Those who lie awake at night and say
Those who put aside the affairs of the world
Those who sacrificed their lives for their children
Mothers are great, my mother is great.
They cry when we cry, they laugh when we laugh.
May your kindness be the same for us.
They give knowledge to this tiny heart
Mothers are great, my mother is great.
Today, he did not turn away from giving love.
Mehrin didn’t fake poison.
May you live long.
Mothers are great, my mother is great.
蹬车者
我好奇他能拾到什么
面对着蒿草的隐没
他只能伸手去摸索
我后背着手走过
风从跌宕的日子里带来七嘴八舌
将我推近去看他的战果
存留在染泥的三轮车
烂炮纸与旧车链
不如拾一把蒿草点了火
不如拣几块砖头堆住所
不久他挺起身子举起新找的斧戈
生锈的颜色却能斩断绳索
斩断他以住生活里缠上身的绳索
他转身还举起另一件战果
不会关闭的留声机抚耳以音波
我祈愿它永远唱着歌
一方出声万林和
一人欢心万鸟乐
红炮纸和旧车链扬开苦涩
击开七嘴八舌
开阔的前路告诉我
有一颗燃烧的心何需点火
有一辆随性的三轮车何需住所
The Cyclist 蹬车者
What treasures he might unearth
amidst the weeds’ retreat
His hands fumble through the shadows
While I observe with clasped hands
Winds carry whispers from turbulent days
Drawing me closer to witness his discoveries
Displayed upon his mud-spattered tricycle
Faded firecracker remnants and weathered chains
Perhaps better to gather weeds and kindle flame
Perhaps better to collect stones and build refuge
Soon he rises, proudly holding his newfound weapon
Rusty in appearance, yet sharp enough to sever bonds
To cut free from the entangling ropes of existence
He turns, revealing another prize
A broken phonograph, still breathing melodies into the air
I hope its song continues eternally
When one voice rises,
forests echo in harmony
When one heart finds joy,
birds join in celebration
Discarded firecracker papers and chains release bitterness
Silencing the chorus of critical voices
The open path before us reveals this truth
A heart already aflame needs no spark
A free-spirited tricycle needs no shelter
Su Yun, 17 years old, is a member of the Chinese Poetry Society and a young poet. His works have been published in more than ten countries. He has published two poetry collections in China, namely Inspiration from All Things and Wisdom and Philosophy, and one in India titled WITH ECSTASY OF MUSINGS IN TRANQUILITY. He has won the Guido Gozzano Orchard Award in Italy, the Special Award for Foreign Writers in the City of Pomezia, and was praised by the organizing committee as the “Craftsman of Chinese Lyric Poetry”. He has also received the “Cuttlefish Bone” Best International Writer Award for those under 25.
我也想庆祝夜的生日
河北省石家庄市藁城区工业路小学 苏墨琰 10岁
夜的生日什么时候开始
小飞蛾趴在玻璃上提醒我
天空已摆好月亮蛋糕
插上星星蜡烛
蟋蟀和纺织娘开始歌唱
树叶哗啦啦鼓掌
风送来花香
灯光献上祝福
就连梦也和夜视频通话
祝他生日快乐
我也想庆祝夜的生日
其实，我趴在窗前
已经悄悄地帮他
关掉太阳
I Also Want to Celebrate the Night’s Birthday
By Su Moyan, 10 years old, Gongye Road Primary School, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
When does the night’s birthday start?
