Taifas Literary Magazine No. 9, March, 2021

2 authors ... p. 2

editorial ... p. 3

poetry ... p. 8

prose ... p. 39

essay ... p. 47

confabulation ... p. 52

3 autors ... 59

2

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 9, march, 2021

Lyn Ramos V Alfonso

Muhammad Ishaq Abbasi

Philippines

War And Peace

Every individual has freedom.

Every nation has sovereignty.

When freedom is invaded,

When the laws of sovereignty are violated,

Conflicts arise and when unsettled

Wars can’t be avoided.

Wars cause so much devastations,

damages to lives and resources,

Traumas and fears to both warring nations

and people.

And the lives of the future generation

become uncertain.

Why don’t we chose to settle conflicts

amicably?

Why don’t we try to respect everyone’s

freedom and sovereignty?

For the world to live in harmony and peace,

For a better humanity,

For the future of our children,

Let’s all give peace and harmony a chance.

Pakistán

Woeful Dead

On return from a long journey on foot,

I was just on my way.

It was midnight.

I sat by a grave in the cemetery.

And because of fatigue I fell asleep and

dreamed.

That the graves were torn open.

And the deads came out of the graves,

Talking to each other with joy.

One of them was sitting woeful.

After a while the angels came down from

heaven,

They presented gifts to each of the dead.

The deads happily went back to the graves.

No presents were given to the woeful dead.

When he started going back to the grave

empty handed.

So I asked him.

Why no gift was offered to you?

So he began to say that dear relatives in the

world,

Do charity and prayers for their own deads.

While I have only one mother in the world.

And she got remarried.

She forgot me

She doesn't offer any gifts for me.

No one gives charity or prays for my reward.

That's why I'm worried.

Saying this, he went back to the grave.

Those who are alive should remember their

deads in prayers.

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

3

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 9,March, 2021

editorial 3-7

Paul Rotaru

Efectele contrastului poetic

Motto: Când în paradis ninge, în iad arde

soare. Aurora Ispas

Efectele vieții asupra actului creator sunt

de-a dreptul cutremurătoare de cele mai

multe ori, însă ele permit conceptualizarea

într-o sferă superioară a reperelor vitale în

arealul contextului artistic. Oamenii sunt

creatori fără a fi neapărat artiști; ei sunt

creatori după cum îi

orientează vectorii

ființării pe pământ și,

dacă nu ar îndrăzni în

libera lor imaginație, s-ar

preschimba în prizonierii

propriilor rutine.

În romanul social

clasic s-au impus

caractere și tipologii

unice, dar ridicate la

standarde peste

așteptarea

contemporaneității; adică sunt aduse la nivel

de absolut în bine și rău, astfel încât acele

personaje riscă să pară neverosimile sau, cel

mult, exaltări ale preceptelor ce aparțin

autorilor. E drept că un scriitor de roman

inventează personaje care să reflecte cu

naturalețe felurite idei pe care autorul nu le-ar

putea exprima în viața de zi cu zi și nici nu lear

putea eterniza altfel.

Cu toate astea, când spiritul creator își

asumă dimensiunea artistică, scriitorul

potențează și amplifică sensul ideii până la

punctul de fierbere în care principiul se

evaporă. Grea misiune prin asumarea ei, știm,

dar cine țintește jos, acolo rămâne. Să ni se

permită un argument! Javert, captiv al

disciplinei, al ideii de puritate, își desființează

logica autoritară amintindu-și că el este

progenitura unei târfe încarcerate. Legea,

reprezentată de Inspectorul Javert, o lege

strictă, rigidă, inumană și, totuși, concepută de

oameni, se azvârle în Sena, pentru curățire, tot

așa cum toate valorile omenirii se lasă spălate

de trecerea eternă a fluviului vital. Victor Hugo

îndrăznește să opună curajul prezentului de a

se sinucide în favoarea unui necunoscut viitor

care trebuie să se descurce de la sine. Pot

oamenii, în libertatea lor supremă, să aibă

încredere în viitorul pe care nu și-l pricep?

Dacă da, instinctul ne

salvează pe toți. Dacă nu,

tot instinctul ne va

extermina.

E comod să credem

că, deasupra faptelor

noastre, există o

inteligență care ne

dictează dacă faptele ne

sunt bune sau rele. Este

mult mai dificil să ieșim

din plasma realității, a

rutinei, a placentei

originare, astfel încât să rupem lanțurile care

ne leagă de același prezent gonflabil și

conjunctural. De aici, încep granițele artistice.

Mai departe, intervin riscurile! Se prea poate

ca, în vremuri incomensurabile, haosul să fi

avut nevoie de stăpânire. Și de aceea trebuia

ucis Tiamat, pentru ca ulterior să ne ivim și

noi, oamenii, în orizontul acestui univers.

Preocuparea mea personală față de

poezie implică inevitabil factorul uman, spre

care mă îndrept atât cu un deget acuzator, cât

și cu un suflet crispat, timid, uneori de o

rezervă excesivă. Cu toate astea, poezia a

răbufnit din mine ca o neliniște neînțeleasă,

greu acceptabilă, ca un dragon dornic de

pârjol, dar care susține pe aripi oamenii cei

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mai dragi. Știu că timpurile de acum nu sunt

mai tragice decât oricare epocă din existența

omenirii; percepția personală m-ar fi dus

demult la balamuc dacă nu mi-aș fi dezvoltat

viziunea artistică în virtutea căreia să dau

vitalitate propriilor speranțe. Aș comite o

aroganță dacă aș da drept exemplu viața mea

în susținerea temei acestui editorial. Deși sunt

convins că ceea ce scriu stârnește curiozități

dincolo de limitele textelor publicate, am

marea nădejde că forma pe care o dau vieții

prin creațiile mele literare va mobiliza, alături

de toți artiștii acestei lumi, viața planetei către

repere ce ne înalță pe toți oamenii... din trecut

și din totdeauna.

Nimeni și niciodată,

pe acest ținut căruia îi

spunem Cămin, nu a fost

artist pentru a măguli

puterea, pentru a da

speranțe deșarte unei

societăți care gusta

elixirul dezamăgirii. Arta,

de la prima ei manifestare

prin plâns, s-a maturizat

odată cu omenirea pentru

a ne da și zâmbete. Arta

avea nevoie de oameni pentru a-și regăsi

dumnezeul, tot astfel cum Dumnezeu trebuia

să fie artist pentru a-l crea pe om. În spectrul

artei, trebuie să fim naivi a ne imagina o lume

în care Satan tace și tace... cam tot atât cât tace

Dumnezeu. Poate chiar mai mult, dacă

ascultăm cu sufletele acolo unde avem nevoie.

Poezia are carențe fără de care nu ar fi

fost perfectibilă. Cea mai mare carență a ei este

substanța, acel suflu personal ce îndepărtează

eul cititor de realul concret prin făgașele eului

liric. Ne cerem iertare, ca poeți, că dăm cu

supra de măsură din spiritele noastre, dar nici

noi nu am supraviețui altfel! Nu viața ne-a

făcut poeți, nici educația și nici cultura, acest

flagel al opțiunilor; trecerea prin lume, printre

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oameni, printre călăi și semidocți, printre

analfabeți cu ștaif și curve fără nume! Poezia s-

a născut în bordel, a fost înfășată cu scutecele

religiei și a căutat laptele din sânul lui Satan.

Poeziei i-a trebuit o zodie a omenirii pentru a

se ghida în calea revenirii spre iad. Sau spre

rai!?

Quasimodo = „aproape ceva“, îl numea

Victor Hugo pe dramaticul personaj la propria

tinerețe literară. Dacă am fi nostalgici, am

crede că franțuzul a dus-o bine în exilul din

Elveția! Dacă am fi răutăcioși, am spune că

binețea se datora unor simpatii politice fără de

care exilul nu i-ar fi fost favorabil în contextul

romanului care a întors

două continente pe dos. Și

gata cu „dacă“! Victor

Hugo a schimbat lumea

nu doar pentru că a scris

literatură, că a fost un

republican democrat; el a

scris cea mai dificilă

dramă, „Cromwell“,

tocmai pentru că, în

tinerețea lui fizică, avea

viziunea principiului

democratic dus la scară

supremă: egali toți înaintea lui Dumnezeu, fie

că El ne aude ori nu!

Doresc să nu fie uitat acest principiu și

fac asta revenind la valori fără de care scrierea

acestor rânduri ar fi fost goale de la capăt.

Stima supremă ce o nutresc artiștilor sub ale

căror auspicii mi-am dezvoltat sistema de

valori se regăsește în următoarele versuri.

În ceasul vlăguirii de pe urmă,

Îndurerat privesc la voi, copii.

Durerile ființa toată-mi scurmă

La gândul că-ntr-o zi nu voi mai fi...


