~Money is the root of evil~
He is the Devil's tool,
Like when Eve was fooled
purchasing Death with an apple,
and breaking ground for thorns
and thistles
He is an empty space
in the heart of Judas Iscariot,
whose longing will never be
satisfied.
He holds grudge against
peace and love,
but yet promises Heaven and Earth;
He speaks of himself as the greatest treasure.
In his bosom is an abyss of
pleasure,
can you decipher his cunning
desires?
He led Joseph into slavery,
Sending the Israelites into
captivity
like a bird trapped in a cage.
He is a wolf in lamb's skin,
whose embrace is a snare of
brokenness and pain.
A Delilah of corruption and
frustration,
whose kiss breaks down
even the palace of
King Solomon.
WHO YOU WERE
My mother has been
gone two years now.
I've spent that time
cleaning out the house
she lived in for 50 years.
By doing so,
I found out who she was.
Buried in her basement,
I found sketchbooks
filled with living figures
rendered in chalk and charcoal.
I found canvases covered
in flowers and landscapes,
painted in breathing colors.
Sharing shelves with
dust and cobwebs,
I found boxes of
knitting needles and
balls of acrylic yarn.
Near these sat a box
filled with single socks,
several almost-scarves
and two half-quilts,
sewn with care
in vibrant tones.
My mother was an artist.
She never told any of us---
in any way, not once.
I'm left here to wonder why.
Was it the day in which she lived?
Was she given just so much time
for "self-indulgent" pursuits,
before being forced to get on
with the business of living?
Were a job, a husband and
two kids the only art projects
she was permitted?
How did she just. . .stop?
It must've hurt like hell.
Did she feel the slightest
twinge of jealousy or regret
as she encouraged me
along my bohemian path?
If so, it never showed.
What now can be said?
What today can be done?
Mother, two years too late,
I can only apologize
for keeping you from
being who you were.
I remember what I dream
I remember what I dreamt
I dreamt what I wanted to be
I ask myself who I am and why
Am I a full time dreamer boy
Dream is mystery
The mystery is in life
Life is itself a mystery
I dream what I remembered
I Remember, I remember
I dream, I dream all day long
I know what is dream
I know who I am
I am a freewill agent of nature
I live in my dream
I dream what I can
I remember what I dream.
PATTERN
The face of the sky has not been revealed today. For some reason, the moon is hiding behind the clouds. When brother Rustamjon was nearing the road, his heart was troubled. When he got up in the morning, his nerves were much calmer, his brain was clear, his mood was high, he left the house wearing the most beautiful dress that suited him. There was no place where he did not go looking for work all day. He didn't even know how long he sat at the roadside station, angry that the day had passed. This has been the case for several days. He is sad as if his grief has overflowed his heart. If this situation continues like this, there is no question that he will become mad. The arrival of the bus made brother Rustamjon a little more alert. He remembered his wife and son who remained at home. He remembered, got up and continued on his way. When he was crossing the main road, he was startled by the loud signal. At the same time, he did not have time to go to the other side of the road...
Izzat, who has been having fun with his friends all day long from the party, is sitting behind the wheel of a car. He liked the wind blowing through the window. Her plaid shirt was fluttering, and her hair, which was blowing in the wind, matched her face, and seemed to increase her joy by twofold. His eyes are shining with joy.
He looked at every person, trees and even cars with a smile. He saw the ghost in front of him in the light of the cars and barely had time to press the brakes. Brother Rustamjon was confused with fear. "I'm sorry, brother, I didn't notice with my imagination." Izzat was silent for a while, and seeing the pale faces of his brother Rustamjon, he did not say anything. Fortunately, a human child is not capable of reading what is going on in his mind. At that time, only he and the Creator know how much he is cursing him from the inside. Izzat, who didn't realize what was going on inside, said, "Come on, brother, get in the car." I will take it to your house. "You are not well," he said. They reached Rustamjon brother's house in an instant. Concerned, Izzat repeatedly asked how he was doing. Brother Rustamjon apologized like a guilty person and invited him to his home. But he said that it was late at night and got into his car. At that moment, the gate opened and Rustamjon's wife appeared. He felt strange when he looked in that direction. He even started looking for his key to start his car. But the key was in place. "Yes, did you lose anything?" - asked brother Rustamjon. "Yes, here, here, I found it. We will definitely meet again", they said goodbye. Along the way, Rustamjon's wife did not leave his sight. Because when the woman opened the gate, she was sitting in a wheelchair.
