This article analyzes the impact of the globalization process on the native language, its place and position in society. The article reflects on how the prestige and importance of national languages are changing as a result of the prevalence of foreign languages. Also, in the current period, issues of preservation, development of the native language and increased attention to it will be covered. During the study, the role and perspective of the native language in maintaining national identity in the context of globalization is analyzed on a scientific basis.
Keywords:
Globalization, the influence of foreign languages, attention to the native language, the national language, prestige, its place in society, the position of the native language.
Annotation
This article analyzes the impact of globalization on the mother tongue, its role, and its status in society. It discusses how the widespread use of foreign languages has influenced the prestige and importance of national languages. The article also highlights the current effects to preserve and develop the native language and to strengthen attention to it. The study scientifically tests the role and prospects of the mother tongue in maintaining national identity in the context of globalization.
Keywords: Globalization, influence of foreign languages, attention to the native language, national language, prestige, role in society, status of the mother tongue.
Annotation:
This article analyzes the impact of the globalization process on the native language, its place and position in society. The article reflects on how the prestige and importance of national languages are changing as a result of the prevalence of foreign languages. Also, in the current period, issues of preservation, development of the native language and increased attention to it will be covered. During the study, the role and perspective of the native language in maintaining national identity in the context of globalization is analyzed on a scientific basis.
Keywords:
Globalization, the influence of foreign languages, attention to the native language, the national language, prestige, its place in society, the position of the native language.
Introduction
In today’s era of globalization, cultural, economic and scientific ties between the peoples of the world are gaining momentum. This process naturally also enhances the effect between languages. The wide penetration of foreign languages makes the issue of the position of our native language relevant, as well as a positive impact on the thinking, speech and worldview of the younger generation. The globalization process is one of the most important stages of human development
He will strengthen social , economic, political integration of the entire Uzbek people, as well as the whole world
Transforming it into an information and communication space this process will certainly have a direct impact on the language system as well
Because language is not only a means of communication , a social phenomenon that preserves the cultural memory of its historical experience. The mother tongue – the foundation of the nation is a means of National thinking and self-realization . It is considered the most important factor that conveys social values , cultural heritage from generation to generation .
As a weapon of communication , perception and thinking , language also characterizes how we see the world, the past reflects the connection between today and the future
The role of the native language in society is also directly related to its position in the fields of Science, Education, Literature and art.
The Uzbek language is enriched today through a system of scientific and technical terms, modern lexical units and translation work. Thanks to this, the Uzbek language is becoming not only a national means of communication, but also a means of scientific research, creativity and creative thinking, since the Internet has greatly influenced the globalization of the language. Through online platforms, people can connect with individuals from different cultures and languages, which leads to language harmonization and the development of hybrid forms.
The language of ingiliz in particular becomes a global lingua franca, influenced by different languages and dialects of the world
In the Republic of Uzbekistan, the status of the native language – Uzbek as the state language is enshrined in the Constitution of the country and the law “on the state language”. This situation provides a legal framework for the widespread use of the Uzbek language not only in the field of administrative management, but also in the fields of Education, Culture, Science, Media and international relations. Today, within the framework of the language policy, a number of programs are implemented to develop the Uzbek language, increase its prestige and promote it internationally. Hence, the role of the native language in society is an expression of the attitude of the people towards themselves, their own history and culture. Attention to language is attention to the nation, and appreciation of language is a pledge of national independence and spiritual elevation.
According to scientists, it turns out that in order for the language to survive, at least one million people need to speak it. However, such languages make up only 250 in the world. Uzbek is among these 250 languages. Currently, the number of Uzbek speakers is approaching 50 million people globally.