5


Mi-e greu să port această agonie

În sufletu-mi îmbătrânit de patimi.

Oh, neființă rece și târzie,

De ce nu vrei o dată să mai clatini?

Mă vor închide-n temnița uitării

Numindu-se divini în locul meu,

Iar din cenușa urii și puterii

Au să mai inventeze-un dumnezeu...

Din tine am făcut și nori... și stele...

Și munții stăpâniți de semizei...

Ai fost cu toate-n virtuțile mele

Și-ți cer acum cu toate să mă iei...

Dar nu de ei durerea mă apasă,

Ci pentru voi, iubiții mei copii –

În veșnicia mea întunecoasă,

De m-ați uita, eu totuși aș muri...

Ca fiii mei, îmi voi purta povara

Și lovituri de pietre voi primi,

Iar soarele înnobilându-și fiara

În strigăte de hulă voi privi.

V-am închinat izvoare, mări și valuri

Și universul tot să-l stăpâniți;

Voi ați crezut în alte idealuri –

M-ați părăsit ca să vi le-mpliniți...

Coroana cea de spini, însângerată,

Vă va rămâne singură-amintire.

Peste milenii-o veți păstra curată,

Blazon pentru întreaga omenire...

De câte ori v-ați depărtat de casă

Pe căi necunoscute, nedescrise,

Eu am rămas cu ochii la fereastră –

V-am așteptat cu brațele deschise!

În sânge vă veți cântări iubirea,

Vărsându-l fără milă în noroi,

Spunând că de la mine-aveți puterea,

Că-mi semănați și că trăiesc în voi...

M-ați judecat și vă-nțeleg durerea,

De ce nu v-am făcut nemuritori,

De ce nu v-am împrumutat puterea

De-a fi stăpâni pe soare și pe nori.

Azi m-au chemat instanțele divine,

Cerându-mi să le dau o socoteală:

De ce-am creat frumoasa omenire

Știind că într-o zi ea va să piară?

De-ați fi nemuritori, din ignoranță

Nici viața n-ați mai ști s-o prețuiți,

Iar cântecul ce l-am numit SPERANȚĂ

Ar fi neînsemnat să-l mai trăiți.

Nu îmi găsesc cuvinte să dau seamă

De ce-ați primit suflarea de-a trăi –

E ca și cum ați judeca o mamă

Că a iubit și a născut copii!

În nemurire nu este puterea

Nici fericirea-n cel nemuritor;

Acolo unde-i zâmbetul, durerea,

E totul mai frumos... că-i trecător!

De-aceea în instanțele divine

Tăcerea este cel mai bun răspuns –

Se vor înstrăina cu toți de mine

Și moartea pentru ei n-ar fi de-ajuns...

Voi sunteți mai puternici decât mine

Pentru că-nvingeți tot ce vă apasă,

Iar zilele de patimă vi-s pline,

Căci steaua voastră-i cea mai radioasă!


6


De n-aș fi fost în lumea mea pustie,

Mi-ar fi plăcut să fiu acolo, jos,

Căci viața voastră e o simfonie

Pe care chiar și eu aș fi gelos.

Oricât de multe stele, tot puține

Pe noua boltă vi se vor părea,

Iar lumea voastră, cu sau fără mine,

Ar fi la fel de bună și de rea...

Dar vă privesc cu dragoste adâncă

Din golul resemnărilor de-apoi,

Ca Prometeu înlănțuit pe stâncă,

Sacrificat și el tot pentru voi!

Nenumărate flăcări și blesteme

Veți azvârli spre zările albastre,

Căci groaza pustiirilor eterne

E plăsmuirea neștiinței voastre.

Nu-mi spuneți c-am făcut vreo nedreptate,

Iubind mai mult pe unii ca pe alții –

Eu n-am fost dictator peste palate

Și nici nu am încununat ovații.

În scopul păcii veți purta războaie,

Veți invoca scripturi, savanți, profeți;

Din sângele vărsat între noroaie

Veți vrea să inventați copii perfecți.

Nu pot să-mi cântăresc nicicând iubirea

Prin închinările ce vi le-ascult –

De-ar fi definitivă despărțirea,

Eu v-aș iubi pe toți la fel de mult!

Riscați să vă distrugeți propria vatră

În al cunoașterilor lung demers,

Lăsându-vă purtați pe-o altă piatră,

Spre alte limite din univers.

Nu v-am cerut supunere și slavă

Și nici altare pentru sacrificii,

Căci sufletul e-o pasăre firavă

Ce nu-și va face cuib între religii.

Poate că veți privi din lumi străine

Trecutul vostru sumbru, zbuciumat

Și, amintindu-vă cumva de mine,

Veți crede că doar eu sunt vinovat.

Nu v-am cerut nici preoți, nici biserici

Și nici statui de aur sau de lemn;

Nu v-am cerut enoriași sau clerici,

Ci viața s-o trăiți frumos și demn!

Puteți să-mi spuneți Soarele și Luna,

Amun, Allah, Iehova, Zavaot,

Iisus, Mohamed, Buddha – toate-s una

Și-n aste nume voi mă faceți tot!

Eu nu vreau liturghii și molifteruri,

Nici prosternare în sudoarea frunții –

Iubiți-vă pe voi până la ceruri,

Iubiți Pământul, câmpii, marea, munții!

Ori, pentru că voi sunteți plăsmuire

Din ale universului scântei,

Voi sunteți dumnezei în devenire

Și, buni sau răi, sunteți copiii mei!

Voi sunteți ca o rază pentru mine,

Ce liniștea-mi îmbracă în mister –

De-ar fi să plec spre alte zări senine,

Lăsați-mă să vă mai fac un cer!

Veți legăna pe-o lucitoare rază

Uitându-mă cu toți până-ntr-o zi.

Ori, dacă zeii care vă-nfiază

Vor fi mai buni, mai răi... doar voi veți ști!

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Veți răsturna guverne colosale,

Vă veți alege proprii dumnezei –

Deși veniți din vremuri ancestrale,

Mă tem că într-o zi veți fi ca ei...

Mă veți găsi răpus în întuneric

La rădăcina unui singur pom –

Din fructul nepermis și luciferic

Eu voi renaște, voi trăi ca OM!

Mă veți privi din lumea voastră-naltă

Ca pe ceva mărunt și curios;

Eu nu am să vă judec niciodată,

Nici nu voi arde jertfe de prinos!

Nu veți avea asupra mea putere,

Cum eu nu am acum asupra voastră

Și, tot din fericire și durere,

Voi tinde către bolta cea albastră!

În patimă îmi voi trăi destinul

Și voi cunoaște ce e rău și bine –

În ziua-n care am să beau veninul,

Voi ști că totul este doar în mine.

Voi tinde să ating perfecțiunea

Și tot ce e divin să înțeleg,

Să aflu că iubirea e minunea

Ce ține-n viață universu-ntreg!

Ramesh Chandra Pradhani

India

Mother's language day

A language of heart comes from heart that is

mother's tongue

No problems to understand one's emotions

never be wrong

Heartfelt and mind-blowing the songs in heart

when sung

More mellifluous and spontaneous those

loveliest songs

The language that to a

mother it belongs

Things are vividly and

lucidly identified with

sense strong

A language of closeness,

love and compassion in

throng

A fair and frank

expression with no

complications

Squeezed the gap of

communication between

generations

No misunderstanding mushroomed in open

collaboration

A better platform to catch the train of life to

destination

A window to the world of thoughts in the

realm of transformation

Now is the day to introspect the place and

position

One's own identity in quest of mission and

vision


8


poetry 8-46

Maruf Shaikh

Bangladesh

Whenever you open your hair

Maybe it's not hard to breathe,

However, it becomes difficult.

It might not be difficult for me to turn my eyes

on you.

However, it becomes difficult.

When you go every afternoon,

Stand at the corner of the

roof,

Secretly,

By losing your hair, you

untangle your hair.

See you from behind,

I don't know how to

increase the ability to be

happy ...

I'm the man in this scene,

Who loves your hair.

When you open it slowly,

Blow your loose hair.

It touches my lips.

What is its discount of scene?

I forget then...,

Keep you in love.

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Mysterious Love Girl

When did someone come as a magician?

Don't know,

She stayed in me for a while and relaxed,

This left the door of my mind open.

So that she can taste my heart,

How long can I remember?

To return, After she told me like this.

Do not know where she got lost?

If she go alone.

Then maybe that’s the way it can be taken!

If she leave home empty-handed,

Then maybe I could accept it anyway!

But not! No!

She went to remember me.

The scent of her hair

snatched me inside her,

She tore my chest and

grabbed my heart.

In the tune of her bracelet.

Yes, she as left alone at

home.

She leaves my inner door

open.