A few days passed. For some reason, Izzat could not forget brother Rustamjon and his woman sitting in a wheelchair. He left work early today. He took gifts from the store and went to get news from them. He arrived and knocked on the door slowly with a thousand hesitations. When a man's voice was heard from inside saying, "Come in, the door is open," the fog of anxiety dissipated a little. As Izzat entered the gate, he glanced at the yard. Cabbage is saranjan-sarishta. The sweet smell of basil planted in the yard opens the mind. Seeing Rustamjon aka Izzat:
- Come on, guest, come on. Welcomed Izzat warmly.
"I wanted to hear from you today," he said, his face brightening. They hugged like loved ones and went inside.
-O my brother, you have done very well. I was bored myself. Let's talk for fun?
-Yes- he said laughing and then became serious; you haven't left my mind from yesterday. You looked a little confused. I did not dare to ask that day.
- I have been looking for a job for a long time. There is no office I haven't been to, no door I haven't entered, - Rustamjon said, handing a cup of tea to the guest. He sipped the hot tea and felt as if his tiredness and heartache had disappeared. He took a deep breath and hesitated, not knowing where to begin.
- My brother Izzatjon, I am the reason why you are in this situation. Yes, yes, I'm the reason. If I had done the work that day without rushing to my relatives, maybe... Yes, maybe, he wouldn't be in such a situation today...
Every Thursday of the week, my friends and I sit in a cafe. On this day in the morning, I had to arrange the heavy firewood in the oven and burn it evenly. Because I was in a hurry to be with my friends, I got on the horse of anger, saying that I will do more to God tomorrow. It wasn't until I came to the teahouse for an hour that the phone rang. I didn't answer the calls because I was angry. We sat for a long time with Ulfats. Finally, when I picked up the phone, my son said: “Dad, dad, come quickly. We are in the hospital now. My mother was cleaning the oven, and all the wood that she had laid fell on it. My mother is unconscious. He hasn't even opened his eyes yet. Please come soon. I'm scared," he cried.
Hearing this unpleasant news, I broke out in a cold sweat. When I ran to the hospital, I was overjoyed to see my mother and son sitting in front of the intensive care unit. The doctor said Adolat was seriously injured. After first aid, his condition improved. But they said that his legs might stop working.
A month later, I brought Adolat home from the hospital. Now I spend a lot of time with him. Such words. Forgetting the habits of my youth, I am like a blind man, there is no difference between tomorrow and night. I'm making a living, even if I'm poor. Even though it was a fixed job, he punched me with determination
After Izzat listened attentively, for some reason, his respect for this person increased in his heart. Glancing, he thought about how to do good. when he heard the story of a young man who had not tasted life's difficulties, his heart felt as if it was cut off with a "crack".
Izzat looked at brother Rustamjon as if to say, "I can go now." When you get to the door:
- What kind of work did you do before? he asked.
- I graduated from architecture and worked in this field.
Hearing such an answer, he was happy in himself, "Brother, you're leaving. Say we're colleagues. Don't worry. We'll meet tomorrow, God willing." He was always worried that my brother was not there, and Rustamjon's head went up to the sky when he was in awe of his brother.
After a long time, the relationship between them improved. They became like brothers. With the help of Izzat, Adolat was treated by the best doctors. He started walking like before. Now there is no happier person than Rustamjon brother.
Nazokat Urinboeva was born on July 8, 2001 in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. She graduated with a Silver Medal for Academic Achievement. She has published more than 30 journalistic articles in national newspapers and magazines, more than 15 scientific articles in prestigious journals abroad. She has participated in such creative national and international anthologies as ” My mother tongue is my source of inspiration”, “Followers of Erkin Vahidov”, “Nurafshan inspirations”, “Promising step”, “Uzbek writer’s part II, III “, ” Happy writers”, “The song of Uzbek Homeland”, ” World in Uzbekistan” and ” Namaste India magazine” , “MT Kenya Times” daily a paper.
She became an international brand ambassador of Noel Lorenz House of Fiction. Coordinator the Working Group ” Juntos por las Letras” of Argentine International Writer’s. She is a member of: the Global Friends Club of Georgia;the Indian organization “Namaste India Magazine Art Council”; “World spiritual humanity peace and literary association Bangladesh”; “Poetas Intergalácticos Ecuador”; “Unión Mundial De Poetas Escritores, México y el Mundo”; “SharEvery Global Foundation”, “International Literacy Study Group”.
