Poetry from Anila Bukhari

South Asian woman with long dark hair and hoop earrings and a red coat over a black blouse and gold necklace.

Writer of Destiny

Write something bright for those who experience a thousand deaths each day.

Write some smiles for those whose pillows are moist with tears each night.

Write a few pure moments of love for those who could never call anyone their own.

Write a few droplets of soothing dew on their lips.

Write true happiness in their pounding hearts.

Write the fulfillment of unrealized dreams in their eyes.

Write floral bracelets of joy for their soft hands.

Write swinging earrings of solace for their ears.

Even if you write nothing else, dear Lord,

You must write freedom for them

Daughters Are Also Sold

In the era of ignorance, it was heard

That they were often discarded.

Mothers would abandon them, and fathers would cast them away

To a distant place where deep wells would swallow their cries forever.

Even today, this tradition persists

In my country,

In remote, desolate regions,

Where the poison of poverty seeps through families.

When a little daughter dons a crimson dress,

She becomes invincible.

All her dreams remain tethered to her tiny feet,

But alas, her laughter never returns.

Her emotions are bartered away,

Her precious eyes lose their value,

And she herself is sold without a price.

I’m like a star

Give me the freedom to write my own story.

My tears show me the true way.

I am like a star that shines brightly to show the way.

I am like a bird that cannot be caged.

I am like the fire that burns inside all of us.

I am like the raindrop that write its own fate

I am the ray of sunshine that sets everything aglow.

I am like the fragrance that scents the entire world

**Pakistan’s Young Shining Star: Anila Bukhari – A Beacon of Intelligence and Inspiration**

**Biography of Anila Bukhari**

Anila Bukhari is a remarkable Pakistani visionary, humanitarian, and author whose brilliance and compassion have captured the world’s attention. Hailing from the esteemed Sunni Syed family of Naqvi Bukhari tribe in Punjab, Pakistan, she has emerged as a shining example of youth leadership and empowerment on the global stage.

From her early years, Anila demonstrated extraordinary intelligence and a passion for poetry, creativity, and service. Her innate kindness, coupled with her strong family values, fueled her lifelong mission to uplift women, children, and communities worldwide.

A celebrated children’s rights advocate and recipient of numerous humanitarian awards, Anila is also an accomplished author whose inspiring books—highlighting themes of women’s empowerment—are housed in the Library of Congress in the USA. Her influential writings include features on prominent figures like Melinda Gates and Oprah Winfrey, reflecting her international reach.

As the founder of **Women Leader Hub**, Anila has organized over a hundred seminars, events, and award ceremonies dedicated to empowering women and nurturing leadership. Her entrepreneurial spirit is evident through her ventures, which promote women’s talents and personal stories, creating platforms for voices to be heard.

Notably, Anila won 1st position in Italy among 41 countries, showcasing her exceptional talent and international recognition. She is also the founder of **”No More Bride, Just Shine”**, an initiative celebrated annually with support from the European High Commissioner, advocating for women’s dignity and independence.

Her dedication extends beyond her country, collaborating with more than 250 students worldwide to foster cultural exchange and global understanding. Through partnerships and e-twinning programs, she promotes innovation, education, and unity across borders.

Anila actively mentors young leaders, conducts workshops on e-safety, graphic designing, poetry, and art, and empowers widows through candle-making courses—striving to build sustainable futures for marginalized communities.

Her unwavering commitment to service and education, coupled with her global influence, makes Anila Bukhari a true young shining star. Her inspiring journey continues to motivate countless individuals to dream big, serve selflessly, and lead with integrity, making her a beacon of hope and change for generations to come.

Tan-renga from Andrew Brindle and Christina Chin

Andrew Brindle (plain)

Christina Chin (italic)

after the sirens

slogans and marches

a breath, then a choice

decisions made without 

parliament consent 

voices echo

through algorithms and bots

truth grows silent

chips export ban 

see you at the new low

screens glow of wars

streamed in high definition

who can look away

they blame the victim 

and praise the aggressor 

borders close

yet the seasons change

and the river flows

stopping deportations

because they need workers

rich men dream of Mars

yet here, our hopes

burn in the dust

no funds for 

the homeless 

Poetry from Donia Sahib

Middle Eastern woman with brown eyes and a white lace embroidered headscarf.