So that she can come

back,

She can tie her love rhyme to me as she wishes

.....

When did she kiss me? She kept me in touch

with her hair.

I don't know, where is that princess?

....

Fickle love ..

How much i want you?

This is something I'm not really aware of.

But if someone else shows the effect of

touching your hand,

I can't stop being angry.


9


How long will I drive you?

I do not ask the vibrations of the breaths of a

battle of love.

But if someone else tries to get your attention,

When I see this happening.

I have a serious problem on my mind, at that

time.

As if someone suddenly stabbed me in the

chest.

I am the king of dark minds,

If I want to win the joy of the sea,

The contract of liberties

should write a sunset and

a bath in the sea.

You are my killer queen,

so what?

I still love you my only

killer on my mind.

But don't walk away like this

" You can run and slap a lot,

Until this high society stops this rain.

Kiss me again in a very angry look,

If you can become inside me a life. "

This rain of desires has come out...

Still you didn’t stop me.

But i love you only

even today for your sake

I praise you a lot.

If i cannot live with you.

On which name should i

live?

Tell me, oh angel!

I felt nothing without you

else...

How can I be rude for

you?

I'm not aware of it at all,

But the tears hurt the local or the end of the

rain,

When someone calls you,

How uneasy I can be because of you?

Seeing my heart broken.

How much will I drown in a river like you?

I really have no idea,

Only emptiness teaches me,

Take me hostage,

This rain of desires has

come out...

Even then i could not

leave you.

But you haven’t had this different wish.

Once more, once more.

Can't you hug my arm.

You come from behind me like an arrow,

I want to make a good start on that shore

again.

" But don't walk away like this.

Don't burn me with a vacuum, never go away.

"

What else is this?


10


Punya Devi

India

„You are the first sailor „

I have realized the truth that

Everyone has his own treasured island

Everyone has his own sky

Which are enlighten with

Flowery stars

You are the first sailor of my

Unexplored island

Liting up a lantern of love

You have enlightened my

Solitary dreamland

Before you

Neither sounds of whistle

From any ships of invader

could

Shake the fastened flag

Of my freedom

Nor any conqurer could

have made

Storm of ebb and tide

For spoiling it’s rhythms

But in that midnight

While a song of an

unknown bird

Made me bound to feel me

Loneliness deeply

At that moment

Spreading the sails of

Hope of your boat

You stood up face to face with me

Opening the treasury of my

Secret emotions

I too welcomed you heartefully

While you have entered into the

Temple of my heart then

Plunging in the blue sea

Of your big eyes

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Discovering my dreamful island

Building a bridge of love and peace

Connecting one island to another

You taught me to start the voyage

In the ocean of humanity

By spreading the sails of faith goodwill

Of the ship of mind

India

From very beginning

O the first sailor of my

Unexporable solitary

island

Be an imperishable lamp

of eternal love

Will you please remain

for ever

In the sarinity of my

dreamland...?

Bhagirath

Choudhary

Invisible evolutionary urge

Made a holy surge

For making universe

Write a divine verse

For life and living

Loving and thriving

Every one co-operated

All supported all

All contributed

Wisdom transmission


11


What they learned

For being

And becoming

Making earth

A cosmic wisdom hearth

Everyone passed on

His evolutionary wisdom

To the next relay racer

To help

Every aspiring self

To rise

And apprise

By being sane and wise

For cosmic wisdom

enterprise

The sacred mission

For wisdom transmission

Goes on genetically

By word linguistically

And culturally

Without stop

And any delay

Like a wisdom relay

By everyone truthfully

And so very faithfully

Man is here

Like a account keeper

And a humble Seer

Let me be accountable

And be universally responsible

As a wisdom keeper

For loving humanity

And earth so very deeper

Chukwuma Chika Ocm

Nigeria

There is nature

There is nature

That wangle on

Melancholy seeking for pickles

To pick and sustain

It’s throat is thirsty and dry by season

Is like is fry

It pitch on parched leaves

Spear nature

Is our orish

The bird pant on

tree to thrall to pick a berry

But non is fund

Not a oregano leaves all is

dried

On the weather snow it

feed On

As thalassic is dried

Willing to keep breathing

habit

Not to allowing the heart

to cease breath

It suffers illness

Unable to pick

Draw white-ant

To feed

It lacks janitor

Lay a water pot around

Before it cease to breath

The feeding pot

Is dehydrated by dry season

It needs a willing hands to

Hydrate the pot

The throat is dried up

Set the canop to feed the public


12


Francesca Ghiribelli

Italia

You look like a fashion show

of shy little girls

clothed in bright dew

on the rising beat

Of sun.

Your soul

color of the sky dance

among the secret

whispers

of the wind,

caress inside

the tears of the meadow

embroidering the poem

of two lovers

in a kiss

longed for.

Silent and shadowy,

haughty and thrifty,

rocking of petals

inside a pistil

of yellow rice.

Sweet cradle

of dreaming thoughts,

tiny hat

you appear as an ancient maiden

among the blades of grass

of a nostalgic vision.

Delicate perfume,

docile essence

in your slim figurine

superb and china.

Blue bell

You bleed the barren earth

with your bow,

while a child

leans in your presence

and catches you making you spite.

But then him

when it grows up

opening an old book

he will remember

than that distant day

you entered the heart of his childhood

and you never abandoned him

with your simple elegance.

A dried flower

between the pages of life:

a blue bellflower

never been lost.

Sameer Goel

India

the ones

that left the mouth

were words

.

the ones

that got stuck

were emotions

.

and the ones

i always wish to say

but really can't

nothing

but modesty

.

what to run for

when this life,

The ones

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13


so transient

came

travelled

gone

.

a journey

when it starts

or it ends

who knows

.

listen to this

my friends

ears wide open

.

relations

so resembling leaves

green today

may be wilted tomorrow

.

why not

we should learn

upholding relations

from the roots

.

to nurture them

we often need

to act blind or dumb

or may be deaf too

.

feed them with trust

an unshaken faith

shall be lifelong

an evergreen wreath

.

as it rained

i listened to its song

summers too

turn ochre

never reign forever

.

advice

yes, i repeat advice

is more of an elixir

if instilled humbly

because

.

knocking

is meant

to get the door

opened

not to break it

.

vanity too

isn't loyal to anyone

before it breaks

that earthen pot

always thinks that

whole of water

is its

.

if any words

bring smile

on someone's face

that's the real beauty

of this life

remaining all

is an ugly lie

.

life doesn't stop

without anyone

but neither passes

swiftly

without the ones

we love

.

live in the moment

live it so true

nothing to lament

let smiles accrue..


14



India

Clive Norman

England

Morning sky

Morning wakes up with scenic beauty

Painted by the diverse colours of serenity

Each morning comes with fresh start

Fresh air, fresh light, fresh mind pretty smart

Blowing the horn of consciousness

Each moment of life be not emptiness

Morning tears up the

heart of darkness

To enlighten the sky of

dizziness

Kissing the cheeks of

clouds in numbness

Like a coy mistress's

carefulness

As morning born from the

heart of mighty sun

Time being the mother moulds the mind to run

Nurturing with the food of change however

forlorn.

Let the morning sky of each life be abundantly

brightened

With the limpid light of fairness highly

heightened

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Hill of life

Life’s like this

Every single, solitary moment of our lives

We’ll be unwittingly enduring, an eversteepening,

challenging territorial climb

To heavenly blissful tranquilities, within the

blue oceanic skies

Whether we’re climbing, a green hill, a

bracken wrapped mountain, or a staircase

stretching, way up, up to

the heavens

Sometimes we’ll stumble,

sometimes we’ll fall,

sometimes we’ll cry, and

sometimes we’ll die

And many times, we’ll

roll, roll, roll, all the way

down

To pick oneself up, dust

oneself off, and start all

over again

Ascending, learning, adapting, growing,

evolving and blossoming, through everchanging

influential circumstances

Karmic destinies fulfilling, reaching the

summit

The symbiotic host’s, the physically

expendable shell dies

While the essence of soul’s immortality’s

flowing eternally, blissfully resting, reenergising,

awaiting

Reincarnation into the untainted shell, of a

newly born vessel

Freshly revised, calculated karmic destiny, a

new life to be fulfilled, and a new hill of life, to

ascend, until…?


15


Shikdar Mohammed Kibriah

Bangladesh

Agreement

Stefano Capasso

Italia

I do not want to dry anymore

O' my beloved! Step to my earthy yard to rearrange

Our traditional lively ethics of sweated cultivation

For a rightful and absolutely balanced distribution

Of crops between lord-house and peasant cottage.

To set a logical rate for your lovely handed crops

Or, save your fellow to come back in huge harvest,

Let's go in the strike make our lords logically reset

As fall of capitalism is the oath of my blood drops.