Describe the allegorical and symbolic significance of the Old Man in Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus
The Old Man, despite his physical vulnerability, is a resurrectionist Christ like figure who is a visionary form of divination externalized by the symbolic appearance of allegorical context. Orthodoxy and conventional social doctrines of Trinity and Catholicism beliefs and institutions are embodied by this allegorical manifestation. The decrepitude of the Old Man- ‘that base and crooked age’ reflects Faustus’ poor opinions of the chances of survival of society for which the Old Man advocates. Through Old Man’s annihilation Faustus wishes to justify abjuration of scriptures, social condemnation and sense of transgressions that has tainted his egocentric peace. When Faustus asks Mephistopheles to torment the Old Man who has tried to dissuade Faustus from his wicked ways, Mephistopheles replies:
“His Faith is great; I cannot touch his soul;
But what I may afflict his body with
I will attempt, which is but little worth.” (Act V Scene I Lines: 79-81)
Furthermore the Old Man hears Faustus’ lusty conversation even at the brink of despair; while Faustus speaks to the phantasm, emphasis folly and blindness of Faustus’ plea by saying with epigrammatic repartee:
“Accursed Faustus, miserable man,
That from thy soul exclud’st the grace of Heaven,
And fliest the throne of his tribunal seat!” ( Act V Scene II Lines: 112-114)
In conclusion, the Old Man is a representation of the Christian theology with themes and motifs associated with Biblical faith and holy scriptures, prayer, repentance and contrition as well as salvation and damnation. We might be intrigued to take the Old Man as the phenomenon of virtue and conscience in the soul of Doctor Faustus rather than the externalizations of his voice of conscience. In Faustus’ foul, wretched and heinous crime of committing suicide, the Old Man’s prudishness casted a heavy cheer fearing Faustus’ downfall preyed to the ruins of helpless soul.
“I see an angel hovers o’er thy head,
And, with a vile fill of precious grace, (Act V SceneI Lines-56-57)
These lines infer exemplification of bounties of graceful benediction which is in store of Faustus if he chooses the path of salvation and atonement.
References and Further Reading
1. Green, Clarence, Doctor Faustus Tragedy of Individualism, Communications, Jstor
2. David C Webb, Damnation In Doctor Faustus: Theological Strip Tease and The Histrionic Hero, Critical Survey, 1999, Vol. 11, No. 1, Culture, Custom and Belief (1999), pg: 31-47
TEMPORARY 💫
Don't lying to yourself,
Don't blame yourself.
Stay away from greed
Don't go on animosity.
If you see injustice,
Do not silently observe evil.
In this life,
The wealth of the world is temporary.
God says if you try i will give.
If you want more,
Pass this test, god says.
Many people from this test,
Unable to pass, they feel failed.
Out of the world of wealth,
They say if I collect more
To Declare
I need a chariot with a pair of wings
which won’t be mistaken for nuclear fins,
a name,
an address,
which will impress
the police and customs at Heathrow’s check-ins.
I declare an independent mind
but lacerated with grief,
a worn-out body
seeking relief,
some hard-won savings
but not in sterling
which would take me as far as Grasmere
or Stirling.
To Cross or To Cross
You stroll on lawns matted with flowers.
We tiptoe our way with half-closed eyes.
What acrobatic feats could elude timed fire,
waiting to burst from maiming mines!
To cross or to cross,
no not to bar us
from the traps of death
that lurk underground.
Some say a prayer.
Some curse the hour
that decrees the fate of blighted men.
And Diana reprobating such techno-power
that instantaneously severs legs and limbs
could not defuse the flames and horrors
which would erupt from lunatics’ toys.
News Headlines
Another peace accord
has brought discord.
Clamors for war
reverberate through the globe.
Human rights issues
as frail as tissue:
oceans will seethe
with refugees.
Religious error
is yoked to terror.
Commercial wedlock
inducing deadlock.
Straggling economies
conceiving poverty.
Desertification
with certification.
Ambassadors of mettle
unable to settle
where their presence can heal
political disease.
[Dedicated to Dr. Janet Gardiner, former Ambassador to Syria]
Nereid
She roams the water in search of her beloved
whom Polyphemus had banished, incensed by lust
that covets frailty in a blooming sea-flower,
whose lack of deference would make her sob.
Timorous fish swim through her tresses,
inhaling the brine of entangled weeds,
sorrowfully making many random conjectures
at possible causes for lachrymal trails.
A translucent string of hyacinthine bubbles,
profusely flowing from saddened eyes,
foreboding havoc and vindictiveness,
inscribing in water defiant love.
An Onomatopoeic Stance
A patter.
Is it feet that chatter
over things that matter?
A splutter.
Is it drops that gutter
from eyes that sputter?
A clatter.
Is it hooves that shatter
the former and the latter?
Reticence
The rose that froze at the tip of your tongue
had chosen to repose frost-bitten and numb,
deflecting a flight into the unseen,
inducing an untimely winter scene.
Its pollen lay deep writhing in sobs,
longing for a birth, for dreamt-of buds.
Each curling petal had gone to sleep
suppressing the scent I yearned to keep.
