Ibrat Academy

The 21st century is the age of information technologies. Today, we cannot imagine our life without these innovations. Their scale is developing not by the day, but by the hour.

It is possible to easily send and receive information from one end of the world to another, and even communicate freely with them. Such news and innovations could not even be imagined by mankind 100 years ago.

In the global community, language is the most effective tool for mankind. Learning a language opens up so many possibilities that we can’t even count them all. Knowledge of the language helps not only in communication, but also in achieving success in the world. The level of the IELTS-language certificate is high worldwide. A certificate is also required from the candidate to get a visa when going abroad or to get a new job.

A new “Ibrat Academy” project aimed at improving the level of knowledge of world languages was founded in Uzbekistan. Before it was announced, this project reached a million views on social networks: You Tube and Telegram. “Ibrat Academy” is a project based on free, high-quality and creative teaching of foreign languages. In this project, people of any age can learn a new language, improve their knowledge, and take part in tests based on their knowledge.  In order to make it more convenient for students, an official application was created, which includes useful video lessons by qualified experts. It creates an opportunity to learn the language easily in any case, at any time. More than 20 language courses and thousands of tests took place from this project. Of course, another basis of language learning is vocabulary. In the project, this issue has been thoroughly considered, and a section of dictionaries has also been created. Each learner can track the scores collected by completing the tests in the “Leaderboard” section. There are even many young people who have won many prizes through their knowledge. Each learner who completes a new language course will receive a certificate. At the last stage, all knowledge is tested and determined by artificial intelligence. Learners can also communicate with the artificial intelligence, even observing its mistakes and shortcomings, giving some instructions.

The heads of the project are Alisher Sadullayev and Rustam Koriyev, and in order to achieve the goal of the project, they and their team are working together to promote actions throughout the republic. Among them, G’iduvan district of Bukhara region strengthened its rating at the republic level. In this matter, the contributions of the district governor Sh. Ashurov, project leaders H. Tokhtayev, Sh. Sharipov, Y. Asadov, etc. Extensive work is being done in the field of education in the district.

It is no exaggeration to say that the expected goal has already been achieved in this project. The project is not only limited to language teaching, but also helps to add Uzbekistan to the ranks of developed countries.

I am also one of the captains of the Ibrat academy of Gijduvon district. Our team has been leading the way in the promotion of the project since the beginning of the project in the republic. We, the youth, are worthy children who will be a strong foundation for the future of the Motherland, and we will strive bravely towards the noble goal set before us. And of course we justify the trust given to us.

Ruziyeva Barnokhan was born on November 28, 2006 in Gijduvon district, Bukhara region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. She writes and translates poems in her free time. In 2017, the poetry collection “Nurli koshona” and “Mehrigiyo” was published in 2020. Her poems were published in the Turkish language in the Turkish anthology organized by Turkey, Uzbekistan and Azerbaijan.’’Motivations for your success” is published in English by the JEF publishing house of the Republic of Moldova. It is available for sale in 26 countries of the world. In June 2023, a poem and an article were published in the German “Raven Cage” magazine. Today, she is a member and ambassador of several organizations. In Uzbekistan, about 20 of her creative works have been published in magazines and newspapers.

The Mirror Under The Rain

The other woman says 
that she loves your chest
even your words have a way 
to unhook her bra to thaw
 in your amorous destination.

Don’t forget about your promises,
She begins and ends her daylights 
thinking about nobody but yourself.
Try to understand her, don’t break her. 

She says that your lips flavours is not
in the liquor, perhaps, she starts to sip
your presence in her morning cup of tea.
She sees you as great as her heartbeats.

You spend your youth looking for a new love
The first time she held a man’s hand was yours
Since then, she adores the way you caress her 
breasts, her hair. In front of the mirror under the rain…

+



We are alongside
           the LOVE
With us
   ☆ Heart reins
       about & within.
Your
  House is undiminished

Rest now
   this cup is pure aether
      Before after &
               Between
          Unsourced
            as faith
              Rings the
                  touch
An
 untimely presence
  turns its own clock
whenever it joins in Trust

    The universe is
              in verse
 A story
      told
And quite frankly
Still quite
 young

                                                ............



