I don’t get used to pain.

What is life?  Yes, many people have been thinking about this word until now, and people answer based on the years of their lives, happy and sad events, truths and injustices, wounds and ointments. 

I will tell you that life is sometimes like a book full of riddles, sometimes it is like a trial road with endless joys and sorrows, a labyrinth from which it is difficult to find a way out.  Yes, there is a human race that is forced to get used to whatever happens in its fate, endure, feel, laugh and cry, and sometimes see the opposite.  In this way, there will be joy and pain.  I am a woman who does not get used to the pains she encountered in her life, and still cannot forget those pains. 

Life, if a person thinks about this word from the beginning to the end of his life, then Life is a Cluster.  Our coming into the world, the joy of our parents, our first step, our first spoken words, our innocent childish laughter, our love, our kindness, and parallel to these, our first fall and the first pain we felt, the first sound we heard, the sticks we ate, the lies we heard, our joy and sorrow and pain.  .  Yes, there are people who have ailments, some get used to these ailments and some don’t. 

Everyone remembers these pains in different forms and situations.  Someone’s pain from childhood, someone’s pain from adolescence, someone’s pain from adulthood and other different situations.  I have a problem with my parents.  There is a saying in our people that “the death of parents is an inheritance”.  I still can’t get used to this pain, I can’t get used to it.  In my life, I have faced various situations, lies, slander, thanks, good and bad.  There are some of them that I have not forgotten, which I still keep in my heart.  Because they happened in a situation I did not expect and by people I did not expect. 

My parents are the most painful pain that I have not been able to find a cure for, even after years have passed.  That they are not in this bright world, that I can’t see them whenever I want, that I can’t get their prayers, their advice at the right time, that I can’t get enough of their scent, that I can’t sleep like the aunt who forgot my pains by resting my head on my mother’s lap, that I can’t stroke her white hair, forgive me, mother, our worries,  I can’t say that our sorrows are old.  This pain is such a pain that it destroys a person from the inside, his pain and longing involuntarily bring tears to his eyes and cause deep sighs.  I still can’t get used to the words of my mother, “Have you come, my child, are you staying late, are you safe, my child, are you healthy, are you in pain, what do you want?”  My father’s sweet words, “My daughter, my daughter, this is my daughter, don’t hurt her, why did you hit her, why did you cry, are you healthy, my child, eat your food, don’t go hungry and study, let me give you the money, whatever you want”  My lost moments and pains that I can’t find even if I spend my wealth and time. 

This life is such a time that it passes before we open and close our eyes.  I’ll do it, I’ll do it, I’ll go sooner, but the time we couldn’t separate will come one day, from our inexhaustible wealth with us, from our ointments for a thousand pains, from our counselors who listen to us when we pour out all our pain, from our people who listened to our pain and threw theirs into the well, and gave everything for our joy.  separating from our existence.  This pain remains in our hearts regardless of how old we are, it causes pain.  It creates such a void that no wealth, no sweet words, no gift greetings can fill this void, no world’s riches, gifts, sweet words and attention of people around you can fill it.  Yes, I am a woman who lost her parents in her life and cannot get used to this pain of life.

Beloved, take care that your parents are with you now.  Be a salve for their pains, be ready for their services.  Time is so cruel that you can’t find them at a glance, even if you turn the world upside down, even if you scatter the world’s riches, and you won’t get used to pain like me.

Orinbayeva Lalezar Azadbay was born on April 8, 2003 in Tortkol district of the Republic of Karakalpakstan.  Her nationality is Turkmen, she knows the Turkmen language and Uzbek well. She graduated from the 24th general secondary school with excellent grades.  She graduated from school in 2021, and in the same year she became a student of the “Elementary Education” faculty of Tashkent University of Applied Sciences.  She works at school No. 24, where she graduated, and is a master of her profession. She has been writing articles since she was 20 years old and has students.   The first article is “The role of Makhtimkuli Firoghi in world history”.  She is engaged in journalism and opened a course.  Until now, several scientific and journalistic articles have been published in international journals.  She has participated in many anthologies and almanacs in this regard in Azerbaijan, Turkey, Belarus, Germany, Kenya, and European countries.  She also organized a personal anthology.  In the anthology “CREATORS OF THE YEAR”, a scientific article entitled “METHODICS OF MATHEMATICS TEACHING IN PRIMARY CLASSES” and an article by her students were published. 

