Human life
The past of human life is a memory,
the future is a desire.
Time is short, life -
built in the course of the divided time.
Sabrid Jahan Mahin is a student of grade 9 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
Bangabandhu In a land where hope was draped in despair, A voice emerged, bold and rare, Bangabandhu, the harbinger of light, Guiding his nation through the darkest night. His words resonated with a fiery passion, Igniting flames of freedom in every heart and emotion. With his unwavering determination, He fought for justice and liberation. Through trials and tribulations, he stood tall, A beacon of courage, inspiring us all. Bangabandhu, the father of our land, Led us towards prosperity, hand in hand. He dreamed of a nation, free from chains, Where equality and progress would reign. He fought for the rights of the oppressed, In his vision, humanity was blessed. His conviction and sacrifices were profound, As he built a nation on solid ground. With love and unity, he bridged divides, A symbol of strength, where hope resides. We remember Bangabandhu, a true leader, Whose legacy echoes, making us stronger. His spirit guides us, even today, To strive for a better world, come what may. Let his words echo in each generation, Inspiring us with unwavering dedication. Bangabandhu, the hero of our land, Forever cherished, we proudly stand. Chapainawabganj Chapainawabganj, a place where rivers flow A land of beauty, where stories grow. With fertile fields and green landscapes wide, This place fills my heart with joy and pride. The Padma River gracefully winds its way, Through the heart of this town, day by day. Its gentle ripples and soothing sound, Echo the charm of this sacred ground. Golden paddy fields stretch far and wide, Underneath the sun's warm and golden tide. As farmers toil with sweat on their brow, Nature's blessings surely doth endow. The mango groves fill the air with sweet perfume, As spring arrives, casting away all gloom. Here, amidst orchards, nature's melody plays, With birdsongs that brighten all our days. Chapainawabganj, a tapestry divine, With history etched in every ancient shrine. The Rajbari's regal presence reminds, Of the grandeur from a bygone time. The people, hearty and kind, greet with a smile, Their warmth and hospitality, never dial. With folk songs and dances, their culture thrives, A celebration of life, that forever survives. In every corner, the tales of the past, Whispered by ruins that have come to last. They remind us of heritage, strong and true, And our duty to preserve, for me and you. Chapainawabganj, a land so dear, Forever etched in memory, crystal clear. May it prosper and flourish, as the years unfold, A treasure trove of wonders, a beauty untold. Don Bormon is a student of grade 8 in Harimohan Government High School, Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh.
A Journey of the Couple Soul Two landless souls emerge from one land of earth, Breaking the wall of border, Crossing the bondage of fear, Going to ignite the fire of lust Like with sparrow's passion, Wearing tilak of phoenix bird's ashes That they can wander throughout the whole world, To set fire on every injustice, To offer love to all. They want to give birth a new world of unity Where everyone will get sunshine, air and water equally. The wing of couple soul has apparently started journey to the way of the world, To spread aroma of peace across the World Village. Aklima Ankhi, poet, storyteller and translator from Cox'sbazar, Bangladesh. Born in Mymensingh, Bangladesh. She has a published poetry named "Guptokothar Shobdochabi" written in Bangla.She is a post graduate in English Literature. As a profession she is a Lecturer in English.
LETTER TO BENJAMIN K. "While Tito was alive we all had it better." - we giggled saying what we could not witness. We, children of the nineties, with the burden they pointed at us, we would put it down together with our backpacks in front of the cafe "Tito", then continued... The alley seemed endless, acacias in bloom, everything smelled. Bee humming added difficulty to the smell... He said we would pick the flower at night when the bees go to sleep, that acacia veins reach deep and spread wide, that even when generations change, these trees will remember at least parts of our faces and voices... Then he walked for a long time, he touched the rough bark of the trees, he looked through the treetops at the sky and remained silent. And he was silent. Then we would go back, sat opposite each other for a long time, and the silences grew over the hills and pines. His coffee was black as night. Not even a drop of my white coffee can dilute it. The tanks around us were warning us with an eerie park silence. I used to be quiet too. And he would already get up, drink the last sip while standing, take the load with his hands, put it back on his back and leave. And he left. I'm writing a letter that I won't send. Address known. The recipient's language has changed. The noun "pain" is not of the same genus anymore. I'm walking in the park, trees are the curators in this Museum of Remembrance, by moving the branches pictures come pouring in, wistful scents dance. If nothing, it seems to me at least that I understand better the language of sadness on the faces of passers - by. Azemina Krehić was born on October 14, 1992 in Metković, Republic of Croatia. Winner of several international awards for poetry, including: Award of university professors in Trieste, 2019.,„Mak Dizdar“ award, 2020. Award of the Publishing Foundation of the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina, 2021. „Fra Martin Nedić“ Award, 2022. She is represented in several international anthologies of poetry.
