To walk on four legs or barefoot 
and to go through a wall
to fall into
oneself 
boneless 
eviscerated 
like with a hole in the head
through which
one could put a transparent finger

and touch one's colorless brain


 
the jar has been overflowing 
with pain
I was so sorry for you… 
then to sit and watch 
all those atoms
being scattered into oblivion
drowning deep
you should have started
by picking up your bones
one after the other
to build something meaningful 
with them

even fleshless




I've heard someone crying
in my neighbors’ apartment 
they don't know who I am
anonymous building
inhabited by ghosts
busy with themselves 
busy beating up their kids
abusing their wives
as if
they wanted to somehow 

decry their hollow souls 

Life

Life's melody, a song we sing, 
In every breath, a new beginning. 
With each step taken, paths unfurl, 
In the dance of joy, and the storm's whirl. 
Moments shared, like treasures found, 
In the silence, hear life's gentle sound.

Wazed Abdullah is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.

A wish for young people

You live under a dome
Above the earth in peace
Searching day and night
You want knowledge today.

You are always eager for knowledge

Towards a dream, goal, intention
Looking forward to great things today
Overcome the challenge.

It's a good night even if it's sleepless
Today is your day, even if it goes without rest
One day you will definitely get it
To the bright life you want.

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.

Father of The Nation Bangabandhu

In the heart of Bengal, a legend was born,
A beacon of hope, from dusk until morn.
Sheik Mujibur Rahman, a leader so true,
Guided his people, through skies clear and blue.

With words that stirred, like thunderous roar,
He fought for justice, forevermore.
A father of the nation, with vision so vast,
He led with courage, from the shadows he cast.

In the struggle for freedom, his voice rang clear,
Inspiring millions, dispelling fear.
From the streets of Dhaka to the halls of power,
He stood firm, in the darkest hour.

Bangabandhu, the friend of the masses,
In his presence, hope surpasses.
A champion of peace, in a world torn apart,
He carried the dreams of a nation in his heart.

Though taken too soon, his legacy lives on,
In the hearts of the people, from dusk until dawn.
Sheik Mujibur Rahman, a hero so grand,
Forever cherished, in Bangladesh's land.

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

Writer’s Block

When I try to write
I sense that millions of readers are
Crowding the paper’s edge,
Kneeling, genuflecting, and lifting their hands
To pray for my poem’s safe arrival.
The moment it looms on my imagination’s horizon,
Gazing at the concept in a diaphanous gown of metaphor,
Young people smack their lips—craving double entendres.
Meanwhile, with piercing glances, the elderly scrutinize
Its juxtapositions and puns.
Then the concept smiles shyly, dazed at seeing them.
On the paper’s lines both young and old meet for a discussion,
But my words resist
And erect walls of critical theories.
Then the paths of personal confession contract,
Contract,
Contract.
My imagination calmly shuts down,
And the conception retreats inside my head.
At that hour, it afflicts my world with
Bouts of destruction.
Workers refuse their paychecks.
Farmer let their fields go fallow.
Women stop chatting.

Pregnant mothers refuse to deliver their babies.
Children collect their holiday presents but
Toss them on the interstate.
Our rulers detest their positions.
Kings sell their crowns at yard sales.
Geography teachers rend their world map
And throw it in the waste basket.
Grammar teachers hide vowel marks in the drop ceiling
And break caesura by striking the blackboard.
Flour sacks split themselves open, and the flour mixes with dirt.
Birds smash their wings and stop flying.
Mice swarm into the mouths of hungry cats.
Currency sells itself at public auctions.
The streets carry off their asphalt under their arms
And flee to the nearest desert.
Time forgets to strike the hour.
The sea becomes furious at the wave
And leaves the fish stuck headfirst in the mud.
The shivering moon hides its body in the night’s cloak.
Rainstorms congeal in the womb of the clouds.
The July sun hides in holes in the ozone layer,
Allowing ice to form on its beard and scalp.
Skyscrapers beat their heads against the walls,
Terrified by the calamity.
Cities dwindle in size till they enter the needle’s eye.

Mountains tumble against each other.
My room squeezes in upon me, and
The ceiling conspires against me with
The walls,
The chair,
The table,
The fan,
The floor,
Glass in the frame,
The windows,
Its curtains,
My clothes, and
My breaths.
The world’s clarity is roiled.
Atomic units change.
I vanish into seclusion,
Trailing behind me tattered moans and
Allowing my pen to slay itself on the white paper.
.......................................................
by Faleeha Hassan
Translated by William M. Hutchins

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, PushCart 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

Bare life

Adam Zagajevski says in one of his songs
That we have to settle for a cramped prisoner's cell
Cobwebs covered cities, metropolises, countries
in fact, it covered everything that is called house, home
and all of this is interwoven with longing that once upon a time everything was or will be
different someday
Our bodies are exposed, stripped, decentralized
My interlocutor seems to be breathing as we travel illegally on German paved roads
As if to say, lean over
I lean in too
And I fall into the slow eyes, like Alice I sleep in the fall
I hear him say that there may or may not be a way out
All we have left is prayer
God will settle the score
He is not dead as they say
The man is not dead
I sigh and wonder if I am human, am I already dead?
I hold my breath and return to the nearest star
"Aren't these myths, all these unions, all this crap about attacking, not attacking
We are just players in some game we played as children, remember??"
I try to remember, but I keep feeling the policeman's rough hands touching me
I'm naked in every coat and I'm shaking with fear
And where are we going, to embrace death?

I melt in the endless horizon, the fabric is soft, happy substances flow through my veins
History is a schizophrenic record looking for good slaves.
Man is a historical idea, which should be understood in every language.
Or at least one would think so
"I think we will succeed there, if I succeed I will bring my wife and children
And you can find someone, a German woman"
He starts to smile, then abruptly stops the movement of his lips
"'What the hell, it's not all that dark, don't give up, hold on!"
He hits me on the shoulder
Before us, the flowers of evil sing their songs
It broke apart as we catch a glimpse of the shadows of the eve
Maybe I see my mother, my father, my house
The shy red ray of the sun hints that nothing is left
Even if we die, so what?

Emina Đelilović-Kevrić (Sarajevo, Bosnia and Herzegovina) After studying the b/h/s (bosnian/croatian/serbian) language and literature at the Philoshopical Faculty in Zenica she got her master's degree on the subject „Memory construction in the South Slavic interlinear community: typical models of the war camp experience in literature“. She is the author of the poetry collection „ This time without history“ and the short stories collection „ Erased lives“. Her collection of poems „ My son and I“ is awarded by the Publishing Foundation of Bosnia and Herzegovina in 2021. In 2022 she won the second place in the international literature competition „ Isnam Taljić“. She is the winner of the second award for the best short story of the regional literature competition „Zija Dizdarević“ 2022, and she won the first place on international literature competition „Nastavi priču“. 2023. she won a third place on international poetry competition „Ossi di Seppia“ Italy.