I wish it was that garden again...
I wish it was that garden again...
Once ours
Then sold,
As I fall,
I remember I'm slowly getting sad.
My memories of you
Dissolves like a wash
It opens one by one
Like a sheet in a notebook.
I say oh my
See how much of my life
This cruel time is over.
I wish it was back then...
Hidden from the fence - hidden,
We looked, we looked.
Even if the seers
Come to justice, to the screw
We would be ashamed
He kept this secret.
Half, when I see you,
the world was mine
We were happy, we laughed,
We fell into dreams,
We didn't get what we wanted.
We would hold hands,
We took wings and flew,
Floating in the dark sky,
Let's be friends with the birds.
Do you see my love
Wishes are sweeter than honey,
Moments with you
Written in my memory.
games of fate,
Dig a well very deep,
The wind blowing between us
Be it cold or cool,
How much breath I have
Dream and copy I will engrave in my heart
I will always love you.
I wish it was that garden again! ...
06/05/2023.
Elmaya Jabbarova was born in Azerbaijan. She is a poet, writer, reciter, and translator. Her poems were published in the regional newspapers «Sharginsesi», «Ziya», «Hekari», literary collections «Turan», «Karabakh is Azerbaijan!», «Zafar», «Buta», foreign Anthologies «Silk Road Arabian Nights», «Nano poem for
Africa», «JuntosporlasLetras 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.
MOTHER, INDIA!
You touch my heart with the melody of the flute,
tears flow for the One
who has inhabited my heart forever;
wherever I am,
He does not leave,
He has tied my soul with the silver thread of the moon,
I long to go,
and only death can bring us closer;
so I die again and again to meet you in a red sari
on the sacred ground in Dvaraka
I wait for you to wink at me,
just You and I
and we will meet there
where witnesses have been sleeping for centuries,
in the eternal city under the sea.
Oh Mother India, you call me...
Oh Dvaraka, city of my wedding,
I am coming to you.
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.
How
How my heart breaks at every storm my love ones face
How I want to shield them from the rages of lightning's race
How I wish I can cover them from winds of impulsive phase
How I desire to gather them all in a warm cozy place
How my heart breaks at every drought my love ones have to endure
How I want to shield them from the scorching thirst their throats measure
How I wish I have a vessel full of cool refreshing water to treasure
How I desire I can save them from the chains of poverty's pressure
How my heart breaks for every thorn my love ones step on their journey
How I want to shield them from the injustice of vengeful destiny
How I wish I can fight for them against fate's unreasonable tyranny
How I desire I have the power so comfort and peace be their company
How my heart breaks that for my love ones there is nothing I can do
How I want to shield them forever and to them my love I can show
How I wish I could love them less, my worry and fear away I throw
How I desire yet that is not to be so... for my heart cannot let go
Bottom of Form
Ignorance's Bliss
Have I not seen the beauty of dawn
I'd be contented of midnight lawn
Yet the pains of desire is sown
Hopeless pains of once numbed pawn
Have I not seen the field of star
I'd be blinded by neon lights afar
Yet not even diamonds come on par
The hope of peace in midst of war
Would it have been better to be ignorant
Following the instincts of an ant
From the sea of norm be deviant
Would satisfaction be a blessed grant?
Why must my eyes be opened wide
To the vastness of truth can't hide
Confusion of uncertainty to confide
White, black, red or blue, gown of bride
Knowledge is power and poison of peace
When certainty knows not of wisdom's ease
How much rain can be contained by fleece
Doubts and fears even sage's soul tease.
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.
Photo of a reddish-brown haired and smiling woman with a necklace and black and white tank top next to a man with brown hair and a collared blue shirt.
TODAY, WITHOUT YOU
Talk to me, as if you don't know anything.
Recognize me, as a woman in a poem
I will go find your music,
Please turn the sound down, it's too loud.
Turn your gaze to mine
A halo of hope would have been enough.
