HER NAME
At the bottom of the river you sleep,
and then you emerge
on the soft palm of the sacred hands
that lift you out of the water.
You feel your awakening;
there was enough sleeping,
others would like to see you the way you are.
Oh, a stone black for this world,
but for eyes that see deeper
your name is… Shila.
Oh dear, you immediately soften the river
where you were found
as if she is also rejoicing with you
seeing you above her very clearly,
and in her bosom rested your dream.
Drops of water are gliding down
your dark smiling face,
and a ray of light illuminates your sweet gaze.
You travel on the sacred palm to the river bank,
they place you on pure silk to rest,
and then you go to your throne,
not for you but for others
who are eager to see you.
You are neither a black stone nor a woman,
You are a living soul that has a form and a name.
My hand moves towards you,
I give you a flower that smells like spring,
and my soul wakes up again
when it sees awakened eyes,
and understands the meaning of yourself.
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" was 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.
Stop Please, killing
Still, I hear the echoes of the words
That the dying baby of Syria or Palestine uttered.
He said in the next world he would complain to the Lord
Who has created us all.
He threatened the world that he would say everything
The cruelty and injustice that he suffered.
He would ask his Lord what was his crime
And why was he killed?
When the innocent was taking to the grave
The air was heavy with tears and sighs
The helpless mother how helplessly she cries.
Certainly, certainly our creator had heard
That heart rending complains the baby had made.
The Almighty God had punished the world
By sending Covid – 19 Corona Virus.
The world has then seen the rallies of death.
But the hardhearted killers would never stop
To violate the rules of the Almighty Lord.
Still are they killing countless a day
Destroying the houses, hospitals and tents.
Which religion allows you to kill innocents
And burn hospitals, churches and mosques as well?
Blood of Muslims, blood of Jewish
Blood of Christians , Buddhists and Hindus
All are red and look the same.
Then why such rivalry why such crimes,
Why the slaughtering of people
And deprivation of right?
Stop please, killing stop genocide.
Don’t drop your bombs don’t fire missiles.
(Manzar Alam from Bangladesh)
Prayer
I beg You, God,
Help us:
We who are children just turned forty,
We who still don’t know how to shake the gooey skin from our pithy words.
We haven’t wandered aimlessly with a dog
Merely
Because our grandfathers’ bones have been filling the cemeteries that our streets demand.
We haven’t drunk coffee,
Because the noise of their artillery really didn’t allow us to sleep.
Please, God,
When you are nigh, we shouldn’t dream of sheltering under blankets;
We want to see no matter what You have in mind for us
I beg You!
Don’t make matters go from bad to worse!
We're still kids--
Forever.
Translated by William HutchinsFaleeha Hassan 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. She is a Pulitzer Prize nominee for 2018 and a Pushcart Prize nominee for 2019.
She is a member of the International Writers and Artists Association and the winner of the 202 Women of Excellence Inspiration award from SJ magazine, the winner of the Grand Jury Award (the Sahitto International Award for Literature 2021), one of the Women of Excellence selection committees for 2023, the winner of Women In The Arts award for 2023 and a member of Who's’ Who in America for 2023.
SAHITTO AWARD, JUDGING PANEL 2023
Cultural Ambassador - Iraq, USA
Email : d.fh88@yahoo.com
IN THE PALM OF MY HANDS
This is what belongs to me,
the small scene of everyday life
and the infinite ephemeral
This is the incredible photo (undeveloped)
from the first image
stamped on my retina, at his side
I save here
In the palm of my hand
the secret, the plot, the grace
Magic dimensions
Blessed, heavenly peace
That filled my days and today they are lost
My shy astonishments are recorded
spent in pleasant hours that
the hole of the night took away
in the palm of my hands
are recorded those cicadas,
always hidden singing to the times...
Lulling the days of my childhood
I also have recorded the resistance
That stubborn resistance
and the enclosure of solitude.
