Snowflake Ballerinas

Silver ballerinas pirouetted down the clouds
Sliding down the spruce, fir and pine
Each an unique masterpiece 
Unbound by reason or rhyme 

The sky fell asleep 
Pining for its lover, the storm
The cold wind stole its essence 
Froze in spirit and form

Cloaked in a feathery parka
A busy throughfare lost its way
It skipped its daily itinerary to watch the ballerinas 
Romancing the meek sun ray

Silence grew a distinct hum
The wind stroked a sigh out of the cold
The pitter patter of the pointe shoes
Timeless loop spun around unable to secure its hold

At curtain call the ballerinas bowed their best
The show had come to an end
Another year another time
More hearts to be frozen around the bend

Candle

Games of chiaroscuro air
My open ended soaked sun beach
The divine judgement
Why we open up our own
Pandora's boxes 
Lying everywhere
In the name of love
Just falsifying money 
Stifles my inwards 
I just needed
A little candle soul
To sit beside
My honeycombed style
Before it's too late
We're shooting stars 
Lost revenues new avalanches
My archery of bows 
I just need one pinpointed
A single lotus petal
To smoothen out
Impurities of inward crevices
My fairy shiny letters

Brian Michael Barbeito is a Canadian writer and photographer. Recent work appears at The Notre Dame Review. 

Spirit of a Place, Spirit of a Thing (Artist Statement)

In an off handed remark during an interview, U.G. Krishnamurti, called by some an anti-guru, and by himself, ‘Something like a philosopher,’ said that he once thought he could sense the spirit of a place. But then he brushed it off through words and body language. It didn’t fit in with his philosophy and message. But I resonated with his statement anyhow, because I had always felt that I could feel the spirit of a place and also a thing. Old town, lake still and wide. City street, carnival game vendor and prizes. Bee. Spider. Flower. Vine. Ridge. Summit. Stone. Petal. Stream. Sun. Cloud. Bird and dusk, horizon and dawn. Lock, denoting love, affixed to lonesome bridge alone in the rain. Artifacts. Areas. Some saturnine and some sanguine. Hundreds of places and things, their spirit, against reason and logic, somehow speaking out, not with language of course, but calling out nevertheless. Semantics and nomenclature could argue what spirit means. Is it the atmosphere, the daemon, the angel, the area, the vibration, the feeling? Is it physical, metaphysical, true and there, or purely imaginary and projected? Difficult to know conclusively. But there is something I think in all that mise- en-scene, and so on the rural footpaths and metropolitan worlds also, I try and photograph it and also write about it, this spirit of a place and spirit of a thing.

We all know that the twenty-first century has evolved into an era of technology. Both young and old people are holding cell phones. It’s a terrible situation. After all, this is detrimental to young people’s futures. Not just children, but also adults… Parents are glued to their phones when they get home from work. They don’t care about their children’s future because they don’t care about their children. Instead of learning, young people spend their days staring at their phones. Unfortunately, not all information found online is helpful, and not everyone utilizes it properly. This poses a serious threat to the nation’s future. Parents should first rectify themselves in order to stop this. It is essential to be concerned about his future and to support his decisions. It is a good idea to set up all the necessary circumstances for them to fall in love with reading and to congratulate them when they finish a particular book or assignment. Children are like flowers, my dear and beloved parents. Be sure to look after it. You will then see positive effects.  

Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student.

Measurement of life according to the scribes

All of us have been granted the invaluable gift of life by the Almighty. Each person must decide how to use it. You should expect to experience
a variety of difficulties throughout your life pathways. We ought to make to the most of the possibilities that are given to us. Life shouldn’t be wasted on pointless things. Every second that goes by is an integral aspect of human existence.
It will be a witness to a person’s gain or loss on the Day of Judgment. Therefore, a Muslim should manage his time like a savvy businessman.
I have no issue with advising all scientific students to read ‘’The Value of Time in the Eyes of
Scholars’’ in order to be able to manage their time wisely and utilize it efficiently.
This book exhorts the reader to seize each moment as it comes. When a genius rests,
They rehash what they have written and the information they had learned since they were so absorbed in what they were doing.
Time is not a fabric that can be created; rather, it is an opportunity that comes along only once.
‘’Each day that begins calls out: ‘O son of man, I am a new day, I am a witness of your deeds,
Take advantage of me. If I pass away, I will not return until the Day of Resurrection, ‘’remarked
Hasan Basriy, may God have mercy on him.
Time is precious.

Marjona Murad’s daughter Abdurazokova. On July 1, 2007, she was born in the Tashkent region. She is currently a ninth-grade general secondary school student. 

Ishmurotova Sabrina Sarvar qizi

A little girl who missed her daddy

She is a child, but there is no childhood,
There are no exuberances, no masculinity.
Her heart hurts so much
A little girl who missed her dad .
Seeing her mother secretly crying
Her heart troubles again.
She can't tell anyone about her suffering
A little girl who missed her dad.

Hugging her dad's pictures
"I miss you dad", - she says.
A girl who didn't see mercy from Father
Why does she miss him so much? 

A little girl of six-year-old 
Listening to her longings, you say: "Ohhh!"
O, people, tell me what is going on
Listening to it, you will be feeble.

There are so many tiny hearts in the world
I don't know, how many at the moment.
But, a girl who missed her daddy
Don't cry from longing anymore
One day, you will be very happy 

If I head away.
Maybe then my worth is known, 
If I leave a mark on your heart. 

My parents miss me,
They have been waiting for me for years.
Looking at the streets where my childhood was left
You know my worth again.

You can't find me,
Your dreams are telling the truth-
You look for my laughter, though, 
You can't find them either, my friend! 

You ask the moon where I am
He is ashamed of not being able to answer.
I repeat again, my dear ones,
You will never find me 

Mokhinur Askarova daughter of Bakhadir was born on May 13, 2006 year in Jizzakh city.In 2013 year she went to the 14 th school in Jizzakh city. She is also a member of about 20 international.organizations and the owner of more than 50 international certificates. a graduate of the special course of the world famous"Oxford University's Home study center"course, published the first poetry collection "World" announced.America's "Amazon"his poems were published in "Raven Cage"magazines of Germany,he was invited 3 times as a guest of"Assalom Jizzakh"show.