Her creative work “Methods Of Attention Of Primary Class Students” was published in the Kenyan anthology “SERENITY A COMPILATION OF ART AND LITERATURE BY WOMEN” and received a certificate.  In the “Blue Sky Stars” anthology, her creative scientific article “EDUCATIONAL METHODS AND TOOLS IN PRIMARY CLASSES” and the articles of her students were published and received a certificate.  A scientific article entitled “THE SUBJECT AND TASKS OF MOTHER LANGUAGE TEACHING METHODOLOGY IN PRIMARY GRADES” was published in the journal of the scientific practical conference “New Seekers” and received a diploma, certificate, letter of acceptance, author’s certificate.  The scientific article titled “METHODS OF ATTENTION OF PRIMARY CLASS STUDENTS” was published and received an international invitation and an international certificate.  The story “JANNATIM ONAM” and the poem “ONAM” were published in the anthology “Tazim to you mother” which took part in the contest “Ship of Knowledge” of Russia and took the honorable 1st place.  The poem “Father and Mother” was published in his personal anthology “Future Scientists”.  The poem “Orzulari Osman Kiz” was published in the anthology “Youth of Uzbekistan” and received a diploma, a statuette, and a book.  In the anthology “Yoshlar Bayozi”, the article “My Profession: How to Be a Primary School Teacher” was published, and she received a diploma, a statuette, and a book.  , certificate, medal holder.  The poem “This is a world full of fakes” was published in the anthology “Uzbek women-girls” and received a certificate.  Currently, her creative works are regularly published in “Kenya Times” magazine and International sites and indexed in Google.  Holder of international certificates.

Reviewed by A. Iwasa

What’s it like to be an antifascist college professor facing termination for “soliciting students for potentially dangerous activities” while military recruiters have free range on your campus?

If you’re generally critical of academics, one thing you’ll have to understand about Josh Fernandez is that he’s hated teachers his whole life.  If you have any doubts, in this book Fernandez will take you back from fighting the community college bureaucracy he works for over their Campus Antifascist Network, Bash Back! and an off campus Antifascist Fighting Club he hosted, to the kindergarten classroom of a certain Mrs. Clark.  Though Clark maybe a changed name or composite character, you’ll get the drift.

Like many anti-authoritarians forged in post-industrial schools and equally dysfunctional families, Fernandez lays it all out going back and forth in time from his adult struggles to his wild upbringing.  Many people say one or both of their parents were crazy, but Fernandez’s biological father actually was.  I’m not trying to imply this an inherently bad thing, just a reality people frequently don’t take for the actual weight of the situation.

You’ll steadily follow Fernandez down what seems to me the well trodden paths of juvenile delinquency, but I think they’re largely the only ways to have any agency when you’re 12-15 years old or so in our society.

Skate boarding and punk rock fandom start to balance things out a bit for Fernandez, along with some relatively healthy family life aspects as a well intentioned step father enters his life.

The adult narratives move around in time also, back in time in the case of the day of Trump’s selection by the Electoral College when Fernandez attended a comically bad conference on diversity and education that day in 2016.

The youthful account contains a first hand telling of the show a Nazi stabbed Aragorn from Little Black Cart at.  I was shocked to read Aragorn’s roommate at the time, Paul, died the next day from a Nazi inflicted stab wound at that show.

A lot of young people seem to think this kind of brawling is all fun and games, and need to know these sort of stories.  Aragorn told me once he considered this part of his life to have been a waste of time, though I didn’t know any of the specifics until after he died.

The Hands that Crafted the Bomb is full of brutal truth that frequently borders on Too Much Information.  Though some accounts like this strike me as bragging or bravado, I’m strongly under the impression that Fernandez is just being painfully honest.  From the lows of physically fighting his bio father to trying speed, to the highs of becoming a father himself or punching bigots in the face; all the cards are laid out, good and bad alike.  Frankly, if Fernandez or his editors held anything back, I DO NOT want to know what it is!

Eventually working out in general, running in particular, college and 12 Step Meetings come into play as Fernandez gets it together in a somewhat conventional manner, without selling out.  But staying sober (and possibly employed or sane even) continues to be a daily struggle.

By Part 13, a part of the Investigation narrative at his work named “How to Say ‘Fuck You,'” Fernandez recounts one of the more recent and infamous antifa action in California, and a talk he had with Aragorn at the time.  Like talking with me around then, he told Fernandez it was a “Waste of time.”  Knowing what I know now about Aragorn’s youthful antifascism, it’s a conversation I wish I could have been a part of.

Later Fernandez ponders the bitter irony of being threatened with heavy charges for militant antifascism, when really people should be getting awards for it.

