Heaven is under mother’s feet

The love left in the mother’s heart, 

Today, budding love.

We look at life with wide eyes, 

Our hearts are full of spring flowers. (Nozima Ulugova)

              A day before the birth of the baby from God asked:

Why am I coming to this world? What am I? Should  I do

The God replied:

- I will give you an angel. He is always with you will explain everything.

- Where can I find him, after all, its language I don’t know?

– The angel will teach you the language and protect you from various calamities.

What is the name of my angel?

Its name is not important. You call her “Mom”.

you name it!

Do you know who the mother is?

The dark nights are for you when you are helpless

radiating light, leading you to bright days

outgoing breed.

Do you know who the mother is?

Even if she is about to die of hunger

She is the one who can give you the last bite, the destiny.

if it’s like a thorn in your heel, it’s her who who feels pain as if spears are being stabbed in her heart

Do you know who the mother is?

How many pains to bring you into the world,

even death is under her feet

the great lord of heaven!

Do you love your mother when we were children, or rather, when we started to recognize our memories?

do you love your dad – they asked

and, of course, many answer that it is my mother.

It doesn’t mean I hate my father at all.

on the contrary, it is your love for your mother

a high symbol, priceless sincerity to the mother

Our fathers also understand that it is an expression. To them

to love and honor our mothers,

our respect never sinks. Because

our fathers also have mothers. They still are

they call their mothers lonely. Uzbek children, Uzbek

Mother has always been unable to speak the language of her people

is a symbol of inexhaustible love in the heart! honoring the mother,

like a crown on our head instead of its dignity

lifting is our heritage from our ancestors. as a great person said: “If you ask who is the greatest in this world, I will always say my mother without a doubt.”

Mother is amazing in herself as well as being great

rich in mysteries embodying miracles

is a human being. For example: the baby is screaming and crying. Him

calm down no matter how hard the people around you try

they don’t get it. The child does not agree to deception or deception.

His mother, freed from her chores, immediately took him in her arms

press A baby calms down when it smells its mother.

Another case: the child is sick, has a high temperature, one

is lying in a state. The doctor’s medicine for him

is not too blind. then the mother lovingly touches the forehead of her crying child

He puts his warm palm. After a while, the child calmed down

starts to get Such a miracle worker related to mother

many examples can be given.

When a person is happy, when from diseases

when he is healed, when his sweet soul rests. And the mother

He feels happiness when his children are happy.

The mother is so kind and generous that with great invisible power and love only

not children, loved ones, but the whole head

take humanity into your bosom and be a cure for its pain

takes Mother’s happiness is children’s happiness, family happiness is society

is happiness. Mother this priceless happiness to no one, no

what can’t they do?

Mothers often lie. Witness

I have:

“Baby, you eat, I’m full.”

“Eat this meat, I’ll eat that

I don’t like it.”

“Take this money, I don’t need it.”

“Close this sheet, I’m not eating.”

“Don’t cry, I’m not sick. On the contrary, I am

If I sneeze quietly, immediately take it out to the patient

they try to preserve.”

When I was a child, I suffered a lot from toothache

I would Before falling asleep, I would ask my mother to tell me a story. My mother is also a mija with me

they came out without hesitation. They started their stories while pressing their palms on my face. Early morning my eyes

I didn’t feel any pain when I opened it. Har

Sometimes when I was sick, my medicine was my mother.

I went to the market in winter in shoes and gave me boots as a gift

My mother, the world, household worries

when you’re down and teary-eyed,

“It seems that dust has entered my eyes, my daughter.”

my lying mother, today is your little girl

grew up. don’t worry mom, yours

your child is a strong person. You now to no one

does not hurt.

I found love in this world,

You are my happiness, I am lucky without you.

My paradise found in the worlds,

There are no tears in your eyes, mother!

A human child sees this bright world because of his mother

will be lucky and prosperous. Because of mother

he will enjoy all the pleasures of this life.

Thanks to the mother, to the pleasures and joys of the world

is buried. He will get happiness because of his mother. He dedicated his life to goodness, virtues, and selfless deeds

mobilizes and good deeds during his life

will be surrounded. Same with me

I will never give you my pain, advice, or advice

My loving prayers are always with me.