Parents have a great social responsibility in shaping the attitude of young people towards their native language. Each parent has a good education for their children, learning the language and making it
should feel responsible for ensuring proper use. Currently, there are several problems in the field of language education. These include problems such as forgetting the native language, mixing native dialects or other languages, and narrowing of vocabulary
Language is the being of our nation, the sun of our hearts. Language is a social phenomenon that invigorates literature, increases the spiritual wealth of a nation. Both nationality and Literature Live if the language lives. The languages of the world are divided into several language families, depending on their origin, lexical and grammatical closeness. Earth
In the conditions of Uzbekistan, this issue is raised to the level of Public Policy, large-scale reforms are being carried out on the preservation and development of the language.
Conclusion:
In conclusion, at a time when the competition between languages is growing in the era of globalization, ensuring the role and perspective of the native language remains an urgent task . Although the prevalence of foreign languages in today’s era of globalization is a natural process, this situation should not be a reason for the decline in the prestige of national languages. On the contrary, taking them to a new level creates the opportunity to harmonize with modern technologies.
The role of language in maintaining the identity of each people in the context of globalization is incomparable.
Nowadays, Uzbek is recognized not only within the country, but also in the international arena, which shows its rich possibilities and charm.
Hence, the perspective of the native language is manifested in the affection, faith and practical activity of each citizen towards it. Language duck-means to duck the nation. While every young person deeply feels the beauty of his language, the rich vocabulary and cherishes it, the Uzbek language remains a symbol of national pride and unity not only today, but also in the lives of future generations.
Literature used :
1. Obidova Sarvinoz – “the influence of globalization on language and cultural identity.” Impact of Globalization on Language and Cultural Identity ” (2023): PROSPECT and MAIN TRENDS in MODERN SCIENCE
2.Kurbanova Zubayda Alimova – “preservation of national language and literature in the age of globalization” (2025): pedagogues INTERNATIONAL RESEARCH JOURNAL | pedagogues / PED / VOLUME-83 / ISSUE-1
3.Orazbaev satellite ” the importance of the role of the native language in the era of globalization “
4.Shukurova Elinura – “the role and importance of Global language” (2023) Electronic Journal and internet portal “foreign languages in Uzbekistan”
5.Ja’far Kholmominov – “National factor in the process of globalization “” Hurriyat ”
ALISHER NAVOIY NOMIDAGI TOSHKENT DAVLAT O’ZBEK TILI VA ADABIYOTI UNIVERSITETINING ONA TILI VA ADABIYOT FAKULTETIO’ZBEK TILI VA ADABIYOT YO’NALISHI 13-GURUH TALABASIRAHMONQULOVA GULSEVAR SAMID QIZI
Father-Son Relationship in the “Alpomish” Epic
Abstract This article analyzes the father-son relationship in the “Alpomish” epic, a unique example of Uzbek folk oral creativity. It demonstrates that the relationships between Alpomish and his son Yadgar in the epic’s plot express family loyalty, heroic heritage, and generational continuity. The article illuminates the ideological-artistic features of the epic, its plot motifs, and differences in various variants based on the research of literary scholars such as Hamid Olimjon, V.M. Zhirmunsky, Hodi Zarif, Bahodir Sarimsoqov, and To‘ra Mirzayev.
The father-son relationship is linked to ancient folklore roots, comparative analysis with world epics, and national values, emphasizing the epic’s significance in folk education. Keywords. “Alpomish” epic, father-son relationship, family ties, heroic epic, generational continuity, Uzbek folk oral creativity, folklore studies, Hamid Olimjon, V.M. Zhirmunsky, Hodi Zarif, Bahodir Sarimsoqov, To‘ra Mirzayev, plot motifs, national values, variant comparisons.
The “Alpomish” epic, one of the largest and most perfect examples of Uzbek folk oral creativity, not only expresses the spirit of heroism and patriotism but also deeply depicts family relationships, particularly the father-son bond. In the epic’s plot, themes such as family, intergenerational connections, loyalty, and protection occupy a central place. These relationships reflect the nation’s national customs, moral standards, and way of life, as the epic has been passed down orally from generation to generation over centuries, shaped by historical conditions.