How much winter threatens to freeze your skin,
It would be enough to finish the time
The moment your eyes closed.
Today without you, I only feel cold
Frequent uncertainty
Shadow gaps
Fear that paralyzes
You are no longer...
A thousand voices shout at me and I dissolve in them
You burst like a whip into my wounded side.
I arrived crying...
I look for you in the house,
I hug a sigh.
I look at the horizon that doesn't know
Where I lost the memory,
Your absence embraces me,
The tide of tears does not pause.
And so I fall asleep, while your
Dear husband
Rest in peace
June 20, 2024
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.
If I were the lady of time
If I were the lady of time
I would bring peace to the souls of those who suffer
due to illnesses, but first I would make her fulfill all the dreams that have been handed down
for a better time. I would make them go and discover the many wonders
of the world, breathe the joy of being a part of this earth.
I would make them leave
happy and without suffering
atrocities that empty the heart of sensitivity every day.
Hearing violin music while dragging the cart
to go to the entrance of the temple.
If I were the lady of time…
But I'm the one who
ostentatiously trudges through life
through the streets of the local market and nothing happens
without meaning in this life of dust and a continuous
cleaning of toilets from where I take my voice to shout
the opprobrium on the things that drain me every day like blood suckers.
Indifference that kills unaware of malice
in the wealthy opulence that ties and unties ties.
If I were the lady of time
I would make a list of priorities
and I would invite to the dance first the one who is indifferent to the others.
BIOGRAPHY
Lidia Popa was born in Romania in the locality of Piatra Șoimului, in the county of Neamț, on 16th April, 1964. She finished her studies in Piatra Neamț, Romania with a high school diploma and other administrative courses, where she worked until she decided to emigrate to Italy.
She has been living for 23 years and worked in Rome as part of the wave of intellectual emigrants since the fall of the Berlin Wall.
She wrote your first poem at her age of seven. She is a poet, essayist, storyteller, recognized in Italy and in other countries for her literary activities. She collaborates with cultural associations, literary cenacles, literary magazines and paper and online publications of Romanian, Italian and international literature. She writes in Romanian, Italian and also in other languages as an exercise in knowledge.
BOOKS
She has published her poems in six books:
in Italy:
1. " Point different ( to be ) " - ed. Italian and
2." In the den of my thoughts ( Dacia ) " - ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian AlettiEditore 2016,
3.“ Sky amphora " - ed. bilingual Romanian/ Italian EdizioniDivinafollia 2017,
in Romania:
4. " The soul of words" ed. bilingual Romanian/ Albanian Amanda Edit Verlag 2021,
5." Syntagms with longing for clover " ed. Romanian, EdituraMinela 2021.
6." The Voice interior " LidiaPopa and BakiYmeri ed. bilingual Romanian/Italian, Amanda Edit Verlag 2022.
Her poems featured in more than 50 literary anthologies and literary magazines on line from 2014 to 2023 in Italy, Romania, Spain, Canada, Serbia, Bangladesh, United Kingdom, Liban, USA, etc.
Her poems are translated into Italian, French, English, Spanish, Arabic, German, Bangladesh, Portuguese, Serbian, Urdu, Dari, Tamil, etc.
Her writings are published regularly with some magazines in Romania, Italy and abroad.
She is a promoter of Romanian, Italian and international literature, and is part of the juries of the competitions.
She translates from classical or contemporary authors who strike for the refinement and quality of their verses in the languages: Italian, Romanian, English, Spanish, French, German, stating that "it is just a writing exercise to learn and evolve as a person with love for humanity, for art, poetry and literature ".
