At This Point

His gray hair

Is really arriving

On the scene

But who cares

He’s thrilled

To have hair

At this point.

Taylor Dibbert is a poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of, most recently, “Takoma.”

This Black Crevasse of Night

In this black crevasse of night,

when every dark wing

of grackle, crow and raven

appear to take silent flight,

as if I’ve paddled into the black

waters, far from the strand of dusk,

and dawn is a distant, mythic shore,

in this dark turning of summer,

when an invisible, black heat

suckles liquid from my skin –

I’ll soon be a parched mummy –

each night a silent decay begins again;

the things of the world molder

in lightless cellar recesses.

No wonder this night is for sleep,

an escape from inevitable, vast,

dark distances between silent stars;

in this black crevasse of night,

when all is sluggish and wilting,

the strongest steel begins to rust,

brilliant colors of the day fade:

electric, yellow goldenrod,

violets of thistle and clover,

the patinas of green, dulled

like tarnished copper roofs,

the jewel of Queen Anne’s lace,

a clouded ruby eye.

In this black crevasse of night,

the dew silently settles on webs

and grasses; not until morning

will I applaud the dark spiders,

quick trapeze acrobats,

under silvery circus tents.

Only the frogs’, the crickets’

and the few, remaining cicadas’

crooning is raucous in the silence,

in cattail and dark, bulrush speakeasies;

they sing for fleeting pleasure

in the few nights before the frost.

***
The cut-throat tale drowns me in blood
A sweet heart gives me a heart attack
My favorite eyes blind me
The future pushes me away
And only the snow supporting cool
Of me

***
The bombs instead of thunder crossed three times as if they had metal fingers. Angels learn to cry. The rain is learning to drip. I teach my thoughts to sleep and flow like water. I teach my saliva to flow. I’m learning to rain. I’m learning to cross my fingers every time someone dies. My dreams for a nuclear bomb to explode inside me without pain are not feasible. Instead of me, other people who want to live are dying. I am learning to live. I am learning to die. I teach life. I teach death. I teach. I’m studying. I can’t do anything. I don’t know. The angels hit the wrong buttons with their tears and it rains nuclear bombs. My heart stops and the hair on my head freezes in admiration. Groin hair no longer grows. Thoughts no longer grow. I dream that my lover fucked me so hard as if a nuclear bomb exploded in my anus. Teach me to love. I’m learning to die of love. Why am I not able to live with love? My eyes are cloudy. I teach my eyes to see. My eyes are learning to read the gazes of lovers who are no more. I count the trees that are no more. I look at the stones that used to be houses. I am learning the word no. I teach death. I study death. Angels drool and I drink this drool like nectar. The water is tainted with anger. The stone is again a ruin. The stone learns to be silent again. The stone will remain silent until the very end, but then it will be too late. I’m learning to drown myself in peace. I teach stones to be silent. I am learning to be a rock. I am learning to drown. I can heat up. I’m already at the bottom. The water screams everything in the language of dead birds. I swallow sperm in the hope that this is the filling of a bomb. I swallow pills in hope. I teach nuclear bombs to sleep.

***
The bomb didn’t kill you.
Why didn’t it?

I pretend to still love you.
Why?

Happy cards fill my mailbox again.
What’s that for?

Winter is counting down the new year again.
For whom?

***
What to feed the silence with?

My stomach rumbles without your moans
My sperm is empty without your hole
My head bursts like a watermelon
My name is ripped off my passport

[I’ve got your cocaine name scratched into my veins
Oahhh!]

A lonely room turns into a sunken boat
A cemetery crawls out from under the bed
A blanket hides the gray hair that hasn’t appeared yet

Silence is fed with old age that still not come

***
No one is born in a cemetery but I’d like to die in a maternity ward waiting for something new. No one else will be born after me. No one will see the new birth through my eyes. No one will die after I die (at least I won’t see anything else). After I die, I will stop being afraid of death. I will also stop being afraid of life, because life is a slow death. My gills will grow back in the morgue. I’ll turn into a fish and breathe glass emptiness. I’ll be cut into pieces. But who will eat me? Silence. No one asks the fish anything. Night. The fish won’t tell anyone anything. The cast iron board will slowly cover eyes. The fish will float downstream. We are all drowned. We’re all lil’ drowners who’ve overcome the fear of swimming outside the mother’s belly. The cosmos outside the mother’s belly is silent. Space is also a liquid. Space is also a fish. Everything flows. We all flow out. We will never meet each other again. We’ll never find self again. We’ll never press your random button, God. A bird with a beak overflowing with fluid sings softly. Death gives birth to a nothingness. A tree gives birth to a flower.