The little moth on the glass reminds me
The sky has set up a moon cake
With star candles inserted
Crickets and katydids start singing
Leaves applaud rustlingly
The wind sends the fragrance of flowers
Lights offer blessings
Even dreams have a video call with the night
Wishing him a happy birthday
I also want to celebrate the night’s birthday
In fact, I lean by the window
And have quietly helped him
Turn off the sun
窗帘
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛润楠 9岁
风是个捣蛋鬼
把我们教室的窗帘
一会儿变胖
一会儿变瘦
胖窗帘像个孕妇
同学从窗帘后面
探头走出来
胖孕妇秒变瘦妈妈
Curtain
By Xue Runnan, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
The wind is a troublemaker
It makes the curtain of our classroom
Now fat
Now thin
The fat curtain is like a pregnant woman
When classmates peek out from behind the curtain
The fat pregnant woman instantly becomes a thin mother
春天的火车
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 李思锦 9岁
花朵是春天的火车
一开动火车
就听到一阵阵香的震动
Spring’s Train
By Li Sijin, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Flowers are spring’s train
As soon as the train starts moving
We hear bursts of fragrant vibrations
月光走秀
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛嘉一 9岁
月光
穿上雪白的裙子
像一位白雪公主
在人间走秀
忽然
她跌倒了
月光碎了
月光花开了
Moonlight Fashion Show
By Xue Jiayi, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Moonlight
Puts on a snow-white dress
Like a Snow White
Walking a show on earth
Suddenly
She stumbles
Moonlight shatters
Moonlight flowers bloom
抢龙珠
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛舜兮 9岁
夕阳西下
几缕云围着落日
像极了几条龙
在抢一颗龙珠
Snatching the Dragon Ball
By Xue Shunxi, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
As the sun sets
Several wisps of clouds surround the setting sun
Just like several dragons
Snatched a dragon ball
美丽的雪花
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 马崡旭 9岁
冬天
雪花打扮得
漂漂亮亮的
她们穿上洁白的裙子
跳着洁白的舞蹈
讲着洁白的故事
Beautiful Snowflakes
By Ma Hanxu, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
In winter
Snowflakes dress up
Prettily
They put on white dresses
Dance white dances
Tell white stories
小鸟
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛畅 9岁
窗外的小鸟
学着我们的样子
叽叽喳喳读课文
我们停下来
它们还在读
老师宣布
小鸟读得最快乐
Birds
By Xue Chang, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Birds outside the window
Learn from us
Chirping and reading textbooks
When we stop
They keep reading
The teacher announces
Birds read the happiest
花朵上的雨滴
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 刘怡杉 9岁
乌云开工了
用自己国家的小水晶
给花朵们穿上
自己亲手制作的水晶鞋
Raindrops on Flowers
By Liu Yishan, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Dark clouds start working
With small crystals from their own country
Dress the flowers
In crystal shoes made by themselves
花梦
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛子航 9岁
把我的灯关了
把我的门关了
把我的耳朵关了
把我拉进花的梦中
给我一个清醒的鼻子
Flower Dream
By Xue Zihang, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Turn off my lights
Close my door
Shut my ears
Pull me into a flower dream
Give me a sober nose
热闹的秋雨
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 顼艺安 9岁
小雨滴在天上乱跑
落下的时候
还在叽叽喳喳地叫
来到地面又开始聊天
好热闹的秋雨
Lively Autumn Rain
By Xu Yian, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Little raindrops run wild in the sky
When falling
They still chirp and shout
When they come to the ground, they start chatting again
What a lively autumn rain
小蜜蜂住酒店
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 韩鑫佑 9岁
沙沙沙
下雨了
被雨淋湿的小蜜蜂
急急忙忙钻进一朵小花
甜甜的花酒
美美的花床
小蜜蜂
躺在花朵酒店里
睡着了
Little Bees in the Flower Hotel
By Han Xinyu, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Shasha Sha
It’s raining!
Little bees soaked by the rain
Hurry into a tiny flower—
Sweet flower wine,
A beautiful flower bed…
The little bees
Lie in their flower hotel
And drift off to sleep.
猫与云
河北省石家庄市藁城区贾市庄镇贯庄小学 薛梓阳 9岁
一到阴天
小猫就害怕出门
因为云朵的眼泪
让它担心
自己柔软的皮毛
会被云要回去
Cats and Clouds
By Xue Ziyang, 9 years old, Guanzhuang Primary School, Jiashizhuang Town, Gaocheng District, Shijiazhuang City, Hebei Province
Whenever it’s cloudy
The kitten is afraid to go out
Because of the clouds’ tears
It worries
That its soft fur
Will be taken back by the clouds
A touch of blue sky
A touch of blue sky
The drawing of clouds,
A morning of sunshine
The chirping of birds.
A morning of thumping
The rain-soaked soil,
The mother’s lap in green grass
Enchanted and tidy.
A sky of generous pictures
The ocean meets the river
My mind is flying away,
The waves are playing in the blue today.
A morning garden of flowers,
A fair of honey locusts,
A morning of flying,
A raft of white clouds.
A morning of dawn,
Sleep in the eyes of a child,
A kiss of sweet lips,
A kiss of mother’s love
………….
I forget you are not there
I forget you are not there
You are not there beside me,
It feels like you are
With every breath.
The wailing wakes up
With a terrible thirst,
I search for you
In the blazing wind.
The shadow of memory is painted
The hem of the saree,
The rain clouds fall on my eyes.
The lonely night
I wake up alone
I hope to see you one day, my dear
My country is in my heart…
When you die – my happiness is inevitable,
Memories are bright inside – your history.
I sing in your arms, my words are triumphant,
Say “oh” every time you take your medicine.
Your height is higher than I value,
The whole world is one world.