How long days we've to burn our crops my darling!

Let's be united to store crops at the rate of labour,

To come back again that golden days really better

Let's make the harvest gate with our right marking.

You, my ladylove! Look at me, the Bengali nature

How furnishes this country in seasonal diversity!

What a beauty in its absolutely balanced equality

Let's distribute our households in a couple favour.

Then, come my true love to make a delightful life,

I will fulfil the conditions make you a bengali wife.

Alby Raymond

Parackal Alby Raymond Parackal

India

Reign of love

Reign of love, seems mysterious in this lifetime,

Reigning always blowing hot and cold as prime;

Really hate talking it's stand unknown to blame,

Righteous stance on human rights blightesome!

Rarely emotional support of lovely bend regime,

Right part with in logical conclusions all aflame;

Righteous think about as conclusive in outcome,

Rightly seen as human aberrations of lonesome!

Rarefied truth, of earthly living room so sublime,

Rectify trances, transcends in life, cumbersome;

Ransack trust of hearty thoughtful venturesome,

Rational soulful humane treatment take to tame!

goodbye tears

The absent gaze

fly away,

far beyond the horizon,

over icy waters

and shake.

Play and have fun

the Wind

to cause havoc,

while confused,

melancholy and

heartbroken,

my mind remains.

I too know well

what a life without love

looks like

to an acidic flavor

of a fruit not yet mature.

No, no

I don't want to dry anymore

goodbye tears

for an ungrateful love

who no longer lives here.

But take shelter

my mind,

from the siege

of a Void Infinity,

who hopes

to sit next.


16


Guna Moran

India

Bio-Guna Moran is an Assamese Poet and critic. His

poems are published in more than hundred

international magazines, journals, webzines, blogs,

newspapers, anthologies and have been translated into

thirty languages around the world. He has three poetry

books to his credit.

For some reason

you are upset with me

for a couple of days

Although I don‟t know

the reason

I guess it right

You haven‟t spelled it out

I too haven‟t asked you

We have taken opposite

positions

Silence is chatting

between us

Maybe the conversation

is called

the battle of nerves

Bloodless

without arms

this is the most difficult battle

On earth it is the best person

who wins this battle again and again

It is the one who ends this silent battle

is ever defeated

You want to be the winner

Me too don‟t want to be the loser

Insight

So the distance between us is widening

(Original Assamese poem titled “Antardarshan”)

Tr. Nirendra Nath Thakuria

First Lesson

Sitting hunched at the hearth

of useful knowledge

she toasted her ashen eyes

through the gaps of her fingers

and very often said

You are my unique achievements

of my sacrifice

for long ten months and ten days

By birth you’ve got a

beautiful earth

besides the vast sky

So you must be generous

like the sun

and tolerant like the earth

At my birth I cried

Maybe I got the pains of

my mother

Since then I have had

tears in my eyes

in happiness and sorrow

of people

One can‟t help crying

whose only companion at birth was tears

That honeyed word „Maa‟

was my first honeyed word

Since then I‟ve blurted out „Maa‟

unawares

whenever I sit down or stand up

My birth is my mother‟s sacrifice

I must be made for sacrifice

An ingrate I can‟t be

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17


My happiness lies in my mother‟s happiness

My sorrow lies in my mother‟s sorrow

Never can I be happy

He is the lone custodian of happiness

whose main assets are

the sun and the earth

(Original Assamese poem titled “Adipath”) Tr.

Nirendra Nath Thakuria

It was gleaming

with the gaze

Affection is dumb

Affection is deaf

Like a speaker it did not

speak about

the matter

like a listener it did not

listen to

Till the moment of parting

it kept waiting in the eyes

In the thick green

of the desolate woods

A tune is ringing faintly

Gazing at the eyes

I want to see

Is it still alive

Oh dear

No way, no way

Affection for You

a curious sigh

In the teary gaze

is it still alive

Having painted on both eyes

suddenly vanished

Chitralekha the enchantress

She planted

in heart

the garden of Babylon

Chitralekha

It is swaying

in heart

heavenly flowers are

blooming

Everyday we hear

melodious calls of painted

birds

You are the gardener

of the hanging garden

I know you won‟t come back again

Yet amidst the clouds

will be shining

the radiant smile of the sun

(Original Assamese poem titled “Chitralekha”)

Note: Chitralekha was the boon companion of

Usha, the daughter of the King Baan of the

Sonitpur kingdom in Assam (India) of the

Mahabharata era. Chitralekha had magical skills

at painting and portraiture in particular. Tr.

Nirendra Nath Thakuria

Cleaving the heart

comes out


18


Odujebe Oluwole

Birland

Santosh Kumar Biswa

Bhutan

Terror in the nation

In every corner, fear lurk

Tranquility is uncommon

May peace rule.

Insecurity in the cities

Fights between brothers

Family bonds broken

May peace flow.

Hatred in hearts grow

Anger in minds blow

Conflicts in homes

May peace dwell.

Countries are full of

crime

Societies are full of crisis

Communities in

confusion

May peace reign.

If love reign in our hearts

Then we will stand together

When we love one another

Peace will rule our hearts.

May peace reign

My Sweetest Love, let us flee

Blossoms are blooming in the garden of love,

The smiling autumn is maturing soon,

My sweetest love, let us flee before it wilts.

The harsh winter is on the ball before eyes,

The pitiless chilly wind is ready to parade,

And the deceitful snow is about to fall and blur,

To weaken us in love and then to turn us pale.

Before it fades, my

sweetest love, let us flee

And glorify our love like

the Cyclamen forever

To the place that fortifies

an emblem of love.

We shall then wait for the

spring to fly high

With the new hope that

beef up our firm love

And make it shine like the

brilliant sun of summer

With its warmth, for stronger bonds to mend.

Eagle Gold

México

Grain-Growers

"Grains of life"

Raindrops, grains of sun that give us life

garden teeth

that fill every pore with energy, they are food, they are gold.

The farmer with his hands sows with sweat; your dedication gives it flavor and value.

Keys to the field satisfy the poor, the rich, beautiful as the Quetzal is worth more than any metal.

Let us honor humble work; Let us pay him with honor, every day he feeds us with infinite love!.

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19


Joanna Svensson

Sweden

In the shadow of me

In a shadow of my own

I stand alone

And sometimes see

Stars that are beaming

In other people's eyes

Stars that others do see

But not me

Because they start to glow

In the eyes of others

Through my poems

I have drowned

All of my words

Drowned them with my

inner thoughts

Thoughts so pure and

clean

Clean as purest summer

rain

Like gleaming drops of sunshine

The sunshine that's lit my path

Followed me through my life

Because I wanted it that way

In the shadow

It is the love that I feel in my heart

Love for all my fellow men

Compassion - and empathy

And so I have decided

Already long ago

To peacefully make war

The only way I know

To write and write

With words of love

So that mankind understands

What it's all about at last

That our lives here on

earth

Are just the blink of an

eye

And suddenly we all do

swim

In the great big lake of

memories

A lake of stars that shine

More or less for all

For each and everyone

More if you have love in your heart

And empathy for your neighbour

But less if you are bitter

Torned by evil and filled with revenge

I stepped away from the darkness

From the evil of this world

Though I know it isn't so

That I haven't seen or realized

All the world's great misery

All of its endless troubles

Of war, starvation and scorn

But in this world I'm armed

With my sole and only weapon

My weapon is love

Love for all mankind

Love for all my fellow men

Love for all of nature

Love for all in Universe

In the shadow of me

In a shadow of my own

Stars are clearly gleaming

In the eyes of others

Gleaming through my poems!


20


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The time and the roses

Who has said

That all the roses there are

Are all the roses there is

All of them

With fragrances yet unknown

All of them

With colors never seen

Roses that no one ever seen or smelled

But now I can see them

On the other side of the

mirror

Where I sometimes go

I can not yet describe

them all

Because no words are

suitable enough

Because the phases don’t

exist

Because the fragrances

are unrevieled

But I know they will be

born

On the other side of the mirror.

When time is right

When time has ripened

And I know

This time will soon be here

While the light of life

Still glimmers

In my childish eyes

So that I can describe its beauty

Their astonishingly colors and scents

Things that no one yet have felt or seen

But you can’t push time to the future

Because its always here and now

You can not run away from it

Not ascape it – nor hide from it

Just say it isn’t there

It’s begging you – take me with you

Take care of me

‘Cause I’ ll always be there with you

And even if you don’t

Tell no one my age

I’ll always be tvere

Right there – there where you are!

Selma Kopic

Bosnia and Herzegovina

Your bride

I wanted to tell you yes,

to approach you in a

white dress

with the footsteps of a

frightened deer,

to throw a bouquet in the air

and call myself yours

for the rest of our lives.

Only your hand could lead me

happily to heaven.