In this article, we analyze this theme based on the research of literary scholars, particularly drawing from the opinions of experts such as Hamid Olimjon, V.M. Zhirmunsky, Hodi Zarif, Bahodir Sarimsoqov, and To‘ra Mirzayev, to broadly illuminate the father-son relationships in various variants of the epic. The studies of these scholars have made significant contributions to exploring the ideological-artistic features of the epic, its plot structure, and system of characters.
Literary scholars have studied the father-son relationship in the “Alpomish” epic within the framework of the epic’s overall ideological-artistic structure. Their opinions help illuminate the ancient roots of the epic, its plot motifs, and national characteristics. Hamid Olimjon, in the foreword he wrote for the 1939 edition of the epic, evaluates “Alpomish” not only as a favorite work of the Uzbek people but also of Turkic nations. He focuses on the epic’s artistry, similes, and exaggerations, emphasizing the system of characters.
According to Hamid Olimjon, the relationship between Alpomish and his son Yadgar stands at the center of the epic, which served as the cradle of the hero’s poetry. He writes, “Alpomish is considered his most beloved epic. ‘Alpomish’ was the cradle of his poetry,” through which he interprets the father-son bond as generational continuity and heroic heritage. Hamid Olimjon emphasizes the influence of folklore, comparing the epic to the works of Pushkin and Navoiy, where family motifs derive from folk creativity.
V.M. Zhirmunsky, in his book “Uzbek Folk Heroic Epic” (1947) co-authored with Hodi Zarif and in his article “The Epic Tale of Alpomish and Homer’s Odyssey” (1957), compares the epic to world epics. He likens the hero’s return in the second part of “Alpomish” to Odysseus’s return: just as Odysseus meets his son Telemachus, Alpomish meets his son Yadgar and protects the family. Zhirmunsky meticulously analyzes the plot line, delving into the genesis of the characters Alpomish and Yadgar. In his view, this relationship stems from ancient folklore motifs (the hero appearing at his own wife’s wedding) and has similarities in European folklores. Zhirmunsky connects the basis of the epic to heroic tales, though this assumption was later deemed controversial.
Hodi Zarif, the founder of folklore studies, analyzes the epic’s emergence period and motifs in his article “The Main Motifs of the ‘Alpomish’ Epic” (published in 1957-1959). He links the epic not to the 17th-18th centuries but to the pre-Mongol invasion period and emphasizes the presence of pre-Islamic beliefs. According to Hodi Zarif, the father-son relationship is one of the central motifs of the epic, representing tribal and national unity. He refutes the accusations of A. Abdunabiyev and A. Stepanov, defending the epic as a popular national epic.
Hodi Zarif studies the etymology of the word Alpomish and the place of the epic’s creation (Boysun – ancient Khorezm), linking family bonds to ancient conceptions. Bahodir Sarimsoqov, in his article “Three Etudes on the Alpomish Epic,” refutes Zhirmunsky’s assumption, linking the basis of the epic not to heroic tales but to real historical events. In his opinion, the heroic epic directly reflects tribal and clan events, so the father-son relationship derives from the people’s specific historical experience. Sarimsoqov emphasizes that the epic is not based on heroic tales; rather, the tales are based on the epic, which helps interpret the father-son bond as a symbol of national unity and independence.
To‘ra Mirzayev, in his article “The ‘Alpomish’ Epic, Its Versions and Variants,” illuminates a brief history of the epic, comparing various versions (Kazakh, Karakalpak, Tatar, and others) and Uzbek variants. He reminds that the epic became known in scholarly circles in the 1890s and analyzes variants recorded by various bards (Fozil Yo‘ldosh o‘g‘li and others). According to Mirzayev, the father-son relationship varies in the epic’s versions, but the common motif – generational continuity and family protection – remains preserved. He evaluates the epic as an example of oral creativity that has been sung among the people for centuries.
