Haven of Hearts
In the tapestry of life, one thread stands apart,
Woven with love, stitched deep in the heart.
A circle unbroken, a bond ever true,
Family, the essence of me and of you.
Through laughter and tears, in moments of grace,
We find our sanctuary, our sacred place.
In the warmth of an embrace, the touch of a hand,
We discover the strength to bravely stand.
In the whispers of wisdom from those who have known,
The stories and secrets, the seeds we have sown.
From the cradle of birth to the twilight of days,
Family guides us in myriad ways.
A mother’s gentle smile, a father’s steady gaze,
The comfort of siblings in childhood’s haze.
Grandparents’ tales of times long gone,
Echoes of heritage, forever drawn.
Through trials and triumphs, through joy and despair,
In the arms of family, we are always aware.
That no matter the distance, no matter the strife,
Family is the compass, the anchor of life.
So here’s to the moments, both big and small,
The gatherings, the partings, the echoes that call.
To the love that is endless, the ties that bind,
Family, the haven of heart and mind.
Aminova Zebiniso Habibullo qizi was born on April 29, 2005, in the Gʻijduvon district of Buxoro region.
Eternal Samarqand
In the heart where history whispers soft and grand,
Lies a city of dreams, the ancient Samarqand.
Beneath the azure skies, where legends were born,
Her streets weave tales of silk and golden morn.
Domes of turquoise, kissing heavens high,
Minarets that pierce the endless sky.
Gardens lush with roses, fragrant and bright,
Whisper secrets of ages, from dawn to night.
The Registan stands, in majestic embrace,
A tapestry of art, time cannot erase.
Mosaics gleam with stories, vibrant and old,
Of scholars and traders, of courage and gold.
Rivers of Zarafshan, like veins through her soul,
Bring life to the heart of this ancient scroll.
Where Timur's empire once held sway,
In shadows of grandeur, echoes still play.
Marketplaces bustling, with colors so rare,
Spices and silks, in the fragrant air.
Craftsmen's hands, with deft and grace,
Carving beauty in every space.
Oh, Samarqand, jewel of the Silk Road,
In your essence, mysteries unfold.
Each brick, each stone, a silent hymn,
To the glory of the past, never dim.
Under the moon's tender, silvered light,
Your beauty shines, serene and bright.
A testament to time's gentle hand,
Eternal and cherished, beloved Samarqand.
Eshbekova Xurshida Anorboyevna was born on June 25, 1989, in Pakhtakor district of Jizzakh region. She is currently a third-year student of the Faculty of Applied Mathematics and Physics at the Uzbekistan-Finland Pedagogical Institute. At the institute, she is the coordinator of the "Talaba Qizlar" (Student Girls) branch of the Youth Union. She is also a scientific consultant at the Quality Publication organization.
She has participated in the "Scientific and Practical Conference on the Introduction and Improvement of Innovative Technologies in Education" held in Germany, organized by Quality Publication, and the conference dedicated to the "ILM- FAN YETAKCHISI" (Leader of Science and Knowledge) forum for young scientists and talented students. At this conference, she was awarded a certificate, a medal, and a book with published articles.