But the white dress for me

was never tailored

nor did your ring

adorn my hand.

All of this is really

just in my girlhood dream.

The waves of life

took us to different sides.

Still, I am happy

when I see happy brides.

For me, their happiness is a sign

that happiness exists,

but not to shed a tear,

I find it hard to resist.


21


Temitope Michael Omotoso

Lagos

Unfairness survey

Like mice we are in this maze called world,

Jostling for freedom with we could afford,

Through my mind a question goes pop,

Are these scrambles ever going to stop?

We march as though it's time for war,

Like pride of lions we tussle and roar,

With heart of stones our objectives are clear,

Success at all cost with no

failure to bear.

Living like though we've

got no choice,

Unheard to world is the

essence of our voice,

Continuously we fight

with no fair time to stop,

Thorny is the path of our

bustle to the top.

So hard to shake off yet with bravery we claw,

Tigers we've become with the aggression of

our paw,

On we surge without the will to quit,

Hard is life with no choice but live with it.

Most are fine with my types looking on,

Like hyenas we scavenge for leftovers to choke on,

Rumble you must to lose your fumble,

Your single with hardwork could get you a double.

The hunter you are or the hunted to be?

More there is to life than the struggle we all see,

Kings we want to be but are we ready to rule?

Scratch to the top would always remain cruel.

Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

Tunis

Not so easy...

Just as the swell embraces the soft rays

From dawn, from the sun, after the stormy

night,

Just as words are born from my pencil,

Just like a story, told to a wise child.

Just like the quivering

wave in his bed,

Or like a beautiful eagle

soaring through the air,

And this myriad of

established beauties

From a generous and

prosperous Mother

Nature...

I love you, like the wind panting over the

wheat

Or the dew beading on a bouquet of roses,

Like a child who sees a whole starry sky,

Two more lovers who melt into osmosis...

It's like a hand grazing your skin,

Or a frank look, far beyond the eyelashes.

I tell you the three words, the ideal ones,

Simply "I love you", it's not that easy...


22


Isilda Nunes

Esponsende, Portugal

The roses withered

The roses withered in the dryness of your gaze!

I no longer dream of them, dear! I no longer cry

for them!

Our bodies, which were once but one,

Today are wrecked in the solitude of

outstanding words.

I envelop myself in a interspersion of longing

and lethargy,

Fixing the old clock still, in a

time that once was ours...

At a time when we loved

each other like sea and sky.

And I petrify myself on

that horizon,

where my body was

moored as a boat.

Reality deranges me!

Frenzied by the echo of your tread on bare

walls,

this implicit farewell in the disquiet of your hands

and in the downturn of your will!

The slow arrival of winter disturbs me!

The roses you gave me have already withered!

The wet kisses of yore, now they are parched fault!

All embrace is expired!

And the grooves on my face exude spent

memories,

loose pieces of a plot that is no longer ours.

The mouth dried up in the refusal of the

farewell,

in this postponed death, suspended in the

solitude of outstanding words!

I no longer dream of them, dear! I no longer cry!

The roses withered in the dryness of your gaze!

Kamrul Islam

Bangladesh

Language Of Silence

It still brings me to tears-- the palm-tree and

its shade,

A long cry for the lost tune

of virginity

makes the creepers

unrest...

Birds with its nest netted

to fate and the fertile

tale would break the

language of silence.

Among the reeds and weeds of magicians’

home

a frost-bit scorpion recites the sin and the

sinners

in the same canopy.

It’s a drughouse, a mental crack thrives

A blind bird wafting into the air

to give another shore of mesmerizing days ...

The language of silence smoothly transforms

the muddy desires into a journey of flowery

dawn.

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23


Jeannie Ashton

Bolton, England

Ibrahim Honjo

Vancouver, Canada

Words can kill

When the darkness swallows everything you

hold dear

and your arms can't reach to pull them back to

be near

When everything starts fading away before

your very eyes

to a dark place where painful teardrops fall

and never dies

Then loneliness wraps its

self around you holding

so tight

and the coldness sets into

your body too cold to

even fight

When the end is your only

friend that you're waiting for

what's the use going on

knowing you can't take

anymore

My shallow breathing from the poisonous air

of sadness

congregating with darkness in a spittoon full

of madness

Bittersweet words of venom lashing out to the

heart

like a dagger cutting each other deeply so far apart

Deadly silence after the storm lifts pieces of hate

knowing that every tomorrow will now be too late

How i built my own inferno

I know that you will not show up

and I will die alone

there, where grass does not grow

and water does not overflow

there, where there are no birds

not even crickets, or colourful butterflies

where scrolls do not swarm in the evening

as they swarm in the

season of mulberries

in my big backyard

adorning night particles

and making a necklace

out of them

I will die there, where no

one dear to me will come

there, where you cannot

anticipate, seas, or rivers

there, where the sky

hangs like a hook

above furious rocks

there, where there is clay dust

and groaning fades between rocks

there, where rain lingering on stones is falling

from the sky

and washing away its blue

I will die in the silence

I've built for myself

from pieces of stale loneliness

I'm hurting so bad I cannot lie

the world is dying and so am I

this is how my inferno looks

there, so look at my inferno


24


Lomas Kumar Bhatt.

India

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The Eyes Of Heaven:

Devastated demarcation in life's horizon,

Shown in nature's perpetual presentation,

Of new beginnings upon old debris,

Deaths glorified on it's reincarnations,

Of course the beauty & glory of the nature,

Rest itself in the realms of the Blessings,

Pellet-drum pronouncing,

Announcing aloud,

Heaven's garden

blooming a sot,

Flora & fauna become

petals of pearls,

Ocean's tears transform

into nectar,

With all worldly grif &

sorrow satires,

Now nectar turns to

rhythmic laughter,

Pellet-drum's miracles,

Makes heaven magical,

Aghora's joggling galactic twisting,

No man's land now ceremonial ground,

Mountain's rock thrilling in pulses,

Freezing vain alive,

Dead dancing on worldly satire,

I too embracing dancing at random,

On the grounds of countless skulls,

At mid of the land & skies,

Sudden a twisting fire hit on my nerves,

Oh no! I'm in the mid of the pyre,

On her chest she sleeping silently,

At the center of the universal pyre,

Now she awake with full of the zest,

Pellet-drum announcing,

Awake in your quantum,

Across Her in arms,

Fly beyond trance,

I'm here to welcome you grand,

Sudden I find myself,

On the gate of the heaven,

Third Eyes smiling,

Her lips too,

Secrets hold!

Gerlinde Staffler

Italia

Living Eart... The breath of Gaia

Gaia, a humming bird,

flutters joyfully as does

life

on a green breathing

planet,

reserved for a strong

pulsating strive,

an organism that

intuitively generates,

in steady evolution its

own story creates

One living system,

which does habitually excel

where even the smallest and proudest cell

composes with swinging participation

the picture of a miraculous and moving

creation

With this extraordinary innate intelligence

a sentient body,

capable to tune into its own flows,

requests to embrace a moral conscience

where each guest life preservation shows


25


Refik Martinovic

Tutin, Serbia

Parting

Please...

don't touch me

with memories and dreams

which no longer waiting in line

to dream of them

because the rains have washed away all my

verses

dedicated to you

and my rhymes run away

when I mention you

name.

Don't come again in the

mornings of dreamy city

under an old linden tree

that shrouded us in the

shadows

it no longer smells like

your hands

and like the music of your

lips

don't let you birds land on the roof of my

house

and writes messages that love is eternal.

Please...

don't go out in to the night alone

that we would not meet by chance

because secret chambers of my soul are closed

for you.

only wounds ramained

which cannot be cured by time

learn to live with them

and be my chapter

for some distant story.

Don't follow my steps anymore

they are empty as autumn rains

which I don't like anymore

I'm also proud of the pain you left me

big as a mountain

and you stayed just as a providence of

imagination and dream

and a short romance

from spring to autumn

Nwankwo Victor Avic

Nigeria

Merchants of

lies

The media now peddles

more lies than Satan

As politicians speak from

under their noses.

The supporting pillars of

this manor are volatile.

They sordidly sits on

sandy soil.

No welfare for the minors.

As the strong scramble for the spoils.

This head is too heavy for the legs.

As the looting spree is unabated

The change mantra is a mirage.

Green harvest but red pocket.

Just handshake for excellence

And big encomium for indolence.

They squander with reckless abandon.

Leaving the rest in squalor.

Hospitals are like moribund morgues.

Education is like a walking corpse

The living are bankrolled by the dead.

Even repatriated loots are being relooted.

Bandits are in red carpet treat.

With kidnappers on the rampage.


26


Smiling home with handsome ransom.

As terrorists claim more lands

The chaos queries our pedigree.

With wailing and unquenchable flow of tears.

