poem 2:

In Memory of Sol Sheff

Words are like eyes; we often fail

To see a thing until it’s said. 

Each poem’s a mental pyramid

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

The rough perfection of a gull

You stewarded in Jacksonville.

And in Milwaukee, there’s a thrill

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

The sun’s ushabti may console

An Army corporal on the beach

At dawn. You gave a crippled speech

That stands because of memory’s pull. 

Poem 3:

In Honor of Louis Pasteur

“The picturesqueness of human thought may console us for its imperfection.”

–       George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty

Nobody honestly reports

On the beliefs of others. Wolves

Explain what alchemy involves

To beakers blackened by beaux arts. 

You said that men who run from warts

Are like a bear that runs from fish. 

And logic’s like a petri dish

To beakers blackened by beaux arts. 

Your era loved what love distorts…

One cannot trust the naked eye

Which craves the novel modesty

Of beakers blackened by beaux arts.

Poem 4: 

Blackguarding Merles

You mock a dahlia’s faith in rain

And March’s hieratic pain

In Wotan’s one good eye. I show

The only serious dog I know

The absence of a final task. 

(His bark becomes so plateresque.) 

Jocasta’s hardship melts the snow…

The only serious dog I know

Is on precocious wisdom’s trail.

Your apperception tugs his tail.

For Tiresias, you set aglow

The only serious dog I know. 

Poem 5: 

Schtupping Philosophy

After Mark Strand

“If only it were so easy to soothe hunger by rubbing an empty belly.” 

–       Diogenes the Cynic, on public masturbation

 “Qui veut faire l’ange fait la bête.”

–       Blaise Pascal, Pensées

Fear pats the propaganda on

Each head. Hate rubs the belly of

Hypocrisy. There’s Puppy-Love,

Schtupping Philosophy again. 

 “O, History, you’re not strapped for time,”

She moans while strapping me in wings.

Her drunken master drily sings:

“Schtupping Philosophy turns wine 

To dust!” When we extremes do meet

In bed, what’s born reveals our chains

And all but holy sweetness feigns. 

Schtupping Philosophy, one ought

To pause one’s speech, but not one’s thought. 

Play Water Music, let all see

The truth’s invisibility. 

Schtupping Philosophy brings out

Third eyes. This post-renewal age

Can’t fathom seasons. Anger warps

Each blossom, buzzing does each corpse…

Schtupping Philosophy onstage, 

I feel the sunlight’s bearded breath. 

The earth lets go of hardness. This

Gets harder moonlight, as does Bliss

Schtupping Philosophy to death.  

Poem 6:

Ode on My Daughter’s Bat Mitzvah (an Acrostic)

“If faith is the sail on a relationship, one with a broken faith is a hardship. What do you build a new sail with when your faith is broken? Hardiness. Jacob is hardy… Hardiness is not the same as hardness. The ‘i’ in hardiness is a reaching hand; hardiness strives, it reaches through hardness.” – Madeleine Sheff, from her d’var Torah

Do not too aggressively light upon

Adulthood, nor too agreeably go 

Usurp its tumultuous limits. Snow

Greets every shoeless shaliach whose crown,

Humility, isn’t the brownest brown. 

Take Laban, who wears mankind’s to-and-fro

Every season, and his deceptive chatter

Richly to the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

Of intellectual hatred, we’ve Yeats

For removing any gray gratitude

(Tantamount to cemetery gates):

Haunted by it, your life’s just a bladder

Emptied at the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

Comedy’s cruelty makes men brood.

Oh, even tragedy must look away.

Muteness sympathizes with nature’s food;

Made wingless in wine glass novels by day,

All of it runs full speed from decay. 

Normal Saturdays are mad as a hatter

Dimmed by the shadow of Jacob’s ladder. 

May the chuppah embrace each ah! bright ray

Eternal nature absorbs from your frame. 

Nouns have more beauty than verbs; don’t name

This place Terra Terribilis then shatter

Seraphs at the bottom of Jacob’s ladder. 

i watch as your bright lights pollute the air

engulfing the sky in exhaustive energy that

stings my eyes, burning holes into my

pupils while searing your initials onto my

face. you believe i am yours to control,

yours to entirely claim, and never once

has my body willingly let itself into yours.

i can feel you coming down the hall, your

footsteps rattling inside my veins, and

while my soul fights for a breath free 

from you, my feet never take me away.

why are you so relentless? why do you

fight to keep me by your side? there is

no continuity between us, no bonds

sealing us together as one. your autonomy

over me is fabricated, as it only exists

within the confines of your mind. all i

can ever beg for is that when i finally

leave your thoughts, i hope i never

linger within the depths of your brain.