I feel comfortable and happy with them.

When I dream of heaven, my dreams come true

the dream is alien to me, happiness is in my way.

It is a house full of light, a house with mothers,

I am happy, you are with me, my heavenly mother.

Every child, be it a boy or a girl

first of all, he should try to please his mother.

We are upset with our mothers when we raise our voices

it is impossible for us to be.

Think brother, God is under the feet of mothers

didn’t he leave heaven? Praise them with love

didn’t you urinate, a light in our head in dark nights

didn’t he do it? If we sing, we will be happy

didn’t it burn? Instead, what did he ask us?

Just love. Who are we to be unkind to him?

we do An orphan to know the value of parents

It is not necessary to be born.

Mankind appeared on earth

glorifying the image of the holy mother, the venerable woman,

always comes with honor. In honor of our mothers,

The soil of our homeland is beautiful like the gardens of paradise

is priceless. Our country is peaceful and our sky is peaceful because of the prayers of mothers

pure, fruitful in our work, blessed in our life.

Let’s protect our paradises near us, dear ones

Owner of the “Islam Karimov” State Scholarship.

Nozima Ulug’ova was born on October 13, 2001 in “Yosh gayrat” neighborhood, Shorchi district, Surkhandarya province. He graduated from the 37th general education school in the Shorchi district and at the same time, the Nukus branch of the State Institute of Arts and Culture of Uzbekistan “Art Studies” 3rd-level student of the department “Dramaturgy of Stage and Screen Art”. In 2022, his creative author collections “Mother for you” and “Salvation” were published and gained their readers. At the same time, his creative story is among the young artists of Uzbekistan. “Culture”, “Creative Flight”, “Women and Time”, “Surkhan Youth”, “Morning Star” are examples of creativity in our republic. It is  covered in newspapers, “Gulkhan” magazine and “Nurli Jol” newspaper of Kazakhstan. The young penman did not limit himself to creativity, but participated in conferences and scientific meetings in prestigious journals with a factor recognized by OAC with about 20 scientific articles, pamphlets and theses.”Samarkand Youth Forum 2021″ “Uzbekistan Development Forum 2021” Participant of several forums and conferences, festivals and seminars. Nozima Ulug’ova in Personal development & Step into the international sphere Course, because he was able to show his activity and interests in the fields of literature and art in this course .Creativity Forum for Culture, Arts and Peace International member, Active member, working Group of International writers “Jontous por las Letras” Iqra Foundation has received membership offers from several international organizations in its field.

Happy Mother’s Day! This issue celebrates motherhood, parenthood, nurturance, and love.

Orzogul Gofurova offers up a sweet poem as a tribute to their mother, while Gulsanam Qurbonova’s essay highlights the true dignity of the complex homemaking and family-building work her mother performs in their household.

Sarvinoz Giyosova draws on spiritual language to express her respect for her mom, as Orzigul Sherova shares her eternal and sentimental love for her mother.

Abramat Faizulloev pays tribute to his honorable and caring mother as Ismailova Orastabonu honors the resilience and nurturance of Uzbek women. Lola Hotamova celebrates the love of mothers and the long heritage of honoring them in Uzbekistan while Xushroy Abdunazarova reminds us of the importance of kindness and respect for parents in the Islamic faith. Gulhayo Karimova urges all people, no matter how busy they are, to make time to honor their mothers and parents.

Nosirova Gavhar writes of a father’s sacrificial love for his young daughter as Don Bormon speaks to the beauty of friendship. Taylor Dibbert’s poetic speaker reflects on finding solace at a local dive bar after the end of a marriage.

Shahnoza Ochildiyeva relates a tale of kindness to a couple traveling with a sick child.

Stephen Jarrell Williams sends up sweet, gentle love poems in an issue that also showcases a poetic collaboration between Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai (India) and Kristy Raines (USA) that is a conversation between lovers.

Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai’s solo poetry illustrates the intensity of romantic feelings while Kristy Raines‘ poems highlight the power of romantic love and emotion to affect one’s life, whether or not the relationship lasts. Ike Boat’s piece is the plea of a lover not to be forgotten.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa’s pieces acknowledge the sad end to a romance. Sadullayeva Darmonjon speaks of poignant instances of love given and lost, or not returned. Mesfakus Salahin laments the loss of a personal love and the loss of gentleness in the world.