The “Alpomish” epic consists of two main parts: the first describes the hero Alpomish’s birth, marriage, and adventures in the Kalmyk lands, while the second narrates his return and protection of his family. The father-son relationship becomes particularly evident in the second part. While Alpomish is in Kalmyk captivity for seven years, his wife Barchinoy (or Barchin) gives birth to a son – Yadgar (in some variants, Yodgor). During this time, in the Qo‘ng‘irot tribe, Alpomish’s brother Ultantaz (or similar characters in other versions) seizes power and persecutes the family: he insults Alpomish’s father, oppresses his son Yadgar, and tries to force Barchin to marry him. When Alpomish returns, he disguises himself and saves his family.
Here, the father-son relationship takes a dramatic turn: Alpomish recognizes his son but initially fights or tests him. Yadgar is depicted as a young hero who has inherited his father’s bravery – he tries to protect the family but faces difficulties due to his youth and inexperience. With Alpomish’s return, the father-son bond strengthens: the father saves his son and teaches him heroic virtues, while the son continues his father’s legacy. The continuation of the epic (in some variants) is dedicated to Yadgar’s own adventures, emphasizing generational continuity.
The father-son relationship in the “Alpomish” epic forms the ideological center of the national epic, expressing family loyalty, heroic heritage, and intergenerational unity. Hamid Olimjon’s artistic analysis, Zhirmunsky’s comparative study, Hodi Zarif’s motif research, Bahodir Sarimsoqov’s views on historical foundations, and To‘ra Mirzayev’s variant comparisons help to understand this relationship more deeply. This bond not only enriches the epic’s plot but also reflects the Uzbek people’s national values – family, homeland, and loyalty. The epic’s relevance today lies in its ability to educate the younger generation in the spirit of devotion and justice. These studies indicate the necessity of continuing to explore the epic within the framework of world folklore.
Student of Group 13, Uzbek Language and Literature Major, Faculty of Mother Tongue and Literature, Alisher Navoi Tashkent State University of Uzbek Language and Literature, Rahmonqulova Gulsevar Samid qizi
The heart / the liver / the empty balloon of the stomach
all the machinery that made it alive
is piled into a plastic bag.
My mother washes the body until it is clean.
Until it forgets it ever had protection.
We burn it in oil and call it dinner.
But later, in the shower,
I find a single silver scale stuck to my collarbone.
A piece of the armor.
A fragment that refused to be swallowed.
Prototype_v1
00:00 [Fade in]
The project file is heavy.
I drag the timeline cursor back to the start.
We are trying to build a woman
out of mp4s and jagged pieces.
00:12 [Clip: Mother]
Zoom in: 200%
There is a track of water running down her cheek.
A silver tear / high definition / too sharp to look at.
Action: Add Text Layer.
I type the promise in bold font:
I will fix this. / I will carry the roof so you don’t have to.
I crop myself out of the frame
so there is more room for her comfort.
This is the First Daughter preset:
edit everyone else’s sorrow / until your own timeline is blank.
01:45 [Effect: Green Screen]
I stand in the center of the frame / head high.
But looking at the monitor / I know it is a trick of the light.
Opacity: 50%
I feel like a fraud in every scene / a special effect / a glitch in the system.
I am holding my breath / waiting for the error message.
Waiting to mess it all up.
If you turn off the filter
you will see I am just a scared girl
standing in front of a blank wall
waiting for the director to yell “Cut.”
02:30 [Import: New File]
My hard drive is full of corrupted footage.
Hearts that failed to export. / XYs that turned into static.
I was ready to shut the system down.
Drag and Drop: Him.
He appeared out of the blue / no color grading needed.
Suddenly the audio is clear. / The waveform is steady.
But I am hovering over the “Delete” button.
My hand is shaking.
I am terrified that if I press play
he will shatter into pixels like the rest.
Please, I whisper to the screen, don’t crash.
04:00 [Rendering…]
98%…
99%…
The fans are spinning loud / the laptop is burning my thighs.