Oh, My Friend Oh, my friend, To be honest, I cannot understand you. We talk to each other in different languages. You are always saying something I don’t know And I always answer: “We are colleagues!” Oh, my friend, Race and language do not matter for us Even social status is not important. I know that you are also proud with me, You recite poems of Mashrab by heart. I read works of Goethe for you, Verses by Pushkin always make us cry. Dumbadze, O Henry, and Makhtumkuli… I recite ghazels of Navoi so high. Staring with astonishment in your picture, Even though you do not know who I am, You follow my words only with silence And you pray God to ask for a safe world. Either in Azeri, either in Turkish Or in English language you send your hello. Oh, my friend, I thank you bending my stubborn head down In the destinations of our pure love. We have the same goal and the same dream, We are on the way for the same destination. We both are sharing the same world to live Saving this world is our ambition. Oh, my friend, May we be always proud, I hope our children will follow our path. We have pure dream and greatest goal Because we possess the greatest heart. Oh, my friend, I thank you bending my head down… RAIN Rain, You may rain, Wash this dirty world, Wash the street of hatred, Street of envy, And the evil of our souls. You may rain, Let the earth be clear, Let the tulips blossom in the embrace of hatred, Never let children to cry in pain, And wash the hands of ugliness, Wash the throat of those whose tongue is poisonous, Rain!!! Expel the odds to the middle of nowhere, So that they understand who they are. May the world be beautiful, May it be full of fragrance. May stars never fade in the sky, Rain, Come with hope in every drop, Actually, peace is the greatest joy. Rain, Oh, my rain, Rain nonstop. 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"
LOVE SET FIRE ON ME… The love has set fire on me, I burnt in sparkles, did you see? You can see the dance of fire, Won’t you come to rescue me? Or, are you afraid of fire? Can’t you come to me closer? I fell like sky into your world Which was quiet like the water. Dry and wet on fire now, Here, we burning face to face. We are growing beautifully In this awesome fireplace. Shamsiya Khudoynazarova Turumovna (February 15, 1973) was born in Uzbekistan. Studied at the Faculty of Journalism of Tashkent State University (1992-1998). She took first place in the competition of young republican poets (1999). Four collections of poems have been published in Uzbekistan: “Leaf of the Heart” (1998), “Roads to You” (1998), “The Sky in My Chest” (2007), “Lovely Melodies” (2013). She wrote poetry in more than ten genres. She translated some Russian and Turkish poets into Uzbek, as well as a book by Yunus Emro. She lived as a political immigrant with her family for five years in Turkey and five years in Ukraine. Currently lives in Switzerland. Married, mother of five children. It was not possible to publish poems and translations written by the poet in the next ten years.
Lost Eagle An eagle wants to soar the sky Yet overwhelmed by the vastness high Desire to be out of cage so free Need to be warm and safe in a nest be An eagle warmed by the golden sun Yet rash and burns never been fun Cravings for the sweetness of nectar Detest the addiction with no holds bar An eagle flying for desired goal Yet struggle with currents running afoul Fight routes twisting gone hayway Lost in heaven's blind maze way An eagle no different from the eaglet An egg lain for business not nature set Searching beyond reason's mystery Yet know its wings has no sanctuary An eagle forever wishing the sky Yet caged in anchored from flying high Desire surgeing wanting to be free Quite contrarily needing the security in a nest be Silent Lamb Scorching wind lashed on the tattered skin Not to cool but burn right down one's shin Breeze unwelcomed, fiery ember's kin On opened wound, awashed in biting hot gin Light bouncing off a discarded serrated tin Lazer torch slicing a rotten fleshy bin Pricking a human bag thousands of a pin Memories battled, all virtues and one great sin Heavy log burdened a bloody shoulder Naked heels on sharp path of crushed boulder Passage unyielding, shaky feet flounder Entertainment, for bloodlust to plunder Sweat and blood to cool a disfigured face Spittle and slaps, adornment of disgrace Time and Death impatient in the race Such a slow, grueling journey pace So far and yet so near, the goal of a hill A place where justice is vexed nil Iron nails hammered flesh holes to drill Sturdy post raised up, viewers had their fill Thunder sounds the sky did rend Shakes and quakes through the ground earth send Angry insults and curses haters tend Yet the slaughtered lamb remained silent... 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.