I Am a Football Fan

Like many others, I have many interests,
But let me tell you just one of them.
Sitting in front of the television screen,
Watching football—that’s my favorite hobby.

The kings of football: Ronaldo, Messi,
And I’m also a fan of Neymar Junior.
When Marcelo strikes with his amazing shots,
My eyes light up with joy and delight.

Running on a lush green field with the ball—
It’s not easy, facing tough rivals.
When luck is on your side, you score a goal,
But if it’s not, you might not even touch the ball.

Some win, and others lose the match,
Often, the final minutes decide it all.
We share in the winners’ celebration,
And stand by the losers with hearts full of empathy.

It’s not easy for those who lose either,
For behind them stands an entire nation.
Sometimes, we must admit who earned victory,
Sometimes, defeat teaches more to a man.

I mentioned the world’s most famous players,
Spoke of the greats and their shining names.
But truly, let us never forget
The footballers of my own Uzbekistan.

They have skill, courage, and speed,
Win or lose in every game they play.
No matter the outcome, behind them always
Stands the hopeful Uzbek crowd watching with pride.

We have “Jaloliddin,” we have “Abbosjon,”
Carried in every Uzbek’s heartfelt prayer.
May your feet never grow tired on the pitch—
You are tomorrow’s world champions!

Marjona Baxtiyorovna Jo‘rayeva was born on October 18, 2003, in Termiz district, Surkhandarya region.
She studied at School No. 6 in her district from 2010 to 2021. From grades 5 to 11, she actively participated in the “Knowledge Competitions” and “Subject Olympiads” in the subject of Uzbek Language and Literature, winning first place in district-level rounds and becoming a winner at the regional level. She graduated from school with an honors diploma and a gold medal
In 2022, she was admitted to the Uzbek Language and Literature program at the Faculty of Philology of Termiz State Pedagogical Institute on a state scholarship. Currently, she is a third-year student at the institute and also serves as the coordinator of the “Mushoira” (Poetry) Club. In addition, she works as a teacher of Uzbek language and literature at the specialized School No. 12 in Termiz district.
She is a member of the Democratic Party of Uzbekistan “Milliy Tiklanish” (National Revival). She has a good command of both English and Turkish languages and holds a B2 level certificate in Turkish.

Accepting ls Life

‎

‎No illusion, no love;

‎No light, no shadow;

‎No conversation of contentment in life

‎A diagram of the difference is in the paths

‎If I am on this path, you are different

‎The caterpillars of dissatisfaction spread across the cultivated land

‎A fence of weeds is all around

‎There is a severe drought across our Mahananda.

‎

‎No day, no night;

‎No eyes in the eyes, no hands in the hands;

‎No heart in the flowers.

‎The embryo of love is  bound by the chains of time

‎Seeing from one side of the river to the other

‎The boat of blame floats on the water’s surface

‎The moments of the village play throughout the world

‎Turning the pages of the calendar, thinking of mistakes as flowers.

‎

‎No moon, no stars;

‎No song of the clouds, no poetry of the rain;

‎No blue sky across the sky.

‎Different planets under one roof.

‎Wrong trees in every corner of the world.

‎The rain of acting is on the branches of the Kadamba tree.

‎Dreams are broken by the sharpness of silence.

‎The rain is pouring down, but the rain is not touched.

‎

‎No seasons, no cycles;

‎No color of the black peak, no beauty of youth;

‎No tide of excitement

‎The sigh of the night pierces the sound of rain

‎The light is eaten away by specks

‎A bird’s wings lose their life force in the yellowing

‎The lost traveler walks with wounded hands

‎Who knows when the boat will arrive at the pier?

‎

‎Hang the volcano of mistakes on my fingertips

‎You pass unnoticed, your list of mistakes

‎Arrange the braids of hair on volcanic rocks

‎Let n’t me decorate  the rainy heart

‎Deep love thirsts for spanish cherry to explain the reason

‎The spanish cherry cries, the kiss line on her forehead is a dead river

‎Jasmine wakes up and sees the empty eyes of the morning

‎The sun, swaying in the rain water, melts in the sky

‎I store the pain of the night in the moon

‎The moon of separation melts in the explosion of neurons

‎The ribs spread across the chest in the gust of wind.

