Love Marriage
Jisan now studies in the step of B.A. That was 4 years ago. He was studying in class of eleven, then. At that time in class 9 in his school, there were 40 students. They lived in harmony with each other. At that time, Jisan disliked one of his girlfriends very much. His girlfriend's name was Asha. Jisan could not bear the hope with his two eyes. He treated Asha very badly. He did not like her. Asha also did not like Jisan at that time. They both did not like each other. Asha's house and Jisan's house were in the same village. Asha was always annoyed by Jisan. Jisan was very mischievous at that time. Then, when they passed SSC exam and entered class eleven, they still get admission in the same school. A boy named Sijan liked Asha then. He was talking to Asha on mobile. Sijan and Jisan's house was a little apart. Jisan learnt about the incident since Sijan started liking Asha. When Sijan talked to Asha, Jisan listened all the conversations. Jisan and Sijan were good friends. Sijan slowly related to Asha. Jisan taked Asha's mobile number in secret from Sijan one day and Jisan started annoyance to Asha. Slowly, Asha stopped talking to Sijan. Jisan was the one, she talked to most of the times. Suddenly, one day Asha's father came to know that his daughter talked to Jisan. He called Jisan and said "Don't talk to my daughter after today!" Then love started between Jisan and Asha.
Jisan didn't talk on the phone but he still talked outside or at school. A few days passed like this. Asha's father again found out that Jisan was talking to Asha. Asha's father told Jisan again that, Jisan should not talked to his daughter. A few days later, Jisan started talking to Asha again. Jisan was a non-stop slave. He thought that he would leave Asha after getting married. Though Jisan could not tolerate Asha, now Jisan is madly in love with her. Asha also began to love him. Both started loving each other. When Asha's family pressed on Jisan, Jisan did not back down.
All his friends also slowly came to know that, the two of them were in love. Everyone started talking about them. Jisan's family did not say anything about it, but Asha's family could not accept it. Asha's father decided to send her away so that Jisan could forget her. But Jisan would never forget hope. Indeed, Asha was admitted by her family to a residential college far away. Jisan did not know where Asha was admitted at first. Later, Asha called Jisan on his mobile and said, "I am in Asian College. Dad left me in this college." Jisan went there the next day and took Asha with him and went for a walk. The college teacher noticed that. He told Asha's father about that. Asha's father then took the marriage proposal to Jisan's house and said, "My daughter must marry your son. He has been dating my daughter for a long time. He is not leaving my daughter’s behind." He also said, "If your son marry Asha and you are willing to give, my family will hopefully accept Jisan immediately."
Because, Asha's family was furious. But, Jisan's father did not agree with this comment. He did not want to marry off his son at such a young age. Moreover, Jisan did not do any work. So, he was not happy with that comment. Jisan's father said to Jisan, "Dad! Don't follow Asha anymore. You will marry her when you grow up." But, Jisan said, "No, Dad. I will marry with Asha now. But her father did not marry him at such a young age. Jisan told his father the next day, "Dad! I will kill myself if you don't manage Asha soon." Then Jisan's father said, "You don't have to do this. You are not of marriageable age now. Besides, you are not a working man. I either accept Asha. But what will you feed Asha after marriage? So, if you establish yourself I confirm you the marriage.
Still Jisan said, "No Dad, I will get married soon." So his father said, "Okay. you can do it after your HSC exam in next 2 years. Although Jisan was not very happy with his father's decision. There was nothing he could do about that, so he agreed to the decision. They completed their HSC exam and got married. Jisan's father died a few days after the marriage. The family was supported by the income earned by Jisan's father. How to proceed now? Now, all the responsibilities of the family are on Jisan.
By now, Jisan understood why his father did not want to give him the permision for marriage. But, Jisan realized it too lately. There was nothing to do, he had to run the family. So, he went looking for a job. He got a job as an actor, where he had to work for a a movie with a girl. Jisan had no other work at hand. Meanwhile, there was tension in the family. But, Asha said, she would not let Jisan doing that. Because Jisan had no choice, he was forced to do that. When Jisan went to shoot, Asha was crying that her husband would act with another girl! Asha told Jisan one day, "If you go shooting again, I won't have a relationship with you anymore." Hearing this, Jisan fell into a great danger. His wife on one side, half-completed film on the other. He could not decide which one he would choose. So, he got tensed. If the film was not completed, he would not get the full amount for his job! The next morning when the film director called Jisan, why was he late, Asha then picked up the phone and told that Jisan would not go there again.