by John Edward Culp 
   Sunday morning 
   January 28, 2024

***

а chick that has fallen from a nest into the water cannot swim

the water becomes covered with a crust of ice

the chick feels like a fish in its belly

the world poured out from the cracked shell spills out into the silensе

a dead hen laid a wasted vain egg


***

dragonfly drinks

the voice of stone

the night swallows up

the spring


***

tree turns into a crucifixion cross

no one asks the tree why it grew


I kiss you while you sleep in next your dreams

no one asks me what I wish for


***

you need to dress warmer because the cemetery under the bed is still growing and the snow continues to fall in silence

for silence

to silence


flowers dream of knowing nothing about the grave and I don’t want to know anything about you

about snow

about death


sperm looking for its nest

the nest is looking for something to fill its emptiness


I'm aiming a shooting star at my temple

the world around goes out



***

Horizon blushes

Sunrise hues in bloom cascade

Daybreak's painted sky



(With AI)



***

Ocean whispers softly,

Tides paint poetry.



(With AI)



***
a leaf of my soul is torn off

I haven't seen sakura for a long time
I've never seen sakura

***
the master's face 
in the mirror of my freckles

***
bird gypsum

my eyes are stuck in the web of the sky

***
Who among us has not fallen in love 
with a young Justin Bieber in his youth?

Icons with saints and a poster
with pop stars are torn off the walls of a collapsed house

Star 82 review reprint

***
the swallow is crying blue

***
brother is a brute brutus

***
I won't be able to be one day

***
stomach ripped open with tears

***
headlight light lantern light eye light
night in the hood

***
In the moonlit forest 
I want to die australopithecus

***
the drum dies loud

***
the notes of the music 
will evaporate in the air

***
injury leaves
grass and glass
water and sun

***
dry cough
wet forehead
winter

***
T r e p
T r i p
R i p
I p
I


***
The stars drowning in the night 
Do not shine for anyone

***
Even kittens can die

***
I go out into the snow
I become snow

***
I'm drawing
I'm drawing
I'm drawing
I'm blind

***
Green grass
Green glass

Injuries

***
Beetles can't sing

***
The dog god was born in the cold
Every dog came into this world cold
From what silence of thought to mold the resurrection and death of a pagan god
And suddenly God will not be resurrected?
Will it suddenly turn out that this god does not belong to the pagans?


All the religions of the world struggle with the bag of death
Is it for life?
Cowardice is noted by every dog
Fleeing is blood-soaked
Hunger or the palms of the dog god
The palmless paws of the dog god
Godless dogs


Every stray dog is a dog god born in the cold

(The Wise Owl reprint)

***
autumn draws winter

***
how a chicken uses a microwave
a black star lights up in the sky

burn like chicken on the grill
or live like a bird that cannot fly 
for slaughter

***
kings are everywhere 
even in the mirror


***
tastes could not be discussed 
the proud tree is silent as before
but now in the form 
of a paper cup 
for coffee


***
no one asked the grass why it grew and uprooted it
the grass is our home
grass is our glass
wallpaper glue doesn't hold the wallpaper of the homeless well


***
baby was born in the grass
grass was born in a child
the sun shines in the summer for everyone

      Learning Situation

There may, especially in times 
of civil int’resting unrest,
be hid ‘midst heroes – who’d solve crimes,
believing weaker folks’ good best –
badged rogues who’d stop at no excess –
to savagery against suspects,
karate-chop pat-downs, regress;
on courage, honor, cast their hex,
leave victims sexually tortured.

Idealists who took a stand,
Once let out of this devil’s-orchard,
must face their love, although unmanned.
Their love is beauty, nothing less,
who knows to love where courage grows
but now finds love a harrowed mess –
distrait, stand-offish.  Why?  Who knows?

One may have suffered worse groin pains
in downhill bike falls, but – it’s strange –
this ache won’t go away.  The change
will bring unbid but oft’ his brains
all addled vivid bright recall
of dingy green precinct back room,
his hands upon the chilly wall,
his legs spread wide in civic gloom.


We’d cellmates been in protest time –
while I too had attacked a pig,
foolhardy vainglory for rhyme
it was – hardly a thing as big
as bravery.  (Though like outrage
they’d dealt me, small discomfort lingers –
my first night free did much assuage.
I’m just glad they spared my fingers.)

