Missing

When she first went missing, they tried

not to be too concerned. She often went

off on her own, but a woman her age and

in her condition, so they started searching.

On the evening news they mentioned her,

her age, her confused condition, and that

family, some friends, and the police were

searching for her. The next day the search

was joined by volunteers and eventually by

dogs and drones. The news showed a picture

of her walking along a road, a stray camera

caught the picture, a fleeting image that her

friends said looked like her, so determined,

so deliberate, walking faster than she should

heading in the wrong direction. When they

finally found her, she was in a wooded area

near her home. Dead a day in an area they

searched several times. Perhaps she never

went any further, or perhaps she was on her

way back home, went for a walk, went for

a visit and died on her way back to where

they all thought she should be.

 

 

                  Tornado

This isn’t The Wizard of Oz

this time

not Hollywood special effects

Dorothy and Toto

and all that.

This is the real thing tearing

through real lives

homes, buildings, trees uprooted

cars lifted and thrown

trucks on their sides

people dead, people missing.

We get to watch this on TV

safe and snug

hundreds of miles away

from it all, trying to imagine

ourselves in it

our homes pulled apart

our lives torn apart.

But we know that this

is what happens to others

vaguely familiar people whose lives

get summarized like this

a few minutes of the evening news

and promises of aid.

The ones they interview

seem to know the roles they play

now – survivors who just want to start

again, give it another try

as if they expected the whole thing.

 

                         Chekovian

I feel like a character from a Chekov short story

an elderly Russian peasant out to buy a present

for his love. A bracelet he decides, after seeing

them on so many women’s wrists and wanting

his love to feel the way women seemed to feel

with flash of light when they moved their arms

move their wrists, the beauty that bracelets bring.

And there he is/I am in the jewelry shop, at last

after hours of planning and guessing. There I am/

we are leaning on a jewelry display, trying not

to look so out of place, just as if we know what

we are doing. The jewelry saleslady sees us there

the Russian peasant dressed as me, says something

to the person next to her. They both chuckle a bit

and then she starts over. The non-Chekovian part

of me, who is always on alert, pulls out his credit

card and smiles knowing that he will be treated well.

Winter

Silver Winter has come again,
Kids flying sled.
We make Christmas,
We play snowballs.

They hit my window,
The sound of a bitter winter.
Invites you to the new year,
The playful word of the snow.
Tales told by my mother

Great from each other
My mother tells fairy tales
Leads to good
Tales of generations
Pillars in the future

We tell my mom
Thank you very much
We get it from fairy tales
Examples of goodness
We will ask again
Stories, proverbs



Peace
                                       
May there always be peace,
Let there be no war.
May our country be beautiful,
Rejoice, our people.
Wherever you go, always,
Do good to you.
They say that even the ancestors,
The near future is you.

Always in our country,
It's a wedding, it's a spectacle.
Tulips on the hill,
Come on guys.

We celebrate,
Now you guys.
In our independent hands
When we live happily


Alisher Navoi

How many years, how many centuries,
No matter how much time passes.
Navoi our ancestor,
The world remembers.

Great epics,
The rabbis are ghazals.
It's all a world,
Beautiful than each other.

My heart is full of dreams,
If my poem finds value.
If I could write like my grandfather,
At least one line.


Spring

When spring comes, the environment wakes up,
The wind blows softly.
The whole nature wakes up,
You are welcome to my people

Scattering the scent of tulips,
You fly smoothly in the mountains.
In the beautiful sky in the wide field,
Our sheet is still flying.

Flying spring again,
Stay in this miraculous land.
Make our tongues involuntary,
Take my love

ABDULLOH ABDUMOMINOV

Abdulloh Abdumominov was born on November 29, 2008 in Tashkent. At the age of five he began to study international literature and read books. From a young age, he was fond of literature. He started writing stories when he was ten and his stories have been translated into many languages and published in many countries. He participated in international competitions and won prizes. 

To Abdumominov, the purpose of writing a story is to instill in children a sense of time and culture. His works have been published in newspapers, magazines, and websites in Uzbekistan. They have also been published in Russia, Pakistan, India, Kazakhstan, Dagestan, Indonesia, Israel, Africa, Belgium, Romania, the United States, Argentina, and China. Also published in Russian, English, Kazakh, Indonesian, Irvitic, Romanian, Spanish, and Chinese. He is the coordinator for Uzbekistan for the Kenya Times and Namaste India Magazine. Abdulloh Abdumominov is 13 years old. 

Only for You

I have broken myself into pieces
Have lost my energy to take a single step  
Only for you -------
Only for you - I'm waiting here under the shade of the large banyan tree till then
Hundred years old that banyan tree, I look through again and again
Still now the green leaves of the old tree soothes the eyes and the body
Still now the birds can find their shelter to sit for rest and spend the nights
I know you do possess the same green shade in your breast
I'm still here breaking myself into pieces to reach the shade of your breast.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
11/01//2021


Breaking the Boundary

Breaking the boundary of time we are on this vast ocean
Bubbling on the surface diving and rising in one
The unseen magnetic power
The earth with its all rounds in harmony
Flowing on the tune of love
From millions of the stars to the vast land and the ocean
A wonderful play of light and shade
The feathering birds from one corner of the earth to the other 
A shield of faith, the evergreen tree
Passing through the soft blowing wind, never missing
To the last breath of the earth overcoming time and space 
The sun reflecting on the surface the shadow of us
A promise we had under the moon from beginning to end. 