Then Jisan had no other way. The money Jisan earned as an
actor, after a few days it ran out. Jisan on the other hand, couldn't find any work. Jisan and Asha starved for a day and Asha brings Jisan to her father's house. Then, Asha's father said to Jisan and Asha, "Your desire to get married is satisfied? You had grown big wings to get married, now where are they! I forbade you to get married, even if you disobeyed me. Any of you in my house, Don’t give up!"Theybecame destitute. There is a saying, "It hurts too much!", so too much work is not good, which Jisan and Asha feel in their bones. Prince Jisan is now a farmer and runs the family as a day laborer. They have now, "After meat comes mustard!"
Nurujjaman is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Education
Education means light
Again asset
Education makes one great
Education is knowledge
A change of attitude
An art and enjoyment
A power to build oneself a human.
29 August, 2023.
Monira Mahbub is a student of grade 6 in Nawabganj Government Girls' High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
The suffocating dream
Nowadays I sleep in fear
The world is open but covered with darkness for some
The warning bell is ringing
Some dance on the stage
On the other some are firing
Through all you can see the light of the moon
The death-the dancing
The bodies quickly get mingled with soil under the ground
I suddenly shouted with the suffocating scene in my sleep.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
11 October, 2023War
This is cobweb in the corner of my room
In some places the strings break making the hole
The humanity rolls into the trap for survival
The war is like an enigma
'Who will bell the cat?'
No one steps for negotiation
The people are dying like the insects
In this dire situation of struggle
How to finish the tale?
War is like a cave
Where people plunge into the horror of darkness
War, why are you weaving the clothes for death
I cry for.
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
11 October, 2023
My Best Friend
Oh, Wazed, my cherished dearest friend,
A bond that time cannot transcend.
Through laughter, tears, and all life's bends,
Our camaraderie shall never end.
In moments of darkness, you bring the light,
Guiding me through the darkest night.
With words of wisdom and calm insight,
You make every burden become light.
Your heart so pure, your spirit so kind,
A true companion, one of a kind.
In your presence, solace I find,
A treasure in this world, hard to find.
You fill my days with joy and cheer,
With your laughter, the skies appear clear.
Together we conquer, with no fear,
For our friendship's embrace is sincere.
In memories we create, forever we'll dwell,
The stories we share, our tales to tell.
Through thick and thin, forever compelled,
With you, Wazed, my dear friend, all is well.
So here's to you, Wazed, my closest confidant,
A friendship so precious, no words can supplant.
May the bond we share forever enchant,
My dear friend, in my heart, you'll always remain, nonchalant.
Don Bormon is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
The Colours Of Seasons
With seven colours of Rainbow,
Six seasons keeping me awake
Keeping me amuse
Giving me excite
Illuminating me
Throughout the whole year.
When Summer Solstice Sun is on her head,
Delonix give smile with a crimson glow.
Green colored eyes of Rainy season
Paints the purple colour pain.
Autumn as a girl, wearing blue Saree
Fills up selvage with Nyctanthes.
Dawn's light of Late-Autumn
Glisten with sunshine.
Yellow Chuddar of Mustard Flower
Coddle the winter body.
Ravishing colors of Spring air
Outbreak the desolate mirthless
Where blooming bunches of Red-Palas.
Sparkling land gifted by the Majestic Sun
Which is my center of soul–
Prying from the safe distance of hard
Ice or warm desert.
Aklima Ankhi, poet, storyteller and translator from Cox'sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh. She has a published poetry named "Guptokothar Shobdochabi" written in Bangla.She is a post graduate in English Literature. As a profession she is a Lecturer in English.