Christine Tabaka’s concrete poetry deals with loss: of one’s sense of self, of life during war, and the passing of the “golden age” in art and cinema. Avaungwa Jemgbagh vividly remembers the day their father passed away.

Duane Vorhees writes of the passage of world history and of loves past their lusty prime that have evolved into sources of solace and comfort. Gulmira Nurmuhamedova reflects on the passage of time, her memories of her past and how her present will also, in time, become a memory. Not all changes that happen with time are necessarily losses.

Graciela Noemi Villaverde describes a smooth talker who breaks hearts while Nigar Nurulla Khalilova points out how humans can be as predatory as any creature in nature.

Faleeha Hassan mourns a friend lost to war as J.J. Campbell evokes his feelings of powerlessness in a personally alienating world. Tuyet Van Do’s haikus capture the grisly atmosphere of Gaza as Mykyta Ryzhykh mourns the world’s casual violence and homophobia through a variety of metaphors, including a dead kitten.

Karol Nielsen writes of the effects of the Vietnam War through the eyes of an American child left behind to play while his father fights. While less tragic on the surface than other pieces that present death and suffering, it still shows the separation caused by war.

In her poetry, Lidia Popa urges humanity to care for each other and the natural world.

Mahbub Alam laments the increasing heat and changing climate of Bangladesh and urges a return to environmental stewardship.

Sayani Mukherjee evokes the comforting presence of innocence and delicate natural beauty in a world that also contains genocide and war. Muslima Murodova finds peace by looking up into the vastness of the sky.

John Lloyd Casoy describes a moment of contemplation out at low tide in the wetlands while Lorraine Caputo recollects moments and interactions from her Central and South American travels in her “postcards,” J.D. Nelson notices small moments of surprise and relief in nature and human society, and Dr. Maheshwar Das sends up elegant poems of nature and spirituality.

Devika Mathur contributes an evocative description of the experience of meditation. Mark Young also turns inward, with his systemically generated poems from bits of text, recipes and instruction manuals, regurgitating life in the subconscious. Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna probes the depths of meaning hidden behind silence. Vernon Frazer’s jazzlike syncopated rhythms of poetry adorn this issue, while Steve Brisendine explores our perceptions and artistic inspirations.

Muntasir Mamun Kiron crafts a poetic ode to the elegance and joy of technology: the creativity it represents and that it can make possible.

In a more satirical take on technology and global politics, Terry Trowbridge satirizes world governments’ battle over the cultural “real estate” of social media.

Referencing battles much earlier in American history between government and media companies over press freedom and defamation, Michael Ceraolo dramatizes controversies and contradictions in early American history through his poetry.

Jim Meirose crafts an off-kilter piece about neighbors and friends playing with different communications and entertainment technology.

Maja Milojkovic highlights the power of poets’ words to turn the world towards justice, compassion, and inclusion.

In a thoughtful essay, Jacques Fleury urges Black men to embrace a more complex, diverse, and expansive idea of gender and masculinity.

Bill Tope’s story critiques the way our society tolerates, but does not fully embrace, “others” such as older women and people with disabilities. Brian Barbeito’s piece reflects on a lonely hawk and on the solitary elderly, while Noah Berlatsky explores and lampoons the self-absorption at the heart of some self-improvement schemes.

In a different light, Brian Barbeito reviews Jacques Fleury’s book You Are Enough: The Journey To Accepting Your Unique Self in the context of psychological survival in tough times rather than as a privileged form of self-pampering.

In another exploration of nuance, A. Iwasa interviews essayist Rikki Bransen about her piece “Faith and Authority: A Generation X Spiritual Journey” published in Microcosm Publishing’s zine Proud to be Retarded, where she discusses her individual relationship to autism, Christian religious practice, being female, and being middle-aged.

In another look at the journey of an individual towards wholeness and personal achievement, Adkhamova Laylo Akmaljon encourages readers to have confidence and enthusiasm in the pursuit of their dreams. Akramov also highlights the importance of perseverance in achieving one’s life goals.

Abdurazakova Murad offers tribute to an important teacher who showed her the value of daily practice for the skills she wanted to learn. Charos Maqsudova outlines how teachers can support the mental health as well as the academic promise of their students.