MARLOVIAN OVER-REACHER IN THE LUXURY RAUNCH OF DEVIL

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand

John Milton wrote ‘Paradise Lost’ to justify the ways of God to man. The man that we meet in Eden has now stumbled into the 21^st century but his reluctant preference for the tree of knowledge has now become a passionate quest into the unknown.  And we are face to face with several existential questions whose answers no thinker has provided till date: Can man know everything? Can he possess the ultimate knowledge? Is the physical world the only world about which man should know? What about the invisible forces which control men? Can AI bring to man insights into those realms which have been held sacrosanct till today?

In one of my poems, Godrok, which won me the title of the Grok Star from the xAI, I have shown how AI is helping Yama also in creating charge sheets, and serving them while man is still on the ventilator itself, and instead of death taking him into oblivion, the AI reconstitutes him on the hospital bed, into a small child, and is handed over to his new parents, with his entire memory reset.

With technological advances like Grok, we see technology running ahead of man. If we look at it dispassionately, advances in science and technology are meant to make life more livable, comfortable, and easy, so that most of the human jobs are taken up by technology, leaving time with man, to devote to his mental and moral upliftment, or it can be better described if we say, to bring him into a state of bliss, from where he had digressed.

The Limited Existence

Man is not bad, nor evil intentioned. Only he is crazy, and he forgets his limits. He forgets he has a body which has been forestalled from evolving beyond a certain point. He has eyes which have a limited vision. He has arms which do not extend beyond two feet. How big are his hands and fingers? Everything is in a fine balance, so that if even one becomes excessive in size, it will destroy the balance which characterizes the cosmic creation.

It is often said ‘A little knowledge is a dangerous thing’. The truth is that Knowledge is a dangerous domain, and one reason why I call so is that Adam and Eve tasted the forbidden fruit at the instigation of Devil. Even today, we are living in that state of curse. The only proposition that emerges is  that we can return to Eden, only if we relinquish all that we have accumulated over the years by way of knowledge?  In other words, we shall have to ‘forget’ our knowledge, and press the ‘reset’ button, and return to the state of original intelligence, i.e. innocence. Only then, we can get back into the realm of bliss which was created by God for his chosen species, homo sapiens.

The Puppet and the Divine Will

It is an accepted truth that everything happens as per the Will of God. If man ate the fruit of knowledge, God created conditions, by sending Satan with an insidious message.  We should remember that although we try our best to say that God is all powerful, omniscient and omnipresent, still, man has been cleverly endowed with a brain and ideas like ‘free will’. These ideas help God to escape all responsibility.  The basic issue is: who provides the stimulus to man to undertake various deeds. Moreover, if we compare life to a film or a play, we shall have to accept that there is a director, and a script writer too, and men are mere actors who cannot trespass their script. It means whatever man does is already scripted and he is being supervised. In this way, it becomes clear that all that is happening is God’s will, and man is an intelligent puppet only.

The puppet is ‘intelligent’ because man is imparted a false feeling of self-importance, that he can do this or do that. Facts are disturbing. Man has no power over his birth. He has no power over the skin of his colour, his parents, the place where he will be born, and whom he will marry and where and how he will die. This shows that all these things are like different roles which have been prewritten. Otherwise, you won’t be on the stage.

In a drama, the director is invisible. We feel characters are acting on their own. In real life too, people seem to be acting on their own, while the fact is: they are helpless before an overriding fate.  There are  thousands of strings which control their actions, and the most surprising thing about human life is we have no idea who is pulling them. We think we are doing everything after brainstorming sessions. And thus, when some good takes place, we garland ourselves. But when something goes amiss, we curse fate. This shows that we accept we are being controlled by a superior force. But here is a catch too. When gods see people engaged in minor ego scuffles, they leave them to their fate. God gives them a long rope, and they strangle themselves to death. Getting free of them, gods go only after people who are meant to move the earth; on whose deeds depends the future architecture of human race.

It is not that we are being controlled, there are theories [Stephen Hawking’s Fermi Paradox] which show that what is happening to us now, the way things are unfolding, might have taken place, on some other planet, years ago. In the planetary world, where objects are situated millions of light years away from each other, it is not possible that things that happened there a year or two back are now unfolding on this earth.  After such speculations, the questions gain more density: Do we go anywhere after death? I wonder if we really go anywhere.  Going under the earth does not mean extinction. Losing the body and the bones does not mean the end of man. It is a cycle. Death is an illusion which keeps men on tenterhooks.