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
11/01//2021


Birth on One Side, Death on the Other

The ostrich imported from Africa in Gazipur Safari Park
Lays eggs regularly 
The nestlings in the incubator make the curator happy, overwhelmed with joy
Who does not like to see the new birth?
On the contrary how it appears to be -----
When Benu Begum, Salim's elder brother's wife is beaten to death
By Abeda Khatun, Salim's wife
On a trifle matter at the time of quarrelling to each other
Only for that Benu threw a tissue paper on the family grave yard
Anger flamed in Abeda
Prompted to strike Benu to death  
How far does it matter that joy over the nestlings of the ostrich in the incubator
When everyday in every sector murdering takes place on a simple matter?  

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
12/01//2021

 
The Tart Fruit

The fruit never tasted before tastes sour 
Taking that peculiar kind of fruit
The peoples' blood is poisoned 
Though the one man power blooms all over
Taste felt in the tongue from that outcome
People succumb to death one after another 
Yet the nation nourishes the tree with too much love and care 
The name of the tree is Autocracy in guise of Democracy 
How sour the fruit indeed!

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
12/01//2021


Vaccination

Today crores of people of the world are looking forward to
When the a dose of vaccine be pushed on
But the forgetful world never thought before of that dire situation
Violating the promise that we kept once
Now the trembling world turns back again with its spring flowers
To stand before each other, sharing the heart's overwhelming joy
Walk through the way in the fresh air singing and loving together
Let's take the vaccine and join the respective field for cultivation
Never forgetting the promise we made for each other

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
13/01//2021

The Human-Centered Solution To All Problems

Problems abound everywhere. Some have retraceable origins while others remain mysterious. Humanity has been plagued by an array of problems-from birth to death-through the ages. It is amazing how man has been able to fashion ways to live with them throughout time. Harboring problems has become the second nature of man!

In some ways, humans have successfully engineered problems, detrimental to their continued existence and, as a consequence, knowingly and unknowingly, challenging Mother Earth-humanity’s habitat. The consequences are enormous. An instance is the human-known diseases. Spanish Flu, malaria, HIV/AIDS, SARS and so on, to the recent COVID-19 virus have spelt in plain sight man’s knowledge towards destruction, self-deliberate or not.

There are problems transcending the understanding of logic. This is an integral part of man’s reasoning designed to tackle problems (of course, known) through a three-dimensional analysis-the physical length, width and height of concerned situations. For example, the issue of malaria in the light of  its height of destruction of human lives, length of time of infliction and magnitude of harm in the lives of people of all ages.  Man was able to eventually come up with a cure via proper medical analysis (logic). The use of penicillin as invented by Alexander Fleming set the pace for subsequent medical remedies to the once-upon-a-time pandemic.

However, what happens if logic proves futile in attempt to approach problems that are said to the mysterious? An analogy is the situation of a young individual (X, say).  X is healthy and strong. X diets properly, engages in good exercise routines and does regularly go for medical check-up. X is certified ‘healthy’.  On a weekday, X decides to take the usual rest, having worked for a couple of hours, Sadly, X refuses to wake up! Despite all efforts to revive X the medical way, it is discovered that X has passed! Any proper (logical) explanation to the sudden demise of X? Of course, man’s logic is conspicuously a failure in that case. To some folks, the saying ‘God gives, and God takes’ would be pronounced and ‘Such is life’ would be heralded  by others-all in attempts to console those related to the deceased individual. They simply cannot explain the mystery behind X’s death!

Arguably, man has decided to embrace problems as they come. He is of the belief his advent in the world is faced with problems. Mankind has reasoned, ‘despite attempting to find solutions to lingering (physical) problems, more problems have consequently emerged.’ Humanity seems to realize the more the approaches to curb the ‘levels’ of problems disturbing its existence, the higher the ‘devils’ they pose on its entirety.

What is the way out of the conundrum? Is there a possibly lasting solution to the vicious cycle of problems-the ones that are seen and unseen? Those questions are typically asked by people whose concern for humanity’s plight is paramount. Napoleon Bonaparte once said: ‘Impossible only exist in the dictionary of fools.’ For every problem lies a solution.

The reality of what we have come to embrace exists within the framework of perception. Simply, we see reality or the way things are based on what we are told and that forms our very perception-what would become ‘our reality’. If we chose to change our perception, we change our reality. A change in perception in terms of harmonizing with nature-appreciating the universal elements of water, earth, fire and wind through learning, enhanced by the powers of creativity and imagination is the door-way to finding a benefit-yielding human-centered solution facing all and sundry. 