‎The tomb of dead memories walks across the sands of the Mahananda 

‎Tears roll down in the eyes of time

‎Tears freeze in the wounded heart

‎The blossoming flower of love loses its fragrance

‎I have to accept it – so accepting is life!

MELODY OF A POETIC HEART

(Võ Thị Như Mai)

That graceful lady, on a rainy afternoon, opened for the first time a notebook filled with scribbled lines of poetry. At first, she felt confused, as if hearing a foreign language. But then, with each rhythm and each resonant word, she was amazed to realize: poetry was speaking for her own heart. From that moment on, poetry became a companion, helping her to understand the world and herself. People often say, “Poetry is the blood of the heart, the voice of the soul” (Gibran). Indeed, poetry is everywhere: in lullabies, in letters, even in dry chronicles. It not only arranges words but distills emotions, turning the personal into a shared rhythm. Thus, poetry is like a bridge spanning generations and feelings. If you have ever been puzzled by a poem, do not rush to blame it for being inaccessible. Like any art form, poetry requires patience and an open heart. When we listen and allow ourselves to be moved, poetry will bloom. To fully appreciate it, readers should begin by understanding poetry’s structure: from lines, stanzas, rhyme schemes, to rhythm, all are pieces that harmonize into a meaningful picture.

As she began to explore the world of poetry, she gradually realized that reading poetry is not merely about receiving brief phrases but a journey opening layers of emotions and reflections. Poetry is a condensed world where each line, each image carries a hidden meaning, waiting for the patient reader to unfold. A poem, seemingly simple on the surface, actually contains a whole universe of the soul. Everyone approaches poetry with their own perspectives and experiences, making the meaning of a poem never fixed but always shifting with each heart that receives it. Poet Robert Frost once said: “Poetry is a conversation between the heart and the mind, a way for people to extend their voice across time.” And so, decoding poetry requires subtle understanding and attentive listening.

One autumn afternoon in August, the graceful lady sat by the window holding an old poem gifted by an unknown author. She read it repeatedly; each word and phrase gradually revealed images, tones, and emotions she had never noticed before. She learned not to rush analyzing each word but to let the entire poem flow smoothly through her soul, until everything naturally became clearer. She began to ask: Who is speaking in the poem? To whom are they speaking? What is the surrounding context? These questions opened a space for deeper understanding—not only of the author but also of herself. There is a saying: “The best reader is one who journeys alongside the author in discovering meaning” (Ezra Pound). And the graceful lady gradually realized that reading poetry truly means not only understanding words but living with the poem’s breath and feelings.

Poetic language is a world different from everyday speech, a place where symbolic images, subtle metaphors, and harmonious rhythms combine to give the work life. Once, in a conversation with a seasoned poet, she heard him say: “Metaphor is the soul of poetry. A single image can carry a vast range of emotions, transporting the reader from reality to imagination.” Like when Shakespeare called life “a fool’s tale, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,” just a few words made readers feel the futility and brevity of human existence. Martin Luther King, Jr. also used metaphor in his famous speech, calling the American South a “burning desert of oppression” and hoping it would become “an oasis of freedom and justice,” powerful images that stirred the hearts of listeners. The graceful lady understood that metaphor not only enlivens language but also enables poetry to transcend ordinary language limits and reach the listener’s heart.

But the journey of writing poetry is not always smooth. Some days, the graceful lady sat at her desk staring at a blank page, her mind tangled, unable to find a single idea. Feelings of frustration, fear, and anxiety hung like a shadow. She recalled Ernest Hemingway’s words: “Writing is a lonely job but sitting still and not writing is lonelier still.” In that moment, she understood that writer’s block is inevitable, and how she overcomes it matters most. She tried stepping outside to breathe fresh air, watching people passing by to calm her mind. Sometimes, just a short story about a bird flying past the window would brighten her thoughts, making words flood back. She began jotting down fragmented sentences, small ideas, imperfect but real, and from there, the creative flow resumed.