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right before their eyes
apple pie, baseball, fireworks,
racism and fucking over
the next guy before he
fucks you
amazingly, most people
don't believe in evolution
even though it is playing
out right before their eyes
democracy is the last flower
hanging on in a drought
and sadly, none of this
rain actually penetrates
the concrete jungles
anymore
not sure if people
understand what
happens when
that flower dies
i doubt we have the
stomach to understand
how many senseless
deaths we still have
to come
so, laugh while you can
love as much as you can
be present as much as
possible
the final days are finally
upon us
----------------------------------------------------------------
ghosts in a haunted house
another lost afternoon
some guy strumming
along to an old elvis
costello song
you remember playing
that for one of the past
loves of your life
some memories
are roses
some are ghosts
in a haunted house
both of them are traps
needless retreats on
the flat circle of time
endless thoughts of
what could have been
are only good for
alcohol sales
here comes another
holiday
just in time
------------------------------------------------------
this horror show
cry yourself to sleep
every other night for
a month
stress has a way of
eating away at your
soul
makes the figure in
the mirror into a monster
the worst of you still
to come
as death gets closer to
the door the inevitable
demise creeps into the
brain and stays
plunging into a depression
that has no bottom
eventually, you forgot
you know how to swim
that this horror show is
the same movie you've
been in all your life
but this shit never ends
like the movies
-------------------------------------------------------------
the prettiest girl in the world
shooting stars
in the quiet
of the night
wishes never
seem to come
true
my mother
told me to
have patience
and one day
the prettiest
girl in the
world would
be mine
what a
fucking
lie
-------------------------------------------
lost in your own world
embrace the pain
and keep on going
these words aren't
limitless
one day you will
be broken and lost
in your own world
sprint to the finish
only the fools think
forever is even
possible
J.J. Campbell (1976 - ?) is trapped in suburbia, plotting his escape or faking his own death. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at The Beatnik Cowboy, Horror Sleaze Trash, The Rye Whiskey Review, Disturb the Universe Magazine and The Asylum Floor. He has a book coming out later this summer with Casey Renee Kiser. You can find him most days on his mildly entertaining blog, evil delights.
Forever
How many years
does it take
for each one of us
to figure out
where we stand
in the spin of the world
our face in the wind
our back to where we came from
our father's words echoing
how to be a man
our mother's love
never ending
and who made them
that way
the essence of them
inside us
forever?
Lost Dog
Lost dog
on the streets of the city
too many humans
with strange eyes
hungry and lonely
he is the same as them
laying down for the night
alone under the dots of stars
city ruins
as far as the dark horizon
licking at his sore paws
then sniffing and listening
a singing in the distance
an aroma of soup bones
and the thrill
of one last lick.
Mountaintops
Way back
beyond the last path
the city a thing of the past
trees grow
tall as the mountaintops
with millions of us
able to talk
with Father God
answering.
Stephen Jarrell Williams can be found on (X) Twitter @papapoet where he sometimes writes and draws and paints and takes photos of the spin of the world.
I'm the happiest in the world
I'm the happiest in the world,
Also I have everything.
I'm the richest in the world,
Life is interesting.
I have a lot of friends,
All of them kind to me.
And I've family members.
We make the best family.
If I study in Ibrat school,
I will be a good person.
I'll service my motherland,
I will get much education.
I'm the happiest in the world,
Also I have everything.
I'm the richest in the world,
Life is interesting.
Shaxzoda Abdullayeva was born on February 8, 2008, in Namangan. She is currently a student at the Is’hoqxon Ibrat Creative School. She speaks Russian, English, and Korean. Her creative works have been published in numerous international newspapers and journals.
BITTERNESS
People are buzzing around. I can neither find a place to park, nor drive my car. I came here looking for someone to clean the small garden in our yard for Sunday. Everyone is coming from all over and asking for work. They were all in old and worn-out clothes. Among them, a student wearing a white shirt caught my attention.
I immediately asked:
- You can do some tough stuff, can't you?
- Yes, I can.
- Then get in the car.
As we were driving, the silence was broken by a phone call. He took his phone out of his pocket and answered. It was his father who made the phone call. It was so loud that I could hear the whole conversation. Dad immediately asked:
- Where are you, son?
-Making my way to the extra lesson.
-Hope you are not hungry?
- Nah, had lunch in the cafe in front of our school. Mom is all right, isn't she?
- Don't worry, she's okay.
- Okay, Dad, I'm late for the class. I sent you money. They gave me a prize for doing exceptionally well.
- Proud of you son. Keep up the good work.
The young man turned off his phone and sighed deeply. I wanted to ask him something, but I couldn't speak as if something was stuck in my throat. If I spoke now, it seemed that he would strangle me and make me cry. We arrived home. As soon as we entered, my children ran to me and I hugged them, and the painted ivy seemed to loosen a little. Then I explained what he had to do. Then I told my wife to prepare food and went out.