I am waiting to become something permanent.
To be exported into a format that cannot be hurt.
But the cursor blinks.
Error: File still in use.
I am not finished yet.
[Cut to Black]
THIS LAND SPEAKS WOMAN
They found our bones beneath grinding stones,
hips wide as hunger,
ribs bent like spoons
from feeding everyone else first.
Our skulls still had hair in tight rows,
as if we were plaited even in death.
We did not die wives.
We died witnesses to how
the earth split for men
and swallowed women whole.
We were the cloth on the table,
the table,
the floor beneath it,
and still, we were asked to kneel.
You want to heal this land?
Then start with our names —
the ones stitched shut
into the hems of our mother’s wrappers.
We are in the dust,
the scent of turaren wuta and ash.
We are in the rivers,
flowing like truths too old for tongue.
We are in the cracked heels of ndị nne,
who crossed war zones
to pick pepper for soup.
Our voices grew sideways,
through floor cracks,
through the hum of songs,
through pestles beating yam to tears.
Our silence is not consent.
It is fury wrapped in ìrọ́ and bùbá,
a scream ground into millet
and spread in the sun to dry.
So when we speak, do not flinch.
For we do not knock.
We bloom through the rocks,
we crack the earth from inside out,
with bosoms plumped by famine,
and stretch marks like thunder
across a waiting sky.
Glossary
ìrọ́: Yoruba — a traditional wide wrap skirt worn by women
bùbá: Yoruba — a loose-fitting blouse, usually worn with an ìrọ́
ndị nne: Igbo — “mothers” (plural form of nne)
turaren wuta: Hausa — fragrant smoke used to scent homes and clothing
Farida Yahaya Tijjani is an 18-year-old Nigerian poet, scriptwriter, essayist, and spoken word artist. Her work explores themes of identity, resilience, and social justice, using creativity as a tool for healing and transformation. Her writing has appeared in national newspapers and is forthcoming in Aster Lit Issue 15. She also lends her voice weekly to NTA’s Nigerian Navy in Focus, where she scripts and edits the “Operation Delta Sanity” segment. Merging poetry with powerful storytelling to inspire change, Farida has performed across diverse platforms and has been recognized in both poetry and short story competitions.
Advertising and the Language of Advertising: A Powerful Tool of Modern Society
By Dinora Sodiqova, a student of Termez State University
In today’s era of globalization, advertising has become an inseparable part of our daily lives. From street banners to mobile apps, from television and radio to social networks — advertising occupies almost every corner of the information space. Yet advertising is not merely a tool for introducing a product; it is a powerful social phenomenon that shapes public opinion, influences consumer culture, and even affects social attitudes.
The main weapon of advertising is language. Effective advertising sells not just a product, but an idea. That is why the language of advertising must be persuasive, brief, clear, and memorable. A single word or slogan can determine the success of an entire brand. Phrases such as “Quality is our top priority!”, “Chosen by those who trust themselves!”, or “New convenience every day!” demonstrate the essential features of advertising language: simplicity, clarity, and emotional impact.
The language of advertising works directly on human psychology. It widely uses attention-grabbing techniques, metaphors, exaggeration, rhythm, repetition, and vivid imagery. Moreover, modern advertising is closely linked with professional psychology: the meaning of colors, the tone of voice, visual elements — all are intended to influence the consumer’s subconscious mind.
However, advertising is not limited to commercial goals alone. Social advertisements aim to promote a healthy lifestyle, raise awareness about environmental issues, encourage observance of traffic rules, and draw attention to various public concerns. The language of such advertisements is more sincere, realistic, and educational in tone.
At this point, an important issue must be addressed: advertising not only informs but also shapes consumer behavior. Therefore, its language should remain honest, free from unnecessary manipulation or deception. Advertising that earns people’s trust lasts long; advertising that loses trust quickly loses its impact.