As poet Rainer Maria Rilke once advised: “Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without noticing it, live your way into the answer.” The graceful lady learned that creativity does not always require a perfect plan; sometimes a small step or a spontaneous idea is enough to break through the wall of stagnation. Music, nature, and small everyday objects all became precious sources of inspiration, helping her reclaim emotions and continue raising her own voice.

In the end, she realized poetry is a process of empathy, between the writer and themselves, and between the reader and the author. Each poem is like a mirror reflecting hidden corners of the human soul, helping us better understand ourselves and the world around us. As poet Langston Hughes said, “Poetry is understanding people with the heart, not just the mind.” And when the graceful lady sat down to write her first verses, she knew she was not alone. Like generations before her, she was gathering fragments of words and rhythms of emotion to create her own symphony, a melody of the heart echoing through past, present, and future.

V.T.N.M.

Võ Thị Như Mai is a translator, poet, and educator lives in Western Australia. She is known for translating Vietnamese poetry into English and vice versa, helping to connect and promote cultural and linguistic exchange between the two literary traditions. Her poems have been published on many major platforms attracting wide attention from readers both in Vietnam and abroad. In May 2025, she was honoured with an award from the Vietnamese Consulate General in Australia, recognizing her outstanding contributions to the development and promotion of Vietnamese literature overseas.

REVERSE METAMORPHOSIS

And when you say you first had reason

to thank your body for willful treason?

Or did you mourn that other, that butterfly,

when — without so much as notice or even sigh —

it abandoned its old miraculous flight,

its perfect poise, its gtrat spot above prospect or plight,

and in cocoon reverted again, in sudden fear

of losing all touch with all that should be dear?

FOUR-BODY SOLUTIONS

[C’est avec logique que nous prouvons et avec l’intuition que nous trouvons. – Henri Poincaré

Indeed, it’s by logic that we prove,

by intuition we discover.

To know how to criticize is good,

to know how to create is better,]

Logic. Intuition. And the third

magus offers imagination.

A poetry evolves from a word

by multiplying its dimensions.

Inspiration is the lightning flash

that unshadows sudden eternals

that had been hidden among the trash.

So the fourth horseman is external.

The interaction may be lonely.

Results may be humble as the wedge

or intricate as a symphony.

They may be ignored or widely judged.

The foursome is not always fertile

and indeed may compose a monster,

but their intimacy unriddles

the real and helps edge us onward.

PRE CURSOR POST

Blossom is the baptist

to a fruit called a christ.

Though definitely not moot,

the leaf is not the tree,

nor the branch, nor the root.

The It, not-yet datum,

exists beyond atom

and happens before eve.

The tree has origins

at the Where/When it ends.

MENOLOGION

(13 Oct, 16 Jul)

My band played polkas and jazzes

and I soloed on the cymbals,

but then I discovered Jesus

and confined myself to hymnals.

Because Edward the Confessor

presides over painful marriage,

I keep my saint on my dresser

to invigorate my courage.

Supported by my wife’s symbol,

I beg from my purgatory.

O, Our Lady of Mount Carmel,

extricate me from my fury.

My old musics live in my feet

and they animate my fingers.

Lord, amputate the Devil’s beats,

forever silence the dingers.

HERE, AFTER

Unless there is a somethingness

I won’t even see the black black black

…

Beware the Green Creatures in River Boots                      (270 words)

Beware the green creatures in river boots; you cannot sleep here beware! Beware! Beware the green creatures in river boots; you still cannot sleep here beware! Beware! Beware the green creatures in river boots; you still cannot sleep here beware! Beware! why should you be allowed why should this be allowed when you prove in each moment again and again you have no idea of how to obey [^{but beware the green creatures in river boots; you still cannot sleep here beware! Beware!}] why should you be allowed why should this be allowed when you prove in each moment again and again you have no idea of how to obey timpa timpa [_{but beware the green creatures} you still cannot sleep here _{in river boots; you still cannot sleep here beware! Beware}^!] timpani timpani timpani  ^{why should you} you still cannot sleep here  ^{be allowed} boom boom boom  ^{why should this be allowed when you prove} you still cannot _{still cannot} ^{still cannot} sleep here ^{in each momen} [Shout Proust!] ^{again and again you have no idea of how to obey} hit the damned timpani timpani timp timp timp timpani _{but beware the green creatures in river boots; you still cannot sleep here}  boom _beware boom_{! Beware}^! boom boom boom boom ] _{why should you be allowed why should this be allowed when you}  the cleanliness of the over-hosing system would become a prime factor later in this tragedy  _{prove in each moment again and again you have no idea of how to obey} [_{but beware the green creatures in river boots; you still cannot sleep here beware! Beware}^!]    