SHE IS
*Member of the Italian Federation of Writers (FUIS)
*Honorary member of the International Literary Society Casa PoeticaMagia y Plumas Republic of Colombia,
*Member of Hispanomundial Union of Writers (Union Hispanomundial de Escritores) (UHE) and Thousands Minds For Mexico (MMMEX)
*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021
*She had come power of attorney Vice-president UHE Romania, Mars18, 2021- August 21, 2021
*President UHE and MMMEX Romania, August 21, 2021
*Counselor from Italy for Suryodaya Literary Foundation Odisha India,
*Director from Italy for Alìanza Cultural Universal (ACU) Argentina
*Member Motivational Strips Oman,a member of numerous other literary groups at the level internationally,
*Director of Poetry and Literature World Vision Board of Directors (PLWV) Bangladesh
*Membership of ANGEENA INTERNATIONAL NON PROFIT ORGANISATION of Canada
International Peace Ambassador of The Daily Global Nation International Independent Newspaper from Dhaka Bangladesh - 2023
*Founder literary group Lido dell'anima with LIDO DELL'ANIMA AWARDS
*Founder LIDO DELL'ANIMA Italian magazine
*Founder SILVAE VERBORUM INTERNATIONAL multilingual magazine
*Founder literary currently #homelesspoetry
etc.
We and Our Game
A game I play
Is your cheerful clappings.
Happiness I treasure
Is your smile.
My childhood art
Is your first craft.
We are one
Holding hands
Before we cross the roads.
Rose carpet decorates
The steps that climb
The difficulty hill, full of spirit.
We exchanged letters
And our handwritings matched.
Your city,
Is my tunnel to suburb vacation.
We cross ways like arrows
And take a target shot of life.
The game we play
Isn't a whistling wind
But the rope mesh of ladder
Of this nascent paradise
That we are still building
Despite all the odds.
Sushant Thapa (born on 26th February, 1993) is an award-winning poet from Biratnagar, Nepal who holds Master’s degree in English literature from Jawaharlal Nehru University in New Delhi, India. He has published five books of English poetry, namely: The Poetic Burden and Other Poems (Published in New Delhi, 2020), Abstraction and Other Poems (UK, 2021), Minutes of Merit (Kolkata, 2021), Love’s Cradle (New York, USA and Senegal, Africa, 2023)
and Spontaneity: A New Name of Rhyme (New Delhi, 2023). His sixth book is ready, and about to go to the press. Sushant works as a lecturer of English in Biratnagar, Nepal. He is also the assistant editor of Himalaya Diary, an online portal published from Kathmandu.
There is the sky and the clouds, a long and straight passageway below, beside a hill. It’s dark and shaded but not so much that one can’t see. Wind visits and makes the branches to sway back and forth. Previous storms have strewn leaves and branches around on the earth. Back and back, far and far, the largest mushroom waits untouched and unknown on a broken tree surrounded by reeds tall and then still. Just outside the trees is the open place, and on the feral summer growths are butterflies, spiders, and dragonflies. There are ants and grasshoppers. Blooms yellow, blue, and the open air is cleansing, refreshing. A pastoral scene. What is beyond the end of that place, where there is no passageway and the trees, the shrubs and chaparral become too thick? What would William Golding or Joseph Conrad think of that place? In the winter the snow is like infinite tiny crystals or other-worldly grains of sands. Agate, chaga, a large snake looks at me. Kundalini symbol and sign. I pause and it goes away at which point I look to the sky. I want to understand the clouds. I vaguely remember dreams of the night where I was in the desert and walked to a city at night with metropolitan lights and infrastructure and populace. But I wanted to go back to the desert. I couldn’t remember the rest. Something runs in the tall grasses. Fast. Determined. Magical. I see clover, bee, ladybug. Whitman wrote, -You road I enter and look around, I believe you are not all that is here, I believe much unseen is also here.- Whitman only travelled far and far once, to Canada, to visit his friend a doctor interested in consciousness. I breathe as deeply as possible. I’d say there is a bird but there is no bird then. But the clouds are enough. They are something, colloquially speaking…they are really something then beautifully bloated, numerous, each a little different and content in their difference. The clouds are confident then.