In conclusion, advertising is the heart of the modern economy, and the language of advertising is its powerful voice. Carefully chosen words, clear ideas, creativity, and honesty reveal the true strength of advertising. The quality of today’s advertising culture plays a significant role in shaping the consumer culture of future generations.
My heart is crushed, undone by the weight of grief
but my soul is tiny blooming. Let it be key.
Let everything be where everything needs to be.
Both are real. Only one will have authority
and receive my attention, elixir formed, a trickle,
ingested.
IV
Drum beat
no beat
I raise my arms
and scream hosana.
The drawers are empty
hunger parts my soul
into quarters. Stand up
and take account, no one
is listening.
Four months of stagnant emotion,
upheaval at the roots, planted again
somewhere less familiar and less fecund.
Faith and despair overlap, cross paths, join
together as a new entity.
Who understands? There is no understanding
to be had, only the ceramic bird on the shelf, winking,
and the air, heavy and humid one minute
and cold, oxygen-free, the next.
In my mind is an argument
existential, without possible resolution.
In my core there is shock at the terror
of disintegration, and for how long?
How much more? And still there is more.
In my being, I knew God
came with mercy, with Jesus and the peace
of infinity – washing clean, a soft joy
without degrees but only flowing, showering, eternal.
In between I wake up and I cannot see forward,
I listen, but I cannot be one with what I hear.
Holy Spirit, holy, do not escape me,
be clear, re-construct my devotion,
find me my union seed, to plant and tend to
simple devotion.
V
Jesus, you let me live.
I will sit with you
hand in hand.
I know you
in my personal crisis –
faith obliterated, reseeding
in a lucky garden.
I will trust you with all my problems,
with my anxiety like a dysfunctional
city, polluting the roadway, the airway
with its violence and indifference,
I will breathe easy, knowing you are here,
that you own it because I give it to you
and reckoning is rescue, in your hands,
miracles are coming – life changing,
a kinship with your divinity.
You are sovereign, my still-point, my doorway
into perpetual redemption.
I will collect the fruit and sit beside you,
eating together – no hunger, no hurry –
You and I, I with you, you
holding my hand.
VI
When I see the unseen
in a twisted longing
death-circle fantasy,
irresistible hope,
and drive to make that hope happen
even though
I am not a citizen of that land,
not meant to come forward
and shine with those deeds,
then I fail and live for an
illusionary future, creating a
hellish now, ripe with lack
and disappointment.
Bend on your knees, bow
to the one-name of God,
feel the slap of sobriety,
the consequences of depending
on your own wit and power
which is like a gnat trying to cross through
a tornado or a choir that sings without
glorifying.
I am learning that being conceived
and being re-conceived
is the cure for fear, the fire
that watches a greater fire,
burning enough,
releasing enough
to rejoice and just burn, a light, a warmth
transient, but elementally,
in this way, everlasting.
VII
It is hard to hold purpose
when purpose no longer holds you
when the single curtain seals the window
blocking the sun and sky,
making you blind so you only touch corners
and never a door.
All things lost their ownership, just wandered
aimless, squandering energy like tossed pebbles,
no pattern, sinking.
Governance failed, was only an imagined
corridor leading to a chaotic marketplace
that doled out meals, lacking nutrients and staying power.
Each shape to take and hold and shift from each day
was hard labour, exhausting to perform,
pretending hope existed when hope had abandoned.
I was not afraid because my fears
were pushed hard into my face,
swelling my eyes so they could only see behind.
Death won out over the light, won obedience –
the middle and opposite, smelling.
Death smells bad
smells like an inevitable succumbing
to rot, betrayal, rendering
endurance useless
and even the holiest of faith debunked.
There is a string before me,
thin and golden and unbreakable.
There is something I see I never saw.
I have collided with the consuming tyranny death,
felt it swerve and twist through
every vein, enter, break my heart,
break the truths I had before.
The string dangles,
dripping down from
of my inadequate cries
and a mangled prayer,
comes shining a faint intermittent glow.