I hope to sing again for my land.

When sanity has embraced our quests.

When the thirsty minds are satisfied with

facts.

When fears and uncertainties has taken to

their heels.

And have all decimated this ugly hill

Then love will breed more truth and less lies.

Chandan Bhattacharya.

India

"Suicide"

Friend.....

You are very established

In society today

... So not!

You've house, dollars,

cars, wealth,

Boys are established,

Girls are married to good

guys,

Everyone is very respected in society,

Your wife loves you so much ....

Let take a test and see !

Don't die pretending to die!

When you see,

Then you understand,

who loves you so much?

Maybe your children will continue

To share your property,

Maybe your wife will calculate,

... What you have left for her !

Then, in shame, hatred, humiliation, Neglect,

misunderstanding.......

When you are crying

You will see a thrilling scene......

Your wife is in love with her ex-husband. What

do you do then?

What would a friend say!

Will commit suicide!

What will happen to it!

Do not commit suicide!

The body will die.

The body will be taken to the grave

Or cremation ground.

Where can the soul go?

The soul will only suffer.

One-third of the trouble

Will rotate in the chest,

rotating.......

And he will say in his heart

Why he has not

remembered God

In his lifetime!!

Kamal Dhungana

India

The Red

You always disliked it; the

RED color

I found out later,

you had always disliked

those red roses of valentines.

I wrote to you with my blood.

You disliked those red love letters.

You even disliked the red sindoor,

I had brought to adorn you.

One day

You, caught in an accident;

were in need of blood.

After your relatives' refusal,

how come you accepted my blood?

How did you like your colorful life

survived with my blood?

After all, that too was RED in color!

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27


Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim

Nigeria

In this wee hour of time,

We are all alone here,

The sun has gone to bed,

Only deep snoring disturbs,

The sky looking gracious,

Beautiful in black attire,

Illuminating looking by,

The sky is admirable,

If the moon could talk,

If the sky can say a word,

If the moon can

appreciate love,

The moon will commend

our love,

All alone we are here,

With the sun and the sky,

Having a beautiful

moment,

The feeling is oozing,

My love for you is very big,

Bigger than any ocean,

Vast than any mountain,

Flowing into me like spring,

With you I am happy,

By your side I smile,

In your arms I am satisfy,

With you I am complete,

If the moon can talk,

My love for you is forever,

If the Moon Can Talk

It is not sellable,

For no one can afford,

Bogdana Găgeanu

Romania

My fountain was just empty

And you refilled it.

You poured some love

And some affection.

Cupid strikes

It took some time for me

To understand your

feelings

And to feel your blessing

In my life.

My life is an art.

I breathe like there's a second

I paint with my lost colours

I write with my last words

I walk,as if I will not return

I sing, as if my heart is crying

I dance, as if my music stops

I worship my life.

My soul and my heart

Are guiding me

And make art a way of living

Art has made me free!

But now,I am not thirsty

any more

Because I drink all day

Just kisses from your lips.

I know it must be Cupid .

My life is an art


28


Shantos Kumar Biswa

The old Age

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29



30



Mladen M. Tokić

India

The brave

Croatia

Dreams of white margarets

The brave are the ones who always speak the

truth

Till the last breath of life

Who can raise the voice against injustice

Fight for solidarity and divine peace.

The brave are the ones who never desire

excess

Live for others and leave

ways for others to

progress

Keep one's heart open to

greet all in process

Nowhere or nobody can

suppress as blessed with

god's grace.

Always the same steps

Drops of autumn rain

Steps generous

Holiday wind footsteps

Which resound with prayer

Always the same bells

The white snow

Of a small Irish streets

Freckled lonely face


Rains that falling

Rains pouring down

Over cheeks of tanned

Down a stone breast

Gold ruddy Irish women

The brave are the ones

who controls five senses

Can tackle all situations

applying commonsense

Ready to compromise and adjust not to

disgrace

Both friends and foes, smiles and tears they

heartily embrace

The brave are the ones who are self satisfied

Neither in happiness overjoyed nor in fear

sorely horrified

Dedicate themselves for the betterment of

society

For the sake of mother land, language, culture

and humanity


The boys concern

October without sun

Starless wars

Unmarked generals

Soldiers in ranks

The soldiers march

One by one

Step by step

Drop by drop

The footsteps echo

Always the same sounds

Mouth full of earth

The laughter that comes

From an unknown room

Sunken cities

Missing ships

Floating wrecks

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31


On an unfinished mask

On a dusty map

Of a forgotten universe


Always the same dreams

From white margarets

Wedding snows

Spring is my darling

The light is now going out

The fingers that cover us

Our hopes and fears

Muhammad Abdul Wahid

Bangladesh

Majestic Women

Woman - are Mother

Daughter and Wife

Without them the world is

an illusory life.

If Women are always with

us without gaps

We can succeed by taking

strong steps.

Beauty never make a woman beautiful

Quality of lifestyle source to besuccessful.

Those Who with great mind do great deed

They are majestic in society indeed.

Some time they’re busy in paddy field to harvest

Jute-rope made various cottage industries

Without rest.

Sometime designing dishes, or weaving dress.

Sometime making clay oven for cooking the best.

Sometime fly toward moon destination is

unknown.

trampling the peak of Himalayas where wild

air is blow.

Sometime sink in the sea to find perls no fear or shy.

Ride Rockets to fly to find edge of the sky.

Sometime woman are bravely heroin

To protect the just and right.

Someday they are the source of courage.

Laughing in battling fight.

Some time they are proudly nobel laureate,

Some tome they are rhythmic poet

They stand for humanistic cause, any where

Some time they are pleasant singer.

Woman draw art the on

wooden piece.

Design the flowery

blanket with mental

peace.

Sometime woman are in

playground and

sometime helping peasants.

Captain of family with a

mood of pleasant.

Woman go to the river bank water pot.

They fill the pot with water and swim a lot.

The great women are profecient in all fields

They are soft and sweet to speak

mellifluously they are well skilled

After all their duties done they meditate

toward Lord,

They are decent and modest in and out, never

become bored.

In family and in society the keep their dignity

protected.

Every home be blessed with birth of such

majestic women as it is heavenly expected.


32


Voula Memou

Grecia

Beggars of the Gods of the

poor

God is so high up to hear me

and I am so small and unredeemed,

I leaned on the olive root,

next to the demolished school of war.

I wanted to dream how lilies grow in the ruin.

I wanted the blood to be an illusion,

but I was trembling.

I hear Hamza crying,

for her damn cloth doll.

The Cyclops had been

alienated,

by abandonment,

like ships that die late to

the erroneous memories.

Rusty scrap metal,

of old fairy tales.

And you ... Iniohe, travel

charmer,

in Delphi to make me a

pilgrim

and consuls of peace.

Pull the chariot,

let's pull from East and West,

we were the land of the Dragon,

to drive the peoples of injustice,

with seeds of hope.

To build brotherhood colonies.

Asandali,

I will live in the yards as much as possible,

with jasmine the rockets of guilt,

I will be filled.

But I'm so small, before the great God of

sinless victims.

Petrică Tatu

România

The years passed quickly

The years passed quickly

I was left with memories,

With dear moments and joys

From past loves.

You were so happy

You had sunbeams in

your eyes,

I really wanted you to be

my girlfriend

And to give you many

roses.

I tell you from the bottom

of my heart that I loved

you

You were good and innocent,

I cheated on you, I was enchanted

And I fell in love with another girl

And so from love to love

Now with regret I remember,

That I walked from flower to flower

And now I pay for love.

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33


Birendu Kumar Sinha

India

When life turns full with

stress and strain

Time becomes heavy all efforts in vain

Laden under the load of misery profound

Don't feel crestfallen down on the ground

All we need is support and consolation

A sweet sessions of silent seclusion

To seek solace of cool illumination

Woes and worries relegated into oblivion

Listen to the far forgotten

musical numbers

Or fall into the lap of

waking slumbers

A soothing solace of

complete oblivion

Floating adrift in blissful

communion

Close your eyes and sit in

meditation

Enjoy the glory of blissful

communion

Mariana Kiss

Romania

The frame of heaven

Spears of light, furrows the sky,

Thunders of celestial drums, yes

asparagus ...

You hug me facing the ether,

Wrapping myself in the wide overcoat.

The sky sheds its tears too harshly,

Strongly hitting the hot cobblestones.

Only the story of the rain can be heard

And our hearts, which beat hard.

We walk through the late summer rain,

Laughing, loving us like two crazy young men,

We sink into pleasant drunkenness,

With fleeting kisses among the acacias.

The rain gathers its feet everywhere,

The rainbow takes the place of the cloudy

clouds,

We are still wet, we want to touch the colors ...

You don't want your body untied.

We run through the colorless belts,

Without paying too much attention.