Θέμα:

الغَيث الماطِر

مرَّ عليَّ مرورَ السحابِ الثِّقالِ

المحمَّلِ بالغيثِ الماطرِ

أَسكبُ عليَّ العلمَ منهمراً من مَجمعِ البحرين

أسماؤُك الحسنى منبري

فيضُ حروفِك يتجلَّى لغةَ العرفانِ

وأحاديثُ قدسيّةٌ موثَّقةٌ في كتابِ النور

أُحدِّثُ خليلَ الروحِ عنك الذي يفهمني بلغةِ أهلِ السماءِ

لكنه يُصنِت ويصمتُ كأنَّه قدِّيسٌ في معبدِ النور

لأنَّه يعلمُ أنَّه لا يستطيعُ أن يُجاريني في الكلام

أُحبُّه وأبتغي منه الوصال

فهو وطنٌ لروحي المغتربة

وسط زخمِ الأرواحِ

التي لا أرى فيها سوى الظلام

إلهي، أسألك أن ترشدني بوحيك وإلهامك

فقد تغيَّرت نظرتي عمَّن حولي

وأنا الآن أنتظرُ منك الجواب

على أعظمِ سؤالٍ بيني وبينك:

من هم الوزراءُ الثمانية؟

تُسافر مهجة روحي إليك ترفرفُ

كأجنحةِ الحَمام، بمنسكي القائم 

في عالمِ الرَّحْموتِ والجَبَروت

صلتي بك؛ العبدُ يناجي ربه الملك العظيم

أُسافرُ في رحابِ ملكِك المخفي

إلى عالمِ الملكوتِ بوعي الأنبياءِ

أتهيأُ لأنطقَ بلغةِ أهلِ السماءِ

وأشهدُ أنَّ يومَ لقائنا الموعودِ

شاهدٌ ومشهودٌ

القصيدة بقلم الشاعرة الأميرة الهاشمية دنيا صاحب – العراق

The Rain of Grace

He passed by me like the heavy clouds,

laden with the rain of divine mercy.

He poured upon me knowledge, cascading

from the confluence of the two seas.

Your Most Beautiful Names are my pulpit,

and the radiance of your words manifests

as the language of divine gnosis.

Your sacred utterances are inscribed

in the Book of Light.

I speak to the beloved of my soul about You —

the one who understands me

in the language of the dwellers of Heaven.

Yet he listens in silence,

as though a saint within the Temple of Light,

knowing he cannot rival my speech.

I love him, and I seek union with him,

for he is the homeland of my exiled soul

amid the tumult of spirits

where I see nothing but darkness.

My Lord, I ask You to guide me

through Your revelation and inspiration,

for my vision of those around me has changed,

and now I await Your answer

to the greatest question between us:

Who are the eight ministers?

The essence of my soul travels to You,

fluttering like the wings of a dove,

toward my sanctuary standing firm

in the realms of Mercy and Might.

My bond with You —

a servant confiding in his Sovereign, the Almighty King.

I journey through the vastness of Your hidden dominion,

into the world of the Kingdom of Light,

with the consciousness of prophets.

I prepare myself to speak

in the language of the people of Heaven,

and I bear witness that

the day of our destined meeting

is both the Witness and the Witnessed.

Poem by the Hashemite Princess and Poet

Donia Sahib – Iraq

Poetry from Patricia Doyne

NOBEL PEACE PRIZE 2025

He sent ICE into factories, fields;

seized workers, whisked them off to jail.

Alcatraz in the Everglades

is bursting with brown immigrants.

He wants the Nobel Peace Prize.

Sent National Guardsmen to LA,

threatens Portland, Chicago, and more.