Be a light, my country, with my body –
Let’s say saffron to the poor.
If you are told to die with longing –
He is the figure of Babur. – “dodi” in the language.
With the “pen” that conquered the world,
Your prayers will never fade away.
Take care of yourself, shield your freedom,
The beasts are the prey of my sword.
A clot of blood swirled around his chest.
Don’t let it go like that – the sasi of ghanim.
Put a word in the heart – pain from clutching,
Stay intoxicated with freedom.
– Until I stay in your arms forever…
– May I find luck in your arms…
Mahzuna Habibova Aʼzam kizi. She was born on October 10, 1998 in Jondor district, Bukhara region. Currently a student of Gulistan State University. In Uzbekistan, her first book, “Lines of Longing” was published.
Mauro Montakkyesi, the celebrated scholar and great literary luminary from Rome reviews Epicasia Vol 2.
Thanks to you dear friend for your kind words.
CRITICAL REVIEW OF
EPICASIA VOL. 2
by Dr. Jernail Singh Anand
Introduction: The Prophet of the Post-Epic World
If Epicasia Vol. 1 is a dive into the shadowy soulscapes of postmodernity, Epicasia Vol. 2 is that reverberating thunderclap of an echo, sounding through the existential wastelands of a world where oracles have been replaced by algorithms and morality by mechanization. The indefatigable bard, the radical recorder of spiritual decay, the fearless Jernail Singh Anand brings forth this second epic entwined into twelve epics.
The book isn’t just a work of literature; it’s a mythopoetic manifesto — a confrontation with civilization in all its guises, posing in the form of an epic.
Form and Structure:
The Esoteric Mythos, Satire, Prophetic Voice and Alchemy
From Geet: The Unsung Song of Eternity to The Canterbury Tales, this book is a polyphonic symphony of philosophical dirges, existential satire, and moral cosmology. Anand’s formalism still radiates unconventional power — there are cantos and choruses, soliloquies and satanic stage directions, not to mention sprawling mythological allusions.
The result is not a linear narrative, but a circular explosion of meanings. The structure is cathedral-like: every poem an altar, every stanza a cracked stained glass through which light and darkness simultaneously stream.
Central Themes:
The Banquet of Chaos and the Starvation of Ethics
Post-Edenic Fall and Ontological Anguish
In Geet and beyond, the poetic subject mourns the loss not just of paradise, but of a why. The Adamic lament—“Why was I born?”—saturates the text with ontological exhaustion. Anand dramatizes the Fall not as a single sin but as a recursive error loop embedded in civilization’s DNA.
Satire of Institutions
Religion becomes a showroom of noise. Education, a “Manchester of Non-sense.” Marriage, a Faustian contract disguised in lace. Anand skewers these systems without mercy, not from cynicism but from ethical urgency. The grotesque parodies of The Satanic Guidemap and the Public Square Executions leave the reader appalled and awed in equal measure.
Love, Lust, and the Execution of the Human Heart
In Anand’s universe, Love is not merely spurned — it is guillotined in public. They dress themselves as saints and march in Satan’s infernal parade as Lust, Greed and Doublespeak! Anand’s upending of virtue isn’t just sensationalist, it is his poetic vehicle to diagnose our cultural autoimmune failure.
Philosophy and the Disfigured Logos
Socrates is dragged in chains. Shakespeare becomes a weapon. Plato is marked as dangerous. Anand reclaims them and is then relatable witness to their fall in the streets of corrupted modernity.
He mourns not just lost philosophers, but a lost philosophia perennis—a wisdom tradition defiled by pragmatism and profit.
Stylistic Register:
Sermon, Satire, Scripture, and Song
Anand’s language oscillates between scriptural gravitas and sardonic theatre.
He will channel the Gita in one breath, and call for Marlowe and Orwell in the next. It’s theatrical without being histrionic, moralistic without being tendentious. The rhythm is deliberately uneven: a literary jazz score that mirrors the very chaos it laments.
Innovation: The Dramatic Epic Reborn
Perhaps the most radical feature of Epicasia Vol. 2 is its reclamation of the dramatic epic. Anand does not merely narrate—he stages. Faustus is reborn as a demonic everyman. Satan organizes political conferences. Archangels deliver monologues worthy of dystopian theatre. The result is a hybrid form that redefines what epic poetry can do in the twenty-first century: not just sing of heroes, but dissect their disfigurement.
Comparative Legacy: Anand Among Giants
Where Homer chants the nobility of war, Anand reveals the banality of evil. Where Milton pities the Fall, Anand mocks it, autopsies it, and sets it ablaze. He is closer to Dante in moral scope but more ferocious, less forgiving.