I don’t want to spoil it all for you, so please pick it up if you find this at all interesting.  I’ve sometimes wondered if hooliganism is simply baked into the coming of age of most young men.  If it is, I suppose at least some of us got on the right side of the barricades back in the ’90s and it was nice to read a lengthy, personal, and perhaps most importantly self critical account of someone who stayed true to their youthful, antifascist roots.

You can read more about Aragorn here: https://crimethinc.com/2021/02/13/remembering-aragorn-a-poem-and-a-zine

You can order Josh Fernandez’ book from PM Press here.

Dream Swept

So tired

as night sets in

laying back

my head on the pillow

alone

in my room

my last dollar

gone

and I tell myself

tomorrow will be better

when I walk down the highway

and hitch a ride

to the city in the sky.

Saint

Beautiful lady

wind soft in your hair

looking to the sky

clouds like puffs from your lips

believing in yourself

like your mother said

kindness to everyone

will keep you safe

even the thunder protecting you

rain washing all sin away.

Heavenly

At night

where does the music come from

far

floating in sleep

notes whispering

from when you were a child

the meaning

in everything

your heart guiding

thoughts of love

a majestic hum

from God

above.

A Migratory Bird

Man flies like birds

Man soars higher and higher

Man with his spirit raises more than we count

The light of the stars twinkling in the sky

Birds have their wing power

Man with intelligence overcomes all

I fly to thee, my loving star

A relation with the moon and the ocean

Always playing a charm of tide and ebb

In this salty flow of tide overflows a new life

Spread the glow on the face

The eyes like the rosy petals

Touches both of the hearts.

Chapainawabganj,  Bangladesh

30 September, 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, little magazines. He has achieved three times the 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 for seven years.

Violence against Women Grows

The streets are a river of red ink,

each drop, a cry that drowns.

Violence, a monster with eyes of fire,

that devours dreams and leaves ashes in its wake.

Women, withered flowers in a garden of pain,

their petals torn, their aroma, a lament.

Silence, a black cloak that envelops them,

a veil of fear that imprisons them.

Society, a ship that sinks in indifference,

each wave, a blow that drags them into darkness.

Justice, a mirage in the desert of impunity,

an oasis that vanishes with the wind.

But hope, a flame that does not go out,

a fire that burns in the heart of every woman.

Union, a bridge that unites them in the fight,

a path to freedom, to peace.

Violence, a cry that rises in the silence,

a clamor that demands justice,

that cries out for change.

Women, a volcano that

awakens in the struggle,

a fire that will not be extinguished until equality flourishes.

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, awarded several times worldwide. She works as the World Manager of Educational and Social Projects of the Hispanic World Union of Writers and is the UHE World Honorary President of the same institution Activa de la Sade, Argentine Society of Writers. She is the Commissioner of Honor in the executive cabinet IN THE EDUCATIONAL AND SOCIAL RELATIONS DIVISION, of the UNACCC SOUTH AMERICA ARGENTINA CHAPTER.

When the Blessing Arrives, You Close Your Eyes

When God gifts you pearls,

you bury them in the forest,

so as not to witness the radiance of beauty.

You scoop up sand in your palms,

letting it slip through the gaps between your fingers.

You believe that forced renunciation is the strength

you’ll gain through prayer.

Perhaps destiny writes history,

but you do not know how to read the language of Angels.

You subtly admire souls, and tomorrow,

you weep in solitude,

unaware that balance in life is crucial,

for it is from euphoria that one falls into depression.

I only observe you, seeing that you refuse to face the truth.

When blessings come again,

open your eyes and do not close them.

Maja Milojković was born in 1975 in Zaječar, Serbia. She is a person to whom from 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 she also is a member of the Poetry club “Area Felix” in Serbia.

Oppositely United

Can there be night without day

Can one just work without play

Can one just look up and see the sky

Without being down to say it is high

Tell me which door is the right side

And I shall open the left door wide

When all colors combine to be black

White shall be when all colors lack

Peace comes when a war has ended

War, after peace is taken for granted

Without people what is there to lead

Without a leader people set to bleed

Without worries, weakness, fear

How can courage lift up its spear

From one’s handicaps and weakness

Strength will protect and bear witness

Competitions and challenges around

Conflicts and disputes on the ground

How we desire unity without strife

Without opposites, there is no life.

The Sound of Music

Some people say poets discriminate against musicians.

How can that be, when poets write music themselves.

Every harmony in any arts or science is music in itself.

The music produced can only be heard by brains that resonate with its harmony.

Not hearing the music doesn’t mean that the music is absent.

Arrogance can make one blind, deaf, numb, or paralyzed.

And Nature laughs the loudest.

Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry.

Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for Truth in pursuit of Equality and proper Stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.