Dilfuza Namazova speaks of the importance of learning foreign languages, English in particular. Norsafarova Nilufar outlines the role of various parts of speech in Uzbek sentence construction.

Ogultuvak Atajanova highlights the importance of early education and enrichment for preschoolers and kindergarteners and the value placed on children in Uzbekistan. Botirali Sayifov highlights the importance of universal education to a free and productive society.

We at Synchronized Chaos intend our publication to celebrate literacy, education, and the diversity of experiences from people around the world. We hope that you enjoy and learn from this issue.

Five Haiku 


this is not a drill
evacuate building 3
immediately!


—


appointment canceled
I wake up to a white sky
& hidden foothills


—


showertime prayers
thanksgiving for my rescue
from the hot water


—


spring’s first honeybee
in the blossoming fruit trees
my old neighborhood


—


above the foothills
a white duck without a bill
sits in the blue sky


—


bio/graf

J. D. Nelson’s poems have appeared in many publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of eleven print chapbooks and e-books of poetry, including *purgatorio* (wlovolw, 2024). Nelson’s 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. His haiku blog is at JDNelson.net. Nelson lives in Boulder, Colorado, USA.

SOMETIMES 

Sometimes time rejects me 
Sometimes I deny it. 
There are still contradictions, contradictions, 
I'm running away... 
Sometimes protected by a long sentence, 
One word and three points more meaningful. 
Sometimes hidden in little verses, 
The meaning of great sayings. 
Sometimes it is not explained by silence 
The thick darkness of speaking 
And sometimes... 
In the light of a darkened 
Conscience 
The greatness of time is clearly visible... 

(Translated into English by: Elmaya Jabbarova. 
20.04.2024.)

Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey and five years in Ukraine. Currently lives in Switzerland. Married, mother of five children. It was not possible to publish poems and translations written by the poet in the next ten years.

A POSTCARD FROM PERU

	Yerbabuena
We pass a young boy herding four yearlings. They startle at our engine’s grind, the glare of headlights, the shrill horn. In the dawn twilight, other trucks and combis are pulling up. Their passengers climb down, heavy bundles and baskets over shoulders, and enter the market yard.  

The Sunday market in Yerbabuena is one of the largest in the region—and one of the few traditional trueque (bartering) markets that still exists.  Folks have come from the many small villages and hamlets in this Utcubamba River valley, between Leymebamba and Chachapoyas.  

Tarps are being stretched over rickety wooden stands. Offered wares are set out: horse tackle and ropes, sandals and slingshots (for hunting) made of old tires, produce from highlands and low. Wood fires in the comedores spice the growing morning.

Soon the bustling hustle is on.  One woman offers half a saddlebag of corn for plantains.  Yonder, a family is their calf.  All around people are trading pottery for produce from a chakra (small farm), or well-bundled kindling for a trussed chicken (no doubt, this afternoon’s almuerzo). 

I have nothing to trade—but soles (the local currency) are accepted for the bread and avocados I buy before hopping a truck towards the Revash ruins.



 
IN THE FRIGID NIGHT

18-19 March 1994 / Oaxaca to Mexico City (El Oaxaqueño / 2ª class)

I awaken at about 4:30 a.m. Our train is winding deep within the folds of the Sierra Madre. This night is frigid. I dig out my sleeping bag.

A father in one seat holds two of his small children tight. They wear only light cotton shirts. They might be migrating from the warmer lowlands – from Tapachula on the Guatemalan border, or perhaps from the Tehuantepec isthmus. 

On the floor across the aisle, the mother shares their only blanket with the two younger children.

I unzip my sleeping bag open and hand it to them for the night. Father smiles and folds it around his son and daughter. Soon they fall asleep.

I put on another shirt and button up my jacket. Huddled within my seat, I watch the night silently slip by.