The task and the unsuspected grinding
what does it mean to me
GRACIELA NOEMI VILLAVERDE is a writer. Poet from Concepción del Uruguay (Entre Rios) Argentina. Based in Buenos Aires She graduated in letters, author of seven books. Poetry genre. Awarded several times worldwide. She works as she, 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.
Why? !!
Why?
Are you always on my mind?
Every second, every moment?
Are you in my soul?
You don't know ...
Why?
I can't go, you can't go either,
My pillows are wet with tears at night.
The stars are holding me in mourning.
You don't know.
Why?
Do you keep writing gazelles?
Is it a band or another beauty?
Shormikan peshonam yo azal, azal?
You don't know.
Why?
Did your love blind my eyes?
Do you have anything to do with me now?
Does it matter, spring or winter?
You don't know ...
Why?
My heart sank,
You have broken my broken tongue,
Oh, give back my poor heart.
Silent ....
Why?
Many questions, unclear answers,
It is clear that I will be separated,
Now love is abgor, feelings are broken,
No answer ...
Why?
Why?
Why ?????
You don't know ....
Sharipova Zuhro Sunnatovna (Zahro Shamsiyya) She was born on April 9, 1969 in the Nurata district of the Navoi region. Her first poem was published in 1985 in the Gulhan magazine. Uzbek publishing houses published works in the journal "Sharq Yulduzi", in the literature and art of Uzbekistan - "Ma'rifat", in various regional and district newspapers. World almanacs in Canada, -2017 in Dubai WBA 2018 "Turkish poets of the world" (Buta 3) 2019, "Muhammad Yusuf izdoshlari" 2017 almanac. She published her book "Ismsiz tuigular."
Broken the Chain
I shall break down your chains
Even if nothing else in me remains
You have insulted me enough
Another one, will be too much
I shall break down your chains
I had from you suffered pains
Your hands have left my skin scarred
My total womanhood, you tarred
I shall break down your chains
My child's safety, from you, gains
All the beatings and control at home
Has peeled off your shiny chrome
I shall break down your chains
Marriage, no longer, my loyalty sustains
Now, the time came to find happiness
A true man, to comfort my loneliness
I have broken down your chains
My mind, my heart to wisdom trains
New love, my- self respect regained
I'm no longer an object, spirit maimed
Free verse
You harness me to own, process, and sell
You dig up walls and force me to redirect my path
You corrupt my purity with trash and poison
I rather flow and be abused rather than freeze cold
You pluck me from my life giving roots
You tear each petal and make ridiculous wishes
You squash me so my scent be bottled
I rather bloom and be destroyed rather than be ignored
You kissed me, to drink my life away
You praised me, to control my thoughts
You give some, to get everything else
I rather be used than to feel worthless in my eyes
You starved me, stealing my food
You make me work, taking my wages
You beat me, enjoying my tears and screams
I rather suffer, than left alone, nowhere to go
And we allow ourselves not to be free
To be used, misused and abused
For nothing is permanent even life
We rather exist in a moment's illusion of joy.
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.
Let's save the "dying" World!
It's your turn, Oh scholar, Oh poet,
Humanity is dying before your eyes.
The greedy say everything is mine
He divides what he doesn't have into a hundred!
Make an invention, brainstorm,
Say such a word, let it touch the heart,
Let the soul-conquering song be sung,
The world has come to life, they are alive again!
We extend a helping hand with care,
Let's save the "dying" World!
Elmaya Jabbarova - was born in Azerbaijan. She is a poet, writer, reciter, translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Shargin sesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for
Africa», «Juntos por las Letras 1;2», «Kafiye.net» in Turkey, in the African's CAJ magazine, Bangladesh's Red Times magazine, «Prodigy Published» magazine. She performed her poems live on Bangladesh Uddan TV, at the II Spain Book Fair 1ra Feria Virtual del Libro Panama, Bolivia, Uruguay, France, Portugal, USA.