Justifying Ways of Man to God

Let me get back to my original quest to justify the ways of Man to God. We respond to our changing needs as times change,  and relocate the social structures  accordingly. AI too is the need of this fast generation.  It is a great achievement of human mind, but let me alert you once again, we are navigating in the ocean of knowledge, and it was something God never wanted man to wade in. We have lost our innocence, and our bliss too. But, it is a paradox and a big surprise too, that it has never occurred to us for generations, and the sermonacs too are reluctant to point out this flaw of our civilization which is ‘progressing’ [?] on the wheels of knowledge. Where is it going? Away from its source? Shall it never return?

As pointed out earlier, we are imprisoned in our identity and nature blesses us with certain faculties which are essential to our existence, so that there is a working human being. With AI, we have crossed through the tight borders of reality and now, we can move at a faster pace, look far into planets, and think much faster. It is a feel good factor of our civilization, no doubt, but we shall soon start feeling that this artificial world is too much with us, and we shall start looking for our ‘self’ lost somewhere  in this melee of thrills and a sense of artificial achievement.

The Alert

With AI and its ready powers, man has proved that he can create a world of artificial reality, which runs parallel to the original creation of God.  But the only difference is that it lacks spontaneity that marks the divine creations. God, as I can see, is happy that if man took the path of knowledge, he has done so well. He is happy with man’s creative and inquisitive powers. But, we should not forget that God never wanted us to digress into Knowledge. God made it into a matter of choice. And even today, no God ever comes to life to force us into decisions we don’t want to take. He actually permitted us to create our own world with powers of the brain. So all this empire of knowledge, which is a creation of man’s choice, actually  stands on the wrong side of things.  It has a devilish imprint because it was Satan who had initiated man into the world of Knowledge, which was a moral and spiritual deviation. Now, we have taken this moral digression to the heights of non-creative imagination and are blindly following the agenda of corporates who have grabbed all centres of Knowledge. Holy knowledge which came from scriptures fell into the hands of quacks while the knowledge that man has now accumulated is also not neutral. It has an inbuilt mission to divest man of his divinity. Bliss, joy, happiness, are the byproducts of Innocence, towards which we possess neither any reverence, not any inclination.  We prefer to remain acquiring knowledge which is an endless pursuit into the realms of nothingness.

Picnicing in the Pleasure Dome of Devil

As I said, we are treading on dangerous ground already, because it’s devil’s luxury raunch where we are camping now. In the first instance are we aware of it? If so, do we really want to renounce these joys and go back to Eden? The condition for entering the tents of God is: emptying this mind of everything we accumulated by way of Knowledge at the behest of Devil [sorry to infer]. Return to Innocence and Bliss  it seems is a dream no infected mind will entertain.

If we want that God should own us, [how many of us really want?] we shall have to surrender all our knowledge, and embrace wisdom, and use this knowledge for the welfare of mankind.  It is not that man disobeyed God. It was a rehearsed act. God gave man a very long rope. It is for us that we do not let this rope go round and round our neck, in the name of liberty [free will]. We should not forget that God loves his Satan too, because it is his police that strikes and brings to account people who err on the path of duty. Still, God waits for man to return to the divine fold, forsaking all his knowledge, artificial or original, because there [in His Golden Tent]  we do not need it. Here too, we did not need so much. We actually overdid ourselves. AI is a Marlovian overreach for man, if he does not realize its evil potential, and surrender his knowledge to divine wisdom.

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, [the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky award and Signs Peace Award Laureate, with an opus of 180 books, whose name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia]]  is a towering literary figure whose work embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision.

My Loyal Cactus

My loyal cactus,

I’m sorry to leave you alone in my balcony

I have no excuse except being forced to go to the south

Under the barrage of heavy bombs,

Frightening explosions and thousands of martyrs.

I’m sorry  again to let you encounter the terrible days and nights,

Witness the destruction of my surrounding neighborhood

And let you face thirst for more than a year without a sip of water

But I was there hungry and starving like you

When I came back

I found you still stalwart

Only some scars on your body

As a testimony on the merciless soldiers.

Let me  hug you tightly  and console you 

Because your thorns more delicate

Than the hypocrisy of humanity.