They’d thrown him howling through the door:
“Strike, coward scum, and from behind –
thus justice mock since law’s no more
where peacekeepers have lost their mind!”
He ceased his anguished hoarse harangue
and climbed onto the upper bunk.
Our cell door slid closed with a clang
as back into my bed I sunk.

His thrashings kept waking me up
for long into ceaseless glare.
I gave him water in a cup,
he fin’ly slept without nightmare.
Then after quiet hours went by
wherein he didn’t even snore
I guess he must have heard me sigh
for, leaping to the iron floor
he said his name, stuck out his hand.
I shook it, told him “Call me Jack.”
He taught up at the college, planned
This lecture for when he got back:

“When any revolution’s inchoate
if it’s at all, such autocratic lock
the Powers have on ev’ry human fate
the chance that dissidence with fight will mock
the pomp of armed enforcers isn’t great.
Few act upon disgust that many feel.
But character, integrity will rate
with some despite the odds, which are surreal.
Then luckily the losers themselves find
In what we call a learning situation:
What ruthless motherfuckers do them bind
Is matter for the wonder’s contemplation.”

I said that would his students well
Forearm.  He thanked me.  We discussed
specific treatment, what befell
us both since brought in on this bust,
and which side in particular –
they differed ‘tween the both of us –
received insult testicular.
He then reflected – with a cuss:

“It seems this adds another facet
to passions positive as well – 
how tell my girl now in tacit
accents exactly what a hell
her country is, what fiends its cops,
what force ensures wage-slave docility,
what gratis ache that hardly stops
our bliss infects and my virility – 
No! – she must be carefully shunned.
A note with disengagement ring
will say, ‘Sweetheart, love’s moribund.
You’re not to blame, though, that’s the thing.
You know you take it personal
when griefs hit folks that aren’t their fault.
But now the ghetto I’ll home call
while you continue to exalt
delight – but new guy overjoy –
for I this shaman must consult
to help your mad ex-lover-boy
again in ecstasy exult….’ –
I’ll not write that, just disappear.
To flee’s the better part of valor.
Of missing history buff she’ll hear,
I’ll spare her any further pallor.”   

DON TOAST

Oh, how sadly I say it

Oh, with what pain I feel it

Let men be killed or murdered

Seeing very brave

With their rifles on their shoulders

Or their guns on their belts, or inside

And that crowd of plebs

Dancing with joy

Around corpses and ruins

Toasting with Don Toast

Caesar, King or Tyrant

Lords of War or Mr. Money

All over that heavenly court

Of Nazis, semi-nazis, bad guys

Priests or sacred gurus

Hunters and bullfighters

That did they know and know

What a shot or thrust is worth

Given on time.

Now as before

The criminal and murderer

Enter to slaughter

Thanks to the beasts that rule us

That, while they see the deaths

They suck or have their… finger sucked.

Why such hatred between humans

Similar to the hatred they have

That God and this Devil of ours

How much ardor did they use

So much effort

In which Adam and Eve curled up

In the Garden like dogs

Until finally

The bad luck of sex

He made them stay

Nudes outside the Garden

Covered with green masks

Their organs stunned

And breathless.

When going out into the world

Waking up from their false dream

Without stopping a point

Not wanting to return to the Garden

They met priests

Pastors and gurus

Hypocrites, obscenes, liars

Just wanted to catch them

To Adam for the member

Eva’s breasts

And a bonfire or boiling cauldron

What made them say to Eva:

-Oh, what do you want?

To Adam:

-What people are these?

-We come to cut the throat or kill

To burn or stew

If you Eva do not give us

Your carnal currency

And you Adam, your kind Anus.

Eva, as an intelligent woman

She told them:

-Man, Life seems kind.

I will give you twenty truffles

That I have stored inside me.

Adam, who was dull

And embarrassed like an Ass

He said nothing.

Everyone was satisfied

But the most Boss

Wearing a crucifix and collar, he said:

–Dead man never speaks.

Four fell on him

And they cut off his head.

The body was left jumping

And the same the head

Around that bonfire

In which Eve burned.

Don Toast was left in sad tears

Two caught him and tied him up

From the feet to the head

As if he were a pig

Which was what it was.

Bleeding on a table

Where all the heads saw him

Votive offerings from the damned wars

That were hanging on a beam

Half dead with laughter.

I remember one thing now:

That, in all wars

Only the bad ones survive.

-Daniel de Culla