I was driving a car, but I couldn't feel my hands, I wanted to scream and cry. I parked my car in the shade of a tree. I immediately got down and walked along the stream. I could hear the water flowing, the chirping of birds, and the soft swaying of trees. As for me, I involuntarily step into the past.
Fifteen years ago, I was the same age and situation as today's student. I was farming with my father in the village. We used to go to the field early in the morning and when it got late we would drag our feet back from there. Every day was spent helping my father. Since my brothers were young, they could not help my father. One day I was returning from the field when a very beautiful blue "Volga" drove past me and stopped at the roadside. A tall, slightly plump man, dressed in a slouch, got out of the car.
"Zakir, how are you?" he asked me.
That's when I found out that he was my schoolmate Shakir. He went to study in Tashkent after we finished school last year.
- Thank you, I'm fine, how about you, are you studying?
- Yes, I came to the village on vacation. What are you busy with?
- I am helping my father in the garden.
- Old chap, I have a suggestion for you. Come with me to Tashkent to study, you are skillful enough, you need to develop it, though. How long are you going to live in the village covered in dust?!
I was hesitant, not knowing what to say. "I must talk to my dad?" I said.
- Well, tell me your answer till tomorrow! - He got into his car and stepped on the gas.
I thought about it until I got home. When I came home, my mother was busy with my brothers, and my father was tired and had fallen asleep without eating. Unknowingly, I went to the mirror, looked at my reflection and immediately compared it with Shakir in my mind. It was as if some kind of volcano erupted from my heart. Why should I walk in this condition? Can't I be like Shakir? Can't I drive cool cars like him?
As I was asking myself these questions, I felt a strong urge to go to my father and wake him up. I told him about my wish. Dad was a little surprised at what I was saying, and then he said:
- My son, strive towards your goals, I will support you in any situation, but do not forget this, do not return to the village until you find your way!
Dad gave me a prayer and I came to Tashkent the next day with Shakir. I was left in various situations, without money, and food. But I couldn't request anything from my family, just like today's young student. I pulled a cart in the market and served in people's houses.
Sometimes I was so tired of all the worries that I wanted to end everything and go home. But every time these thoughts crossed my mind, I heard my dad's wise and majestic voice: "Don't return home until you've truly found your way!" I remembered what they said and found the strength to try again. My life was passing like this. If you live your life striving towards a goal, time will pass so quickly, like the rapid flow of rebellious waves of a river.
Years later, after graduating from university with honours and getting a master's degree recommendation from my teachers, I was returning home when I heard that my father had died of a heart attack. When I came home, there was the sound of crying, and my mother had no strength left, she was barely standing on her feet.
They were happy to see me, we talked for a while, and then I asked why they didn't let me know about my father's illness. Dad did not allow us to do so, they said, "My son is studying, he should not be distracted." That's when my motivation increased, and I realized that if before I only worked for myself, now I have to work for my brothers, for my mother, and my perished father. Sooner or later I did not stop and reached the current situation.
Now I am happy, every moment of my life is full of joy. But I want one thing. If my dad was alive and asked me how I was doing, I would have said I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm doing very well. We would have taken a stroll in my car, filled every moment with joy and happiness. There is moisture on my cheeks, sometimes I cry, and sometimes my pains that have been buried inside me for years come to the surface. I felt some relief in my heart. A soft wind hits my face and eyes, and it seems to touch my heart, which has been deprived of air for years.
The phone rang.
- Hello, I hear.
-Daddy, come home, this guy has finished his work.
- Now, I'm leaving.
I got back into my car, headed to a life of worry and fatherlessness...
Abdamutova Shahinabonu was born on October 6, 2007. Currently, she is in 11th grade at Is'hakhan Ibrat creativity school. She can freely speak in English, Russian, and Korean. Her stories were published in many foreign journals.
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controlled surf italia seatingly
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aloof goodgreen spider crystalline middlebox
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J. D. Nelson is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). His first full-length collection is *in ghostly onehead* (Post-Asemic Press, 2022). Visit his website, MadVerse.com, for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.