Elam’s Bow

Elam’s bow is broken,

God knows what’s next to come,

Other wars will follow.

Hate is a raging fire,

With never ending fuel,

It burns here,

Flares up there,

Never fully quenched.

Hate is a dead man walking,

Love is a river of life.

Forsake the tomb,

Quench the fire,

Eat from the tree of life.

Bruce  Mundhenke writes poetry and short fiction. He has worked in this life as a laborer and a registered nurse.

I am Kuziyeva Shahrizoda, a Master’s student at Urgench State University named after Abu Rayhan Beruni. Thanks to the unwavering support of our honorable President and the incredible opportunities being created for us young people, we are now reaching great heights. Among the youth who are achieving success, I too have had the honor of receiving several notable achievements. For instance, I have been awarded the prestigious state scholarships named after Alisher Navoi and Islam Karimov, and I was recommended for a Master’s degree program with special privileges.

My academic and creative works are now being published in countries such as India, South Korea, China, Saudi Arabia, Morocco, Turkey, Argentina, and Spain. This is a clear testament to the fact that the voices of Uzbek youth are spreading across the globe—and that no obstacle can limit us. All of this is possible because of our President’s deep trust in young people. It is that trust that gives us the courage to express our ideas freely and confidently, without fear or hesitation.

Moreover, under the President’s “Five Important Initiatives,” we launched a social project dedicated to promoting reading, called “For the Nation.” We transformed this initiative into a digital platform. Today, through this project, nearly 500 young people have genuinely fallen in love with books and are reading them together with their families and parents. As one of the proud youth of New Uzbekistan, I can confidently say this: if a young person has passion in their heart, determination in their step, and a clear goal ahead—nothing is impossible. Success is within reach for those who truly strive.

Where else in the world can you find a country that entrusts its entire future to the hands of its youth? Where else can you see young people not only developing a love for literature but also buying cars for their parents out of gratitude and pride? In what other land are youth offered interest-free loans to start their own businesses? All these opportunities exist solely for the benefit of young people. Didn’t our President once say, “The future of Uzbekistan is in the hands of its youth”? We—the youth—are his strongest army. In a time when everything revolves around young people, it is our duty to respond to these boundless opportunities with knowledge, ambition, and great achievements.

As long as we have the strong support of our President, the voice of New Uzbekistan’s youth will continue to ring out loud and proud across the world. Those who possess their own voice, their own convictions—without a doubt—are the children of an independent nation, a nation proud of its heritage.

Taking this moment on the occasion of Youth Day, I sincerely congratulate all the young people of Uzbekistan. And to everyone who carries the spirit, the joy, the energy, and the purity of youth in their hearts—Happy Holiday! May your steps be firm, your voice be strong, your knowledge be abundant, and may your path always be as wide and smooth as your dreams! When you conquer the highest peaks, may the eyes of your parents shine with pride and happiness.

Indeed:

We, the youth, are the future of our land,
Let us stand guard, a shield in our hand.
Come, peers, let us read and explore,
And build a fortress of knowledge at the core!

Kuziyeva Shakhrizoda was born on January 1, 2000, in the Khorezm region. By the order of the Minister of Higher and Secondary Specialized Education, she was awarded the Alisher Navoiy State Scholarship in the 2022-2023 academic year and the Islam Karimov State Scholarship in the 2023-2024 academic year. She was recommended for a master’s degree twice on a preferential basis. In addition, she won the “Youngest Scientist-2021” competition among CIS countries and was recognized as the “Youngest Female Scholar” at the age of 21.