It is small and so am I, minute,
hardly there, but there.
VIII
If I talk again,
I will keep my end-mind twisted
so it cannot speak or formulate
a plan.
I have no constitution for plans
or wherewithal for achieving
human-made provisions.
If I talk again,
silence me into prayer,
conversing only with the angelic order,
strengthened by devotion and the power
of obedience.
If I try to be a player,
remind me of my meek capacity,
sting me with regret and slap me
into a state of surrender.
If I try to enter a world not my own,
laugh at me, call me out
and put me in my designated low-chair place,
a dreamer, advancing
no further.
IX
Falling away like before
launching water at the moon
then releasing it, scattering it
onto a lifeless surface.
Songs and singing are murderous,
selling the false business of a buffet
inspiration, and poetry, like a sober
prayer or pleading, blossoms in a place
where no one comes or looks or even cares.
Things that once stretched
with divine determination towards health,
now fall backwards into addiction and defeat.
Chaos always hovering at the entrance door,
violence a few footsteps away.
Idealism once trapped in my mind has sieved through
incrementally and now in my mind, a faint flow
of tainted possibility, mostly consumed by despair, mostly
non-existence, more hesitant than youthful,
more resigned than risking.
The days drive on the same,
and how I wish I was in a state
of conspiratorial superiority
or in a social bliss of nonchalance.
How I wish I could be like I used to be,
believing despite the odds,
calling for help and receiving it.
What is this weakness,
this futureless waste of now,
pressing on all my joints,
an aching misery perpetual?
What are these days
when I can find no hope
to master this tortuous doom?
I am removed. A thin slice everywhere
between me and reality. Only sorrow brings
me near enough to touch, only happiness lives
inside my dreams or in my memories,
stripping the peel from the fruit,
dropping it to rot in the mud-marsh with the rest
of my wearied hold on merciful possibilities.
X
I don’t see
the far-reaching joy
to build a future on,
just disappointment, false-starts,
isolation and how can-that be?
I don’t see
but I know the builders take their time
to make sure what needs to be aligned
is aligned, that broken hearts can
become hardened hearts
and hope is dangerous for those who are desperate,
perishing at the foot of the mirage.
But there is a noble prophesy to follow,
to stand by and wait for.
There is true love, love that alters bitter grief
that wraps your love in its healing balm until
it blooms and your dry throat is
finally soothed, your wounds are rewarded,
transformed into strengths exposed,
safe on the marriage altar.
XI
Time does not help
to lessen the sharp scream
of amputation, or to help gain
a way to cope, maimed as I am,
lacking resilience.
Prayer does not answer
any questions or bury the emptiness
outside of my body, allowing
room that can be filled, even with only
a faint groaning microscopic creation.
Love that sits beside me,
day-after-day, holding my hand,
stays with me – miraculous devotion –
helps while it is there,
but does not stop the welling-up of sorrow,
that will not ease or be appeased
in solitude or by distraction.
Faith is a word that sparks
but cannot ignite. I sink down again
on my broken knees. I cannot rise.
I try and I try, but
I cannot overcome.
XII
God do you love me?
Everyday I fall short
of receiving your love,
blocked and stalled and wading
knee-deep in sewage mud.
I cannot take a step. I cannot
hear you anymore or
feel your mercy move the spoke
a mile, an inch, a fraction of
a way out of this criminal sleep,
arrested every day.
I try to take a breath,
try to step but I cannot
move. Please God, show yourself
to me again. I am aching all over,
joints on fire, mind – ablaze in jet-fuel burning
heat, tired all the time, cut off
from your glory.
Cut off no matter my prayers
and my pleas.
Please God, take my hand,
recognize me as one of your own.
I long for you.
I need your grace
to lift me, now,
trumpets calling,
advancing, only with you,
loved, permitted.
XIII
A hive blasted
by poison.
A blood-letting
in crave of a cure.