The universe cried, now laughs again

Covering us with his

handkerchief.

Apu Mondal

India

Your name, this

day

Your deep black eyes

See my inner feelings

Your aged, freckled,

Spotted face reminds

Me of sea bed corals

So beauteous, serene,

Your warm smile is

The spring of life and

Light. I want to think

More on you. Your

Thoughts brought

Deluge and hope in

Those days. Now you

Sit by my side, holding

Hands, reminding me

Of eternal love etched

On sun dyed rocks.


34


Marivic Nemi

Philippines

Ganimete Jakupi Demiri

Switzerland.

Beep sound of atmosphere..

Extended direct duration..

Benefits Of Mankind

How awkward to be complacent..?

An obscure bout to reveal..

I miss you

You were the star which lighted my nights,

With your affection I felt high in the sky,

You were the sun of my day,

Which warmed my heart in everyway.

Instead of being haunted by dimness..

Give it a try for perspicuity..

None of earthborn are

obtuseness...

Moreover in the sharp of

edges..

Research for all the

benefit of mankind..

Inconspicuous child of the

sun...

Our quirks and deeds not

supposed

to the land ..

Yet the silence ameliorative, supportive

as declaring glory..

All the creations can hold together..

By the source of thy voice...

In sequence soliditary...

Let us eradicate viciousness..

You were the best symphony of my life,

Like beautiful melody of

Moxart,

You were a professional

actor of my heart,

And you made me felt

comfort.

Now I miss you everyday,

Since you are left from

me,

I think and talk with myself,

Why this love without goodbye ended.

Please turn me on - I am waiting for you,

Please love me as I do,

Back my smile like before,

You stole my heart with your enchanted love.

Immediate action of goodness was

imperative...

As looking forward for the tremendous

shadow of futurity..

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35


Šolkotović Snežana,

Srbija

Punya Devi

Assam,India

That wall there...

That wall there knows every secret of the soul,

knows every tear that rolls down a person's

cheek,

those bridges of patience in a nightmare as

they crumble,

the despair and pain that imposes defeat.

That wall hears every word that pierces the

heart

and insults with its

weight,

he also knows the answer

to what you used to be

what have you turned

into now,

who are those people who

supposedly love you

and in the most difficult

situations they turn their

backs on you.

He knows everything

about you, your quiet cries

rapid heartbeat struggling with pain,

record all the opportunities in your life,

slaps that speak for themselves.

That wall there has been your friend for a long

time

and wishes you a peaceful sleep at least once,

drawing a line for the end is not that simple,

nor hell that makes you worthless

That wall over there ... keeps your secret,

and who knows how many more,

say once - stop despairdon't

let your life be made worse by scum ...

My letter to nora

Nora, how do you feel now

Have you ever seen our dreamed sky

Where we could freely fly

You are the new women

Pioneering the feminist movement

Following you

We have been launching a journey

Delving to the said sky

Walking out through the

door

Of your Doll's house

Opened by you

happiness

My dear Nora

Can you imagine

We are now free and safe

You see, when our girl child

Go alone on Street

Then we mothers

Could not sleep

Closing the door of

sorrowful house

Raising the curtain of that

Black era

Do you feel

We the women are in

In the jungle of so called civilization

Tigers hide in shape of human

If they get chance

Come out and steal their virginity

Brutally done molestation


36


Do you mind it

In sometimes

If something bad rotten in society

Women are supposed as omen

Then treat them as inhuman

Women are burn for endowment

They are given punishment

Till now girls are treated as goods

For sale and buy

So how far our

Freedom of sky

Your father Henrik Ibsen

Made you bold

Because he understands

What is women soul

But still now impacts

seems everlasting

What said by his

predecessors

Shakespeare is shouting

' Frailty thy name is

women'

Tennyson is flattering

'Men to war and

Women to maternity'

All such mirrored

Became inscription

As well as tradition

Partly for these rock lines

Our road to sky

Become serpentile

And hanging in the balance

Like an interjection.

Gerlinde Staffler

Italy

Pearls of Longings

This vast widely felt horizon

Immerses its longings in the scintillating sea,

Where diving in, cool pearls bring along,

Warmed up from the sunrays of thee.

Oh shells of beauty holder,

You whisper gallant secrets to my ears

Of magical rows of water lilies,

Where drops of dew are

gems, not tears.

Nigeria.

Lulled by the watching

terse sky,

Feelings roll in opaline

dances,

Touched from the

beholder's azure eye,

In the haven of our golden

fancies.

Adepoju Adeola

Peace we need.

Earth has even wore the sad attire,

Pleading to the combatants to cease the fire,

The casualties have even cried and tired,

For their souls have continue to wandered,

The war-mongers should come over the fury,

Of what benefit will be the state of gory?

Stop the war and preach the peace,

For the word need to be at ease..

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37


Amb. Maid Corbic

Bosnia Herzegovina

Last smile

Engraved in a pale photograph covered with

hoarfrost and dust

We languish palely in our dilapidated room,

motionless

Silence, covers thoughts vague

And as his heart flutters, he needs a strong

swing of his wings

To revive all old

memories

Everything will be as it

used to be before it could

have been

Love to cover those little

things that meant

He always knows how to

fix that sleepless night,

and he knows the Moon

What secrets did life hide

in the greatest debauchery and play

The emotion of the shallows, they stir night

and day for decades

Living together while still searching for our

existence

Or the spiritualization of life, because in the

end everything remains

Good story and good memories engraved in

the photos

Colorful colors in modern times, we see their

wrinkles

How they roll and mute in worry, and it’s hard

to endure it all

I move them like a heavy tower with my bare

hands to keep them from sinking

I extend my hand and seek the voice of reason

in the game of destiny

The last smile, as if it were yesterday, was

persistent

Everything that is good and bad, happens and

passes somehow

And we are left with only memories engraved

in the photo

Cover it with hoarfrost and dust in a

dilapidated room

Stationary;

Pakistan

Because life has no

retrospective, and I’m still

looking for us

And as his heart flutters,

he needs a strong swing of

his wings

To revive all old

memories

Muhammad Ishaq

Abbasi

Come Spring Come

Come spring come, run friend run,

Stop spring stop, papa mama talk,

The air is gentle, the sun is mental,

Birds are chirping, people are thinking,

I am dancing, friend is talking,

Insects are creeping, animals are grazing,

The grass is growing, the stream is flowing,

Come spring come, run friend run.


38


Annette (Wengert) Tarpley

Virginia

The Lantern of Clarity

What suspenseful journey, awaits you in this book

I will guide you with my lantern, together we

will take a look

The author has created, a suspenseful thriller for you

Be prepared for him to kill off many, survivors

will be few

He will weave quite the story,

his words form the web

For the heiress was found

to be dead...in her bed

He is an artist that can create,

imagery with his pen

Interesting, characters

are... the women and men

You may think someone’s

a villain, when really they

are not

The tale will twist and

turn, understanding and clarity will be sought

If you’re reading at night, you may be more apt

to be scared

You may be shocked to have found, someone’s

life to be spared

Darkness...he continues to paint, on his canvas

with black

The Butler may have done her in, quite the

erroneous act

Here, let me light the path better...so you may

then view

The terror and the carnage, into this book he

has threw

The tale has now reached, its final crescendo

A revealing remark made, with a hint of an

innuendo

Now all is exposed, it is the end...the long

awaited time....

The fear that it has elicited, the author would

find to be sublime

Dr. Prasana Kumar Dalai

India

Like desert miss the rain!

I stop of the train...

I am walking down your

street again....

And pass your door....

But you don't live there

any more...

It's a year since you have

been there....

And now disappear some

where...

Like out of space....

You found some better

place...

Like desert miss the rain....

You were always ahead....

I look up at your house....

And I can almost hear you.. shout down to me...

Where I always to be...

I have been hanging round your old address..

And the year have proved...

Can I confess?

And I miss you like desert miss the rain....

I can't stop the feeling...

And there is nothing I can do...

Because I see everything when I looked at

you...

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39


prose 25-46

Šahdo Bošnjak

Bosna i Hercegovina

1. POGLAVLJE

– Hej, Sejfula!

Mokropoljske Magle

– Stani, Sejfula! Drž’, ne dajte mu tamo!...

– Stani, bolan, Sejfula, da nam pričaš

kako si ono prevrnuo udovicu Zlatu pa te

darivala s deset madžarija!...

“Prepriječite mu put!...” “Oborite ga!...”

“Gurnite mu flašu u

usta!...” “Drž’te ga!...” “Ne

dajte mu da pobjegne!...”

“Veeežiite gaaa!...”

“Drž’tee gaaa!...” “Ne

daaaj!...”