Through that, the man’s body would be free from being in a ‘dis-ease’ state-obviously obliterating ‘disease’-thereby positioning one to savor the health of creatively bringing to attention the wealth of the learnt-about nature’s harmonization. The imagination, over time, of an egalitarian, utopian and El-Dorado society would be a possible depiction of change in perception (again, in terms of harmonizing with nature through appreciating the universal elements). That’s the human-centered solution to all problems!

All are welcome to attend the Hayward Lit Hop, a multi-venue literary reading at 3pm Saturday April 30th, coinciding with and continuing after Hayward’s first youth poet laureate award ceremony. Several Synchronized Chaos contributors will read from their work.

Welcome, readers, to Synchronized Chaos’ second April issue, To Know We’re Alive. This issue explores ‘signs of life’ of many kinds, creative and emotional and intellectual as well as physical.

Michael Robinson relates his faith journey and in honor of this weekend’s Easter celebration of resurrection and new life. John Culp asserts his spiritual wellness and his choice to stand with what’s good. Stephen Jarrell Williams shares gentle odes to love, writing, and the next

John Thomas Allen leads us through a semi-urban nocturnal trek amid the cicadas and beer cans and metallic moonlight. Dan Raphael ponders existence and observation from a distance in a variety of domestic and ordinary settings.

Mahbub discusses lively characters: birds in flight, soccer player Diego Maradona, people of the world embracing in peace. He pleads for people to come together in harmony and also to show special care for those in need, such as the frail and lonely elderly.

Denis Emorine celebrates the rich heritage of Russian culture and urges us not to equate all of it with Putin’s contemporary aggression. Chimezie Ihekuna celebrates the dedication and honor of a soldier who has chosen to put service to their country above their own desires.

J.J. Campbell brings us our monthly theme, mentioning how pain is often a medical clue that a person is still with us. His work explores heartbreak, disillusionment, and the vague unease of watching news of a distant war.

Howie Good sends up vignettes of trauma observed from a distance, of how the passage of time, space, and culture renders inhumanity mundane. Brian Fugett renders trauma half a world away into a symphonic metaphor, pondering what it means to bee the audience to events that kill children.

Gabriel T. Saah paints a pastel photo of a gentle village beachside love, along with the drama of driving in the rain. Santiago Burdon also depicts love, at nighttime, in a hypnotic sentence replete with moonlight, street lamps, and scented magnolia blossoms.

Yusuf Salisu Muhammad celebrates his love for his mother in a piece full of visceral images: food, the home, and his body. Gerald Onyebuchi renders love through Biblical psalm imagery, adding a historical, cultural, and spiritual dimension to his romantic yearnings.

Please enjoy and find comfort and inspiration in this month’s issue.

i try not to think
 
did you ever think
the rain would end
 
did you ever think
love had an expiration
date
 
did you ever think
your dreams wouldn't
come true
 
did you ever think
your demons were
better than mine
 
did you ever think
this love would mean
more to someone
else
 
did you ever think
death was a good
conversation starter
 
did you ever think
how fast flowers
die
 
did you ever think
i was going to love
you this much
 
did you ever think
you would as well
 
did you ever think
we were suicide
lovers meant to
find each other
on the same
fucking cliff
only to jump
before anyone
could say no
------------------------------------------------------------------
supposedly still winter
 
it is around 60 degrees
today, supposedly still
winter
 
these are the days that
tease us just enough to
get everyone fucking
sick
 
a little collusion between
mother nature and the
fucking medical industry
 
two days from now it will
snow and then we'll all be
running to the pharmacies
to get our pills
 
rinse and repeat
 
death is quickest opt out
i can think of
----------------------------------------------------------------
yellow and blue for freedom
 
watching the bombing
right before i try to go
to sleep probably isn't
the best way to sleep
peacefully
 
but it does paint the
dreams in these vivid
colors
 
red for blood
 
black for death
 
yellow and blue
for freedom
 
there's always
a madman worried
about his legacy
 
more than the citizens
of his country or the
country he's trying
to destroy
 
and i know everyone
is worried about
world-war three
 
i'm more worried
about what happens
if freedom loses
---------------------------------------------------------------
like her life depended on it
 
remember when she said
she would love you forever
 
that every day without you
would ache more and more
as she got older
 
remember how she would
kiss you like her life depended
on it
 
how the sex was more amazing
each and every time
 
how you used to laugh on the
front porch of the farm while
talking about marriage, children,
what a future could possibly
look like
 
and then remember this is the
shit you wanted a relationship
to look like
 
reality is a cruel bitch
-----------------------------------------------------------
if we are alive
 
i had a doctor
tell me once
that pain is
often the only
way we can
tell if we are
alive or not
 
and as the
pinched nerves
provide the
waves of pain
for me to ride,
 
i guess this is
what the fuck
she was talking
about
 
yet another
fucking thing
i won't miss
when i'm dead