He’ll quell protests in blue-state burgs

with military troops and guns.

He wants the Nobel Peace Prize.

He took health care away from millions;

food stamps, too, and meals on wheels.

He’s gunning for Social Security,

and all programs that help the poor.

He wants the Nobel Peace Prize.

Why? He’s ended seven wars!

Which? Don’t ask.  Big wars.  Bad wars.

When? Fake News is so unfair!

Broadcast license should be revoked.

Surprise! He didn’t get the Nobel Peace Prize.

Poetry from J.J. Campbell

Middle aged white man with a beard standing in a bedroom with posters on the walls
J.J. Campbell

———————————————————————

a river of disappointment

caught in a river

of disappointment

fading sun

the star spangled

light ceases to

exist

get in line, do

your job

creativity withers

at the butt of a gun

but there’s always

one soul

one vagrant that

defies the odds

bound and determined

to crash the gates

raise a little hell

for good

what people tend

to forget

when you get to

the end of the rope

and hope has left

the building

living is no longer

an option

so it isn’t a matter

of dying for a cause

or dying trying to

break free

it is only a matter

that you do

————————————————————

a medical condition

an only fans model

messaged me yesterday

and asked why she gets

wet when she reads

my poetry

i laughed and was getting

ready to message her back

and tell her she might have

a medical condition

but then my ego came running

into the room and knocked me

out of the way and typed

because they are good

that fucker doesn’t know

how to play anything slow

but, i also know he

is mostly correct

now if she could only

send some pictures or

videos so my ego could

really enjoy his victory

——————————————————–

this lost soul

another bland

waiting room

just me and

my thoughts

freud starts

laughing

wonders what

painting will i

turn into a

vagina

of course, it’s

the one across

from me

drowning in

my loneliness

wondering if

this lost soul

is all i will

ever be

hope is

a stripper

with loose

morals

desire is

getting up

each morning

and ignoring

the pain

when both run

extremely thin

as my old friend

would say

it’s just waiting

around to die

———————————————————-

through the cracks of life

love always seems

to squeeze through

the cracks of life

when you least

expect it

and then you

wonder oh shit

where does this

fit in

and it’s not that

you don’t want

it to

but there are only

a certain number

of hours in the day

between the micro

and the macro you

almost get just

enough sleep

to exist

and now love

that essential need

for most of us

squeeze it in

it will work out

at least until

it doesn’t

———————————————————-

while giving death the finger

sunken eyes

cheating death

as best as you can

beauty queens never

age well these days

another shot of

something strong

fuck cancer

one last dance while

giving death the finger

let the mind wander

into a field of endless

possibilities

remember the jazz

clubs

long cigarettes

a flirty little skirt

and a bunch of

hungry animals

wanting a piece

wipe the tears

and think fondly

of what these kids

will never know

one last glance

the longest goodbye

i’ll make sure the

roses are always

fresh

J.J. Campbell (1976 – ?) is old enough to know better. He’s been widely published over the last 30 years, most recently at Disturb the Universe Magazine, The Beatnik Cowboy, The Rye Whiskey Review, Misfit Magazine and Yellow Mama. Hopefully, he will have a new collection of poems out soon. He does still have a blog, although he rarely has time to write on it. such is life. (https://evildelights.blogspot.com)

Poetry from Rezauddin Stalin

Middle aged South Asian man with short dark hair and a jean jacket over a plaid shirt.

Farewell

Is every farewell a kind of death?

Is return a form of rebirth?

We, the dwellers of this earth, depart—

Each destined for Koh-Kaaf’s end.

None welcomes those who return.

Their companions are bees,

They dance holding fire’s hand.

Their drink is the bitter nectar of stone.

Guides lead them toward illusion.

Their homes have no doors—

The key is lost forever.

Fearing return, the earth begins to walk again.

Its orbit shifts in the joy of parting.

Where the road ends—at the North Pole—

Narcissus stands, gazing.

Farewell is more precious than return,

And death, more meaningful than birth.

Translation: Farzana Naz Shampa