Bježi Sejfula kao da

ga progoni sto vukova,

trči, a sve mu se čini da i

ne staje na zemlju već da

je okrilatio pa leti. Leti, pa

ne osjeća ni kao kandže

oštre bodlje ostruga, što

mu kidaju živo meso s obraza kad naiđe na

bogaze. Ne osjeća ni kamenove međaše. Ni

busenove suhe zemlje. Ni jarke za odvođenje

viška vode s oranica. Ma, ne osjeća ni svoje

bose raskrvavljene, bolne noge. Sav se

pretvorio u čulo sluha. I nekakvo bestežinsko

klupko. Pa leti, leti, brže i od strelovitog

jastrebovog leta kad se ustremi na žrtvu. No,

nikako da umakne razularenoj rulji

mokropoljskih besposličara i sprdadžija, koji

kao da i nemaju drugog posla nego da se

sprdaju i iživljavaju na ovakvom jednom

nesretniku i fukari.

– Drž’!...

– Nee daaaj!...

I Sejfula trči dalje. Kao ona navijena

dječija igračka, štono je izmislili Švabe, pa se

sad njome igraju begovska, aginska i

gazdinska djeca.

– Nee daaaj!...

– Obooriii!...

– Veeežiii!..

Čuje Sejfula na sve strane kako grmi i

odjekuje, jače i od same grmljavine topova s

mokropoljske tvrđave u vrijeme Ramazanskog

ili Kurban-bajrama. U magnovenju se nekako

uspio i pokajati što je ikako morao skretati u

Hamzinu mehanu prije nego što ode Mujagi i

uradi poslove. A svratio je

nekako po inerciji jer se u

mehani, pored mnoštva

besposlenih mladića,

uvijek nađe i poneki

putnik namjernik ili pak

neki ozbiljniji, stariji

Mokropoljac, ili čak i neki

pružni radnik, pošto je

državna vlast u blizini

Mokropolja napokon

otpočela s gradnjom

uskotračne pruge za

eksploataciju drveta iz

okolnih šuma. Oni bi se sažalili na Sejfulin

jadan izgled, na njegove upale, ustakljene oči,

na njegovu prljavopepeljastu kosu, na ispijene

usne i drhtave ruke, ruke bolesnog

alkoholičara, te bi mu poručili koji findžan

rakije. Ili bi onako usputno, kao nehajno,

odlomili od svoje meze koji okorak spečene,

obajatile i kao balega crne pogače. Ugledniji

gosti, kako ih je nazivao mehandžija, tad bi se

povlačili, a Sejfulu bi pod svoje uzimala grupa

već dobrano alkoholom zagrijanih mladića.

Oni bi, poput lešinara, čekali da Sejfula prvo

dobro ućeifi na račun nekog milostivog gosta,

a zatim bi bacili mamac na koji se on dao lahko

upecati – ponudili bi ga findžanom ljute šljive.


40


U početku rakijom i lijepim riječima namamili

bi jadnika u svoju jazbinu, neki mračni

mehanski budžak, gdje je obično sjedila oveća

grupa besposličara, sve mladih, asija ljudi,

begovskih, aginskih i gazdinskih sinova.

Većina njih su propali srednjoškolci ili

studenti koji su se zbog ljubavi prema mehani,

kocki i bekrijanju zauvijek odvojili od

obrazovnih ustanova i omeđili svoju životnu

sudbinu zaparloženom mokropoljskom

palankom. Njima bi se prišuljali i ostali

mokropoljski dokoličari i skitnice, znajući da

će im u tom raspusnom društvu biti zanimljivo

i ugodno.

I baš ovaj ludi

Sejfula došao im je kao

poručen.

Sprva bi ga svi

tapšali po ramenima,

nutkali rakijom i mezom,

dok se Sejfula ne bi

okuražio i raspričao. A

naučio je tako sigurno i

tečno da priča, da kiti i

veze, od kako je postao

obavezan gost ili, bolje

rečeno, obavezan

inventar Hamzine mehane, da su mu riječi

neupućenima izgledale kao najbezazlenija

istina. Svašta je, jadnik, naučio u ovoj mehani,

samo jedno nije: da se smije kao ostali gosti.

Istina, kad se društvo smije, smije se i Sejfula,

samo što je njegov smijeh do te mjere

izvještačen i neuvjerljiv da prije liči na

meketanje ožalošćene koze negoli na ljudski

smijeh.

– Me, he, he, he!... – razvlačio bi usta od

uha do uha, i to je sve, i ništa se drugo na njemu

nije smijalo kao kod ljudi koji se iskreno, od

srca smiju. Naprotiv, baš tad bi mu se čelo

nabralo, smračilo da su se obrve sastavljale,

dok bi u očima bljesnule neke neuhvatljive

iskre, svojstvene samo luđacima, izmiješane

mržnje, bijesa i ironije, čineći ga još glupljim i

komičnijim. A društvo bi ulazilo u onaj stupanj

pijane razularenosti i raspojasanosti kad

razum staje i kad se brišu sve granice obzira.

Tad Sejfulina koža ne bi vrijedjela ni pet para.

– Pij, Sejfula, bolan, majku ti!

I Sejfula bi morao da pije iako u njemu

prilijeva, zapravo izlijeva, i na usta i u

nogavice.

– Igraj, Sejfula, mečko ciganska!

Momku uistinu ništa drugo i ne bi

preostalo nego da po ko zna koji put zaigra

svoju igru, igru života i

smrti. Igrajući oponašao

je nesretnu zvijer,

medvjeda igrača, koliko

god mu to njegova

ograničena pamet

dopuštala. Isturio bi ruke

naprijed, kao medvjed

prednje noge, i mlatio

njima tako snažno da ti se

čini kako će se evo sad

iščašiti iz ramena.

Istovremeno

bi

poskakivao s jedne noge

na drugu, usukivao vrat da su mu sve žile

nabrekle kao konopci, kreveljio glavu sad u

jednu sad u drugu stranu, kao što to čini

medvjed od boli izazvane zatezanjem halke u

nosu. Pogled mu je bio ustakljen i izgubljen

negdje u ćoškovima ispod stropa mehane.

Štaviše je i mumlao, samo što su

neartikulisani, tužni a otegnuti glasovi, što ih

je ispuštao, djelovali stvarnije i bolnije negoli

mumlanje ma kojeg cirkuskog medvjeda. Iz

gotovo svakodnevnog iskustva s ovim

kabadahijama znao je da mu sad život ovisi

isključivo od sreće. Ali i od toga koliko će

uspjeti da udovolji ćeifovima i niskim, moglo

bi se reći, sadističkim strastima pijane

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41


kafanske rulje. Napose mladim gospodičićima:

begovskim, aginskim i gazdinskim sinovima.

– Slabo je to, hak, Sejfula! ‘Aman

zabušavaš noć... hak, noćaske! – javi se,

štucajući i podrigujući, Ivica, mladić

bledunjava, ispijena lica, upalih obraza i

upalih, vodnjikavih očiju. Jedinjak gazde

Stjepka Franića, razmaženjak i sada već bivši

učenik trećeg razreda gimnazije. Jednom je

kao slučajno navratio u Hamzinu mehanu,

zasjeo s veselom bratijom i tu ostao, zauvijek;

kao da je prikovan za stolicu. Uzalud je gazda

Stjepko sve pokušavao kako bi momka ponovo

privolio knjizi i kući. A kad je uvidio da mu to

najposlije neće uspjeti,

počeo je naglo da kopni i

pobolijeva. Naposljetku je

skrhan i ojađen legao na

postelju, prepuštajući sve

poslove slugama. Otad

kao da zajedno s njim

kopni i nestaje i njegovo

veliko imanje.

– Dašta da

zabušava! Nema ništa,

asli, bez julara i

degeneka!... – s nekom

slatkom zluradošću prihvati Velija Budžaklić,

sin Atifage Budžaklića, kulaka i vojnog

liferanta. Sijevao je od pijanstva zamagljenim i

zakrvavljenim očima, škrgutao kao lopate

velikim a kao grablje rijetkim zubima dok se,

ustajući, obadvjema šakama oslanjao o klupu

što je škripala, jedva izdržavajući njegovu

prema godinama nesrazmjerno krupnu

tjelesinu. Usput, onako pijan, zakači za nogu

Ibre Soše, zaglavinja i svom silinom naleti na

zid sklepan od grubih hrastovih dasaka. U prvi

mah pomisli kako se nalazi negdje na livadi u

pustoj i hladnoj noći, jer je svud oko sebe vidio

samo bezbrojna jata zvijezda, dok se vrući

znoj, od jela, pića, veselja i toplote, po čelu i

leđima, odjednom preobrati u hladnu jezu.

Dugo mu je trebalo da se snađe, pribere, pa čak

i otrijezni. A kad poseže rukom preko čela da

obriše znoj