Blanchot’s thought, with its endless horizon of emptied language, comes to mind, as does Bataille and Deleuze; and further back one can hear Blake and Nietzsche.
No modern poet — maybe no poet, period — has more consistently maintained the epic voice over twelve bloated works with such integrity and critical mass. He is not simply reporting on the fall of man; rather, he is erecting a new monument over its ruins with warnings and whispered prayers etched into stone.
Conclusion: Epicasia as Ethical Wake-Up Call
Epicasia Vol. 2 is a catastrophic symphony—an opera of the soul in a world that has replaced sacred rites with credit scores and conscience with convenience. Dr. Jernail Singh Anand offers no easy redemption, but he does offer clarity. And in an age addicted to spectacle, clarity itself is a revolution.
This book should be read not as a sequel, but as a counter-testament: the last light before the temple gates are shut. In Anand, we meet the last epicist standing—a man who will not stop singing, even as the world forgets how to listen.
Anand The Last Lightkeeper
In the quiver and digital dust of the age, where empires glitch and anthems fade, stands the Anand, lone upon the ruins’ crest,
a prophet unbent, a spirit unpressed.
His poems—cathedrals crumbled but full with heaven, carved with laughter, sorrow, and backbone, Geet rises as from a phoenix choir, songs unsongs, yet set afire.
He does not talk in sandals but seismic verse, drags Socrates through traffic’s curse, unmasks the Devil in a statesman’s dress, Angels are falling and oracles are a mess.
He cries to Marlowe, Plato, Blake, not for solace, but for the stake. A mythmaker in post-epic frock, his dirges for humanity’s sad sack.
Marriage to him becomes the Faustian mask, education—a mill of empty bands, and love—is guillotined on the marble stand, his pen, a scalpel. His muse, our rage.
A stanza, light cracking glass, a canto, a sermon in easeful night, he sings not of victories but of fall, of dimming logos, of moral crawl.
Oh Anand! Lost flame’s guard, weeps Dante, hides his Milton name. You roar where silence raised the beast, and feast on truth when lies have feast.
Then sing the stanza, chaos let hear,— Anand is the place where all disappear. Not to grieve, but to re-create the song, one last epic, fierce and long.
TO MY MOTHER
My mother – a mountain of strength so high,
What are mountains, compared to her blooming sky?
No, I was wrong — she’s my golden crown,
May she walk beside us, healthy and sound.
We are three daughters and one precious son,
To us, she’s a gem, brighter than the sun.
So many storms she has weathered as a woman,
May she stay strong — our prayers are human.
When I wept, calling myself unlucky and weak,
You asked, “Who dared make you feel so bleak?”
You never let your name be dragged through mud,
You said, “If you’re my child, then know only my love.”
Forgive me, mother, for every time I complained,
Wrap me in your love, in your warmth unchained.
You are both my father and mother — my soul’s gleam,
May I walk beside you in Heaven’s dream.
You are my treasure, the crown of my fate,
The sun in my sky, life’s dearest state.
Surrounded by grandchildren, joy never parts,
You are every child’s strength, the queen of hearts.
Gulnoza Valiyeva was born on April 30, 2006, in Okoltin district, Sirdaryo region.
A number of her poems have been published in the anthology “Towards My Goals…”, by one of the renowned publishing houses in the United Kingdom and the United States — JustFiction Edition.
She is currently a second-year student at the University of Journalism and Mass Communications of Uzbekistan. In 2024, she became the winner of the district-level poetry competition “Homeland Praised in Every Heart”, securing 1st place.
Mother says, my child, take care of yourself!
The sadness is gone from her heart
If the two of them strike at the same time
When my friends do what my enemies do
My mother says, my child, take care of yourself
Even when someone is waiting for my way
Even when my days passed like a fairy tale
Even when good people hold my hand
My mother says, my child, take care of yourself
She waits with her eyes open at night
If the world shows me, I’m sorry
Worries and swallows poisons
My mother says, my child, take care of yourself
Born in 2011 in Samarkand region, Sitora Sodiqova is a student of the 2nd general secondary school of Yangiyol city, Tashkent region. She’s 13 years old and was awarded a medal by the State of Egypt and a golden badge statuette for being Researcher of the Year for 2024.
Her creative works have been published in more than five countries and she’s mentoring about 30 students. She’s won one million vouchers for her courses, more than 200 international certificate diplomas, and Turkey issued an invitation to her in Bukhara region.
Her books are now available in over 20 countries, and her works have been published in German magazines and newspapers Morning Star and Bonfire.