Two close-together cliffs
jumped across, looking
closer than they are.
In the whirlspin of a fall –
arms broken, extremities blasted,
crying out for someone from the angelic order
to swoop down and placate the pain.
But no angel-being arrives and what is broken
remains broken, deformed and starting to heal
that way, into a permanent liability.
Even then, when stuck thigh-deep in forsaken ground,
God is close, washing our cracked bodies,
cradling our defeat, saying
My Love doesn’t always answer with a clean slate
or a put-on spell so all hurt is forgotten,
not a trace left traceable. Sometimes
My Love just sits with you, beside the pain,
lets you know I am here,
here, in the empathetic love of others,
here, in your own resilience each morning to carry on,
here, in your determination to stay close to me
as you anguish and ache,
unable to walk or fully wake,
seeing that nothing turned out
the way you saw it
in your times of highest harmonic resonance
the way
you were sure it would.
XIV
Will you speak to me again
like before death cracked my windpipe
like when death still hovered thick in the air
but you were there surrounding everything
with the weight of your love?
Will you answer me again
cooling my shape, giving back force
to my petering-out flame
so I can grow again, still tied to your mercy
and the joy of having dreams?
Will I know you again
despite my mutations
and the iron that rotates sickeningly
in my core, using my energy
for lesser aspirations?
Will you love me again
and I will know that love
igniting its current through
my every predicament,
bonding me unbreakable
to your side, inside
your privileged embrace?
XV
First thing,
you are here.
I wake up and we are talking,
merged in a matter-of-fact
conversation. My need, my only way
to take a step in the morning.
More and more, without you, I can’t
exist or comprehend a thing.
Then why this endless desert, the
hard bloated boils erupting
every time I do move?
How is it, you are here, but there
is so much pain still, so much struggle
just to keep alive?
How do I feel so close to you and need
you more than I ever have, have you
more than I ever have, with such
drought and trembling-burns burning everyday,
throughout the days, echoing – no medicine, no food,
just you and I in this high heat,
where I am barely capable,
but somehow capable.
XVI
Then the bitter defeat
was burning like a sin
committed, recognized
and unforgiveable.
Then on a hill, heavy with
weighted down legs and
an injury there, debilitating but
unexplained, the challenge came
to walk.
Walk slowly at first, walk like
I can walk even though the reins
are dropped and I have lost my mother,
lost life’s victory over death and the comfort
of an unbreakable love broken,
altered, intangible now as an angel’s skin
or a hope held for decades unrealized.
Walk with my mortal burden, stumbling without
a path, a cane or a flat plane. Twist in my ankle, twist
in my knee, swollen, bloated with a hot fever, walk.
Face a direction, walk, slowly,
commit and make it my own.
XVIII
Soak the born
in their own initial conception
to remember the pure-memory-pockets,
the truth of miracles.
Underline everything that matters
and read it again until no small word
is skimmed over or taken for granted.
Open the shelter doors and let all animals
in, wild ones, broken ones, aggressive and tame.
Free with a blessing
every dream that isn’t false,
and follow your deepest duty –
both desirous and undesirous divine commands.
Under the blanket, conspiracies are made.
They grow limbs that look like light but exclude
humility and the thumb-print of surrender.
The atmosphere is big,
the button-hole is small.
I am small when I toss
my self-determination out as wisdom
and fail at every turn.
Mercy comes with obedience,
obedience comes with trust, and then finally
freedom.
The dying are trapped in their wounds.
The living, in their success at survival,
but the gift is always
open for everyone, and changing
even without core movement.
I have a boat and that is all I own.
I see flowers on the shore, rooted in the sand.
I see yellow and sometimes, I see gold.
Allison Grayhurst has been nominated for “Best of the Net” six times. She has over 1,400 poems published in over 530 international journals, including translations of her work. She has 25 published books of poetry and six chapbooks. She is an ethical vegan and lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; www.allisongrayhurst.com
