Binary Ballet

In the digital dawn, where circuits hum,
Science and Technology intertwine, 
become one.

Their dance, a rhythm of logic and wonder,
Weaves a tapestry of progress, pulling us under.
Science, the sage with inquisitive eyes,
Peers through telescopes, reaching the skies.
It whispers equations to the cosmic breeze,
Unraveling galaxies, unlocking celestial keys.

Technology, the artisan of silicon and wire,
Crafts innovations that spark our desire.
From microchips to quantum realms,
It bridges the gap between dreams and realms.

Together they tango, a harmonious pair,
In labs and data centers, they declare:
“Let there be light, let there be code,
Let curiosity guide us on this cosmic road.”

Science observes, questions, and seeks,
While Technology builds bridges, peaks.
They birth revolutions, pixel by pixel,
In this grand symphony, their notes enthrall.

So raise a toast to this binary ballet,
Where ones and zeros waltz, night and day.
For Science and Technology, hand in hand, 
lead us forward, toward a future so grand.

Muntasir Mamun Kiron is a student of grade 10 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

Boot

As soon as I opened the window, the drops of the pouring rain hit my face, wafting the smell of rain-soaked soil. I fell in love with the rain with my tiny heart, my dreams led to Niagara. In front of our door, under a large rainbow-colored umbrella, my father sat and worked without looking up. Passers-by would one by one go in that direction, show their shoes, and throw something as if they were teaching a lesson. The big box under the foot was quite full. It seems that today
will be a busy day. 

At that moment, my mother’s words: «Be still, my girl, your
breakfast is ready, don’t be late for school» could be heard from the kitchen. When I was getting ready and going to school, I witnessed my father’s good mood:

- I’m going to school, don’t be tired
- «Study well my child» - he said.

Dawn was gradually giving way to day. When I returned from school upset, my father, who was still working without raising his head in front of our house, saw me and asked: «What happened?» - he looked worriedly. 

It’s hard to say that the water got through your boots again, my feet are frozen, bring me a new one?! My father was deep in thought, sighed and said: «Don’t be sad, my girl, I will take you for new shoes» and left his work , went with me towards the market. 

When I saw a brand new pair of boots that had just arrived in the store, soft and white inside, I wanted to buy them. My father said «OK» and went to bargain with the merchant.

After a long argument, I immediately put the boots on my feet. When we were walking down the street, my father said: «walk on the side of the road, my girl, it’s drier.» I happily told my father:» No, let’s walk in the street with my new boots for a while under the rain». My father would not be able to say «no» again.

Sometimes I would jump into the puddles and watch the water splash. On my way home after walking around the bazaar for exactly two hours, I entered the house after my father and praised my mother for my boots. My mother, who did not say a word, smiled and hung my father’s socks next to the oven to dry. 

When I went and looked, my father, whose feet were soaked in water, turned pale and shriveled, had started mending his boots, which he had not mended twice. With tears in my eyes, I was hugging my father tightly and crying, my father hugged me and smiled calmly and said: «Study well my girl.»

Nosirova Gavhar was born on August 16, 2000 in the city of Shahrisabz, Kashkadarya region of Uzbekistan. Today, she is a third-year student of the Faculty of Philology of the Samarkand State University of Uzbekistan. Being a lover of literature, she is engaged in writing stories and poems. Her creative works have been published in Uzbek and English. In addition, she is a member of «All India Council for Development of Technical Skills», «Juntos por las letras» of Argentina, «2DSA Global Community». Winner of the «Korabl znaniy» and «Talenty Rossii» contests, holder of the international C1 level in the Russian language, Global Education ambassador of Wisdom University and global coordinator of the Iqra Foundation in Uzbekistan. «Magic pen holders» talented young group of Uzbekistan, «Kayva Kishor», «Friendship of people», «Raven Cage», «The Daily Global Nation», Argentina;s «Multi Art-6», Kenya’s «Serenity: A compilation of art and literature by women» contains creative works in the magazine and anthology of poets and writers.

IN THE WORLD OF PEOPLE

In the world of people uncomfortable and cold,
The sun warms the hearts less and less.
And kindness, like a ounce of gold,
Tightly hidden in stone of the face.
Oh, these are bystanders looks!
The lion overtakes the running doe.
The hawk torments with a cruel tremor
The partridge in the grass, just look!
Ostrich sweeps in the feathers of contempt:
-Croaks someone as if below?!
And straining patience crocodile
Sharpens its tooth with green bile.
In the world of people all borders are marked.
So as not to pass on the scent of a stranger.
If the hyena passes unnoticed,
There is no way back to her alive.
There are green pastures on the planet,
Chubby hunger entry is prohibited.
There are no homes for homeless people
Even at the cemetery…
Fatty man knows no wealth account.
In the wild savanna instincts howling,
Mother-antelope was killed.
Lioness takes care of a cub,
Hunger in herself drowning.


Nigar Nurulla Khalilova is a poet, novelist, and translator from Azerbaijan, currently in the Kingdom of
Saudi Arabia. Member of Azerbaijan Writers Union.
Graduated from Azerbaijan Medical university. Holds a Ph.D Degree.