Shortly before my father died, he whispered to me longingly: “Daughter, treasure this, because it authenticates your heritage to our kinsfolk!” When I accepted this object, I discovered it was a stone with inscriptions I did not understand and delicate, mysterious lines. He continued, “It is a keepsake from our great-great grandfather and can ultimately be traced back to Bilal, the Holy Prophet’s first muezzin, and his father, who was the king of Ethiopia.” I accepted this small heirloom, which I carried everywhere with me in my handbag.
The person who shared my life under the title of “husband,” however, threw it down the drain at our house, thinking—as he told me—that it was a fetish. From then till now I have endured successive exiles. So I wrote this poem to explain the secret of my skin color—given that I am a native of al-Najaf, Iraq—spiritually, mournfully, and poetically!
My father said: “You were born quite unexpectedly, Remote from Aksum, like a beauty spot for al-Najaf—‘the Virgin’s Cheek.’
Your one obsession has been writing, but the sea will run dry before you arrive at the meaning of meaning.”
He affirmed: “During a pressing famine,
I devoted myself to watching over every breath you took.
I would thrust my hand through the film of hope
To caress your spirit with bread.
You would burp, and
I would delightedly endure my hunger and fall asleep.
I could only find the strength to fib to your face and say I was happy.
2
I would feel devastated when you fidgeted,
Because you would always head toward me,
And I felt helpless.”
Aksum! They say you’re far away!
“No, it’s closer to you than your exile.”
“And now?”
“Don’t talk about ‘now’ while we’re living it.”
“The future depresses me. How can I proceed?”
How can the ear be deaf to the wailing from the streets?
Aksum, you have colored my skin. Al-Najaf has freshened my spirit.
She knows and does the opposite.
She knows that I inter only dirt above me, and
That I deny everything except spelling out words:
M: Mother, who went walking down the alley of no return.
F: Father, who hastened after her.
B: Brother, who never earned that title.
S: Sister who buttoned her breast to a loving tear, no matter how fake.
………………….There’s no one I care about!
The trees tremble some times, and we don’t ask why.
My life surrounds me the way prison walls surround suspects;
I am the victim of a building erected by a frightened man.
With its talons time scratches its tales on me,
And I transform them into a silent song
3
Or, occasionally, a psalm of sobs.
Father, do you believe that–the roots have been torn asunder?
Fantasies began to carry me from al-Najaf to Afyon
And from Afyon to nonexistence,
Yellow teeth stretching all the way.
“History’s not anything you’ve made,”
One American neighbor tells another.
He’s surprised to see me.
“Who are you?” he asks when he doesn’t believe his eyes.
Would he understand the truth of my origin if I told him I was born in al-Najaf
Or that Aksum has veiled my face?
I have walked and walked and walked.
I’m exhausted, Father.
Is your child mine?
Show yourself and return me to the purity of your loins.
Allow me to occupy the seventh vertebra of fantasy!
Don’t eject me into a time I don’t fit.
I need you.
I ask you:
Has my Lord forbidden me to be happy?
Am I forbidden to preserve
What I have left
And sit some warm evening
4
Averting my ear from a voice that doesn’t interest me?
Answer me, Father!
Or change the face of our garden
So it changes . . . .to what they believe!
She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq. She received her master’s degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German, Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese, ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is a Pulitzer Prize Nominee for 2018, PushCaret Prize Nomination 2019 and a member of the International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020.
Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021)
One of the Women of Excellence selection committee members – 2023
HANAMI
At night,
I touch my eyelids with my cheekbones,
with my touches I try to sharpen the features of your face,
but with my fingers I only create flickering white butterflies.
Still, I manage to take you by the hand.
Suddenly, while we are running at the foot of the mountain,
I stumble clumsily on the veins of the trees,
I fall with you and so we break your mask one by one.
Love, our chest needs vastness so that we can constantly observe the cherry blossoms,
I'm telling you while we lie down...
and the souls of one's ancestors, from the treetops, stare into our deep eyes.
I am afraid of dawns full of this immersion in pain,
which seems kind of callous to me:
are we going to be that hungry after all
and only harsh rubble and the wind will be able to
to feed
our relentless loneliness.
Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia. Winner of several international awards for poetry, including: Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020. Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021. Fra Martin Nedić Award, 2022.
She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.