©® Ahmed Miqdad

Gaza

Palestinian poet

Activist

Awarded poet

Literary prize

Naji Naaman

2025

WINGS THAT STILL GUARD THE SKY

He walked with the silence of the sea breeze,
born not into power,
but into promise
a prayer whispered in the pages
of a Holy Quran,
in a house by the waves.

A boy with a paper bag full of stars
became the man who taught missiles to fly,
but never forgot
how to fold a paper plane.

Dr. Kalam never sought war
but he built the wings
to defend peace,
when peace stood cornered
by the storms of ambition and threat.

In the silence before the sirens,
as borders burn with the weight of history,
as satellites spin with dread,
and headlines scream uncertainty,
we remember him.

His dreams wore no crown
only the scent of rockets,
the burn of metal,
and the fragrance of books.
They called him the Missile Man,
but he was more.
He was a monk of science,
a teacher of truth,
a pilgrim of peace
in a world that often forgot how to listen.

Today, missiles rest in hidden silos,
drones hum across the clouds,
and soldiers march toward uncertain dawns.
But somewhere,
his vision marches with them
not in weapons,
but in will.
Not in fire,
but in foresight.

He once said,
“A nation without vision is a nation without future.”
And now,
as the world forgets the language of dialogue,
India remembers the man
who built her strength with humility
and stitched her future
with threads of science and soul.

Even as President,
he carried his own bags,
and a billion hopes
on shoulders not shaped by power,
but by purpose.

His laboratory was his temple,
his heart an orbiting satellite of humility.
He didn’t just ignite minds
he liberated them.

Let the world watch.
Let adversaries test.
India does not seek destruction
but make no mistake:
she is ready.
Because he made her ready.

And while he rests among the stars,
where gravity cannot reach,
his fire still fuels our courage,
his dream still guards our sky,
his wisdom still writes
the silent code
of every soldier’s heart,
and falls softly
into the hands of every child
who dares to dream,
who dares to imagine,
and dares to become.

For every soul that seeks peace,
for every hand that builds rather than destroys,
Dr. Kalam’s legacy is a flame
that will never fade
it is the winged promise
that guards not just India’s sky,
but the sky of every nation
that dares to rise
in hope, in unity, in peace.
– Author Haroon Rashid

Biography:

ABOUT AUTHOR HAROON RASHID

Haroon Rashid is an internationally celebrated Indian author, poet, and humanitarian whose soul-stirring words transcend borders, cultures, and languages. Revered as “a movement of thoughts” and “a soul that breathes through verses,” he is a global ambassador for peace, education, and sustainable development. Through literature, he fosters empathy, cultural harmony, and a collective vision for a better world.

KEY LEADERSHIP ROLES
• Global Ambassador & International Member, Global Federation of Leadership & High Intelligence A.C. (Mexico)
• SDG Ambassador (SDG4 & SDG13), World Literary Forum for Peace & Human Rights
• National Vice Chairman, Youth India – Mother Teresa International Foundation
• Peace Protagonist, International Peace Forums – Mexico & Greece
• Honorary Founding Member, World CP Cavafy

AUTHOR & LITERARY CONTRIBUTIONS
• We Fell Asleep in One World and Woke Up in Another – poetry book, translated by 2024 Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Eva Petropoulou Lianou
• Author Haroon Rashid Quotes – A soul-deep treasury of reflections
• Works translated into: Greek, French, Persian, Urdu, Arabic, Chinese, Tamil, Hindi, Sanskrit, German, Indonesian, Bolivian, and more.

GLOBAL HONORS & AWARDS
• Diploma de Honor al Mérito – Mexico (2025)
• World Art Day Honor – Indonesia (2025)
• Friedrich von Schiller Award – Germany
• 4th World Gogyoshi Award – Global Top Vote (2024)
• 1st Prize – Silk Road International Poetry Exhibition (2023)
• Golden Eagle Award – South America (2021 & 2023)
• United Nations Karmaveer Chakra – 2023 & 2024
• REX Karmaveer Chakra – Silver & Bronze – India
• Global Peace Award – Mother Teresa Foundation (2022)
• Cesar Vallejo Award – UN Global Marketplace
• Honorary Doctorate in Humanity – La Haye, France (2021)
• Sir Richard Francis Burton Award – European Day of Languages
• Prodigy Magazine USA Award – Literary Excellence
• Certificates of Honor – Greece, Serbia, Indonesia, Mexico
• Honorary Award for Literature & Arts – Trinidad & Tobago