 Before My Friend Got Killed

The sky actually was blue
The streets were more spacious
Women were sitting on the thresholds of their houses in the afternoon
Telling amazing stories to each other
The cafes were full of men’s laughter
My father smiles as he tells her:
Don’t take Faleeha to the hair salon
Give your hair the color of the sun
And leave the glamour of night to my daughter’s hair
She smiles back and says  
Her name is not poetic
If it were me, I would change it
We all laugh
My mother was more compassionate
She would say 
Eat from one plate so your emotions will not be lost
And like ants on a candy bar, we would gather together
Oh, my friend
After your death
The world wore a garment of dust
The war had swept away the thresholds of our homes
Women now wear worries
Permanent sadness
Cafes are bustling with the songs of false victory
Men’s voices are hoarse from smoke
And from drinking scorching defeats
Oh, my friend
Your death spread the snow colour on my hair
If you had stayed a little bit longer
You would have seen how my name was won
 But death betrayed you
As it did my mother
And my father as well
All their advice fell on stone ears
Our lives filled up with wars, poverty, and exile
When I shout
Oh father ,
Mother,
Brother,
 Sister,
There is no echo coming back
And regret bites my heart
Oh, my friend
Can you stop your Specter from dancing in my memory
Give me ten minutes to sleep
The smoke from the plane that killed you
Suffocates my days
……………
(Dedicated to my friend Mason Hassan Kamuna which she was killed during the Iraq-Iran war)
 
 She is a poet, teacher, editor, writer, and playwright born in Najaf, Iraq, in 1967, who now
lives in the United States. Faleeha was the first woman to write poetry for children in Iraq.
She received her master's degree in Arabic literature, and has now published 26 books, her
poems have been translated into English, Turkmen, Bosnian, Indian, French, Italian, German,
Kurdish, Spain, Korean, Greek, Serbia, Albanian, Pakistani, Romanian, Malayalam, Chinese,
ODIA, Nepali and Macedonian language. She is the Pulitzer Prize Nomination 2018,
PushCaret Prize Nomination 2019.
Member of International Writers and Artists Association.
Winner of the Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine 2020,
Winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021)
One of the Women of Excellence selection committees 2023
Winner of women the arts award 2023
Member of Whos’ Who in America 2023
SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023
Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com

Poets Power
 
In the realm of chaos, we seek peace, 
Where poets' words make conflicts cease. 
With ink as our sword and love as our guide, 
We stand united, side by side. 
Through verses woven with care and grace, 
We paint a world where hatred has no place. 
In the tapestry of dreams, we stitch our hopes, 
Binding nations together with poetic ropes. 
Let the rhythm of our lines echo loud, 
As we sing of love beneath the shroud. 
Brotherhood and sisterhood, hand in hand, 
Together we'll build a peaceful land. 
So let us raise our voices high, 
And let our words touch the sky. 
For in poetry's embrace, we find, 
The power to heal humankind.

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia.
She is a person to whomfrom an early age, Leonardo da Vinci's statement "Painting is poetry that can be seen, and poetry is painting that can be heard" is circulating through the blood.
That's why she started to use feathers and a brush and began to reveal the world and herself to them.
As a poet, she is represented in numerous domestic and foreign literary newspapers, anthologies and electronic media, and some of her poems can be found on YouTube.
Many of her poems have been translated into English, Hungarian, Bengali and Bulgarian due to the need of foreign readers.
She is the recipient of many international awards.
"Trees of Desire" is her second collection of poems in preparation, which is preceded by the book of poems "Moon Circle". 
She is a member of the International Society of Writers and Artists "Mountain Views" in Montenegro,and shealso is a member of the Poetry club "Area Felix" in Serbia.

The Rainless Draught

Once we were filled with rivers and fishes
Our ancestors told us the story of rain and flood
The Bangalee lived on fish and rice
Now, the rivers seen like the migratory birds
In season or out of season 
Sometimes, draught happens enough to burn the world
Sometimes water and water are everywhere
Deluging the land in the open sky
Make people and animal homeless surrounding all
Nature in us and nature outside 
Responsibly goes to the conscience
Humanity sometimes played  like instruments
In the clasp of nature –
The severe inhumanity
Sometimes, it played as a trump card
Winning the race, a common play in the world
We suffer from the pain in body or heat stroke
Or float on the land submerged by overflowing water
What’s the bridge of relation?Where the gates are set to hinder the flow
And the door closed for suffocating in the waterless rivers
People pass the days in torture for high temperature
And the rainless atmosphere
Would you please expand your hand?
O Creator! 
We pray utmost to you
The mild temperature to go in the world you made for.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh, 25 April, 2024. 

Md. Mahbubul Alam is from Bangladesh. His writer name is Mahbub John in Bangladesh. He is a senior teacher (English) of Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh. Chapainawabganj is a district town of Bangladesh. He is an MA in English Literature from Rajshahi College under National University. He has published three books of poems in Bangla. He writes mainly poems but other branches of literature such as prose, article, essay, etc. also have been published in national and local newspapers, magazines, and little magazines. He has achieved three times Best Teacher Certificate and Crest in National Education Week in the District Wise Competition in Chapainawabganj District. He has gained many literary awards from home and abroad. His English writings have been published in Synchronized Chaos Magazine for seven years. 

MINSTREL OF WORDS 

His sayings crashed against the walls 
His anguish was no more than another new frivolous tape, crowning a brain who played the game of errors 
Eloquence is not enough 

The heart oscillates tonight and slides off the edge of an eyelid, 
Wavering in the swamps of petty goodbyes,

Mercy... For the man who passes free from your shadow, free from you 
Mercy For those who analyze the foam of the underworld 
Wizards of the spike, 
Bonfire Bird Embalmers Memory
footprint ... Frozen 
His revolution celebrated the apotheosis of life in decline

Meanwhile, she continues to dream of a bed laced with rose petals.
She keeps forgetting the reality of her always coming back to a life full of sunshine.

GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE  is a writer and poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires, she graduated in letters and is the author of seven books of poetry, which have been awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers .UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. Commissioner of honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.