 
SUNSET JOURNEY  
 
Across & across miles & miles of flat, dry-green savannah, the land rolling towards dark-treed mountains dressed in clouds, blue crystalline sky brushed with nebulous white, sunlight sheening off rivers graveled tresses braiding. Shadows sink deeper, rose perfumes periwinkle clouds, the setting sun honeys the grasses & trees of these flat, rolling sabanas, scattered settlements gather like the foothills, like the cumulus over that now-nearer sierra. Climbing through three lo-o-ong tunnels & finally into a high valley, pallid indigo sky stippled with clouds, the mountains covered with low brush, dwarf trees, cacti, bare rock folded, twisted, tilted by the millennia … all lost in the dusk.  



Lorraine Caputo is a wandering troubadour whose writings appear in over 400 journals on six continents, and 23 collections – including In the Jaguar Valley (dancing girl press, 2023) and Santa Marta Ayres (Origami Poems Project, 2024). She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. Her writing has been honored by the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada (2011) and thrice nominated for the Best of the Net. Caputo has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She journeys through Latin America with her faithful knapsack Rocinante, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her adventures at www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer or http://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com.

How About it? Who are you?            


Oh. Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? All those houses up that way are for sale. I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? Why are all those houses up that way for sale? What the hell was that? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? What the hell was that? I can’t get the car started. Let’s harvest some of that pronto hey mom look there’s two weasels hey mom look there’s two weasels and get it under a microscope. 

But I don’t see how that can be ‘cause of the big bang. I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Wow we all thought this house was empty, I don’t remember seeing you living here before. I think I got a battery-powered transistor radio. Let me go get it. How ‘bout it? Look down there. What the hell was that? Everything just stopped, just like that. They’re bringing stuff out to the curb down there. Look. Who are you? Something wrong in the ground up there? 

Look. Really? That’s why they’re all selling? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Oh! They’re beautiful! How old are they now? Really? Why are they bringing that stuff out to the curb down there? Wow how time flies. But anyway. Who are you?  

They always say every household should have a battery powered transistor radio. But we don’t got one. [flop] So what’s wrong in the ground that they all need to move? Do you got one? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? I don’t remember seeing you living here before. How ‘bout it? Who are you? The sky up there look at it. I thought you said you had a battery powered transistor radio. I never knew it looked quite that blue. Okay—and no we didn’t hear nothing. That’s something. We didn’t hear nothing. 

Why’d you say you had a battery powered transistor radio when you knew you didn’t have a battery powered transistor radio? No. You didn’t hear nothing? I mean dear God, it was something. We’re calling on neighbors who didn’t come out to make sure everything’s okay with them. 

Why’d you say that eh you a liar? We—nobody knows but there was a big bang up in the sky and all the power cut off. Why’d you say that eh you a liar? A big bang in the sky someplace. Why’d you say that eh you a liar? They reached on the inside of the wall for the entryway light switch and managed to get the lights back on. They looked out. 
What happened?

Why’d you say that eh you a liar?
Can’t tell. 
Just a big bang in the sky someplace.
What?
Why’d you say that eh you a liar?
A big bang in the sky someplace.

Why’d you say that eh you a liar?
A big bang in the sky someplace.
You a liar? A liar? A liar?
You a liar?
No!

So = they left the house, through their never had been knocked on ever, door, leaving their  brand new but already dead TV televisions “McVisionary and Pole” deeply branded dead set behind, and so even though they had got it for deep-free anyway, dear God Gimi Rando McRando never min all that damn anyway, get yourselves out there where you were then Gimi, for reasons having nothing to do with that one thought they had a battery-powered transistor radio but not never went back to get the damn thing here hey were deep seated o’re their elementalized correct element again as-as h-hey, strapped on their cestas, re-entered the court, and began to play. {pillo} 

They still found the game to be su-uperprisingly easy{.} ? Easy sass’ Fly! Pop! so Back! Catch! play Fling! Fly! Pop! so Back! so Back! so Back! so Back!
“Isn’t this game great, great fun?”
“Yes it’s fun!”

Friendship's Melody

Friendship is the sun's warm glow,
A priceless gem in life's treasure trove.
Together we find joy's reflection,
In the gentle hearts of true connection.

Friendship is a raindrop's kiss,
Tiny birds singing melodies of bliss.
Side by side, we paint the sky,
A garland of sweet memories, oh so high.

Friendship is the forest's song,
Love's tune that plays all day long.
With each heartbeat, we dance and sway,
Through sorrows and laughter, come what may.

Don Bormon is a student of grade nine in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.