GLOBAL PRESENCE & RECOGNITION
• Invited Guest on The Oprah Winfrey Show
• Featured in O, The Oprah Magazine
• Speaker at:
• International Peace Day – Mexico & Greece
• 3rd International Congress of Education – Mexico
• Paper Fibre Fest – Represented India in China, Greece, Mexico, Peru
• UN SDG Conferences, Global Literary & Peace Forums
• Work featured in education campaigns, peacebuilding initiatives, and cross-cultural literary dialogues
• Admired by global celebrities, educators, artists, and policymakers

CULTURAL AMBASSADOR OF INDIA
• Embodies India’s timeless storytelling, spiritual ethos, and peace traditions
• Bridges Indian philosophy with global consciousness
• Revered as an ethical thought leader, visionary poet, and global voice of unity

PHILOSOPHY & SOCIAL VISION

Literature, for Haroon, is a sacred space for:
• Healing, empathy, and consciousness
• Advocacy for:
• Mental Health Awareness & Emotional Resilience
• Climate Action & Sustainability
• Spiritual Depth & Interfaith Harmony
• Youth Leadership & Cultural Preservation

He aims to inspire changemakers, dreamers, and peacemakers across generations.

GLOBAL PRAISE & LOVE

Described as:
“A movement of thoughts.”
“A soul that breathes through verses.”

Celebrated across Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas, Haroon is loved for his:
• Authenticity
• Emotional depth
• Literary brilliance
Honored by governments, universities, and global literary councils.

TITLES & GLOBAL IDENTITY
• Global Literary Icon
• Award-Winning Author & Poet
• International Peace Advocate
• Global Educator of the Heart
• Cultural Diplomat & Ethical Leader
• SDG Voice for Education & Environment
• Voice of Peace, Passion, and Purpose

QUOTE BY AUTHOR HAROON RASHID

“It’s our responsibility to create a better world for our future generations.”

CONNECT WITH HAROON RASHID
Follow and engage across all platforms:
@AuthorHaroonRashid

Perfection

Ralph sat upright in his recliner, his legs splayed out before him. His hands, resting between his knees, quavered furiously. Ralph sighed. How, he thought, could he ask Elizabeth to marry him when he couldn’t even hold out the engagement ring without shaking like a cornstalk in the wind?

Would she laugh at him? he wondered. No, Elizabeth wasn’t cruel, but how could she possibly not feel the revulsion that Ralph felt for himself? She wouldn’t give voice to that emotion, but that only made it worse. Ralph had once owned a three-legged dog, but his father had scolded him, saying he should settle for nothing less than perfection, and dad had the dog put to sleep. When Ralph subsequently developed his tremor, his father had regarded him as something less than he had before.

In 1930s Germany, Ralph knew, he would have suffered sterilization so that his infirmity could not be passed on to future generations. Or, he might have himself been put to death. He let out a breath. Why me? he used to wonder. At length, he had conjured an answer: Why not me? Besides, by now, he was used to it. He took up the jeweler’s box and extracted the ring, weighed it in his palm, contemplated his intense, primal love for Elizabeth for a moment, then said aloud, “I’ll ask her. Tonight!”

They sat in his living room, a fire crackling in the fireplace on this, the night before Christmas. The tree scented the room with balsam. Ralph was nervous. He had never asked anyone to marry him before; he’d never had the nerve. Also, he had never been in love before. She sat beside him on the sofa, waiting expectantly, he thought. He held the jeweler’s box behind a throw pillow; he didn’t want to frighten her away. Could she really accept him? he wondered desperately.

He was not anyone’s idea of perfection, certainly not his father’s. His childhood rejection by his dad figured prominently in Ralph’s memory, and it’s what made him the man he was today. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was perfection itself. He had never known a nobler, more exquisitely lovely creature before. If she said yes, then she would be his mate, his lover, his wife. A bead of perspiration appeared on his brow. Nervously, he wiped it away with the hand holding the box.

“What’s that, Ralph?” Elizabeth asked unexpectedly.

“Huh?” he said stupidly, hiding the box again. But it was too late.

“What have you got there, Ralph?” she asked anew, pointing to the hand holding the ring box.

Ralph brought the box into view and murmured, “Liz, I was going to ask you…ask you to marry me.”

“Have you changed your mind?” she asked boldly.

He blinked. “No…No, I…Will you marry me, Liz?” he implored. “I know I have a lot of faults,” he began. “But, I love you, and…”

“Shut up, Ralph,” she said gently. “You had me at “Will you marry me?’ “

Ralph smiled, leaned in for a kiss, being careful not to bump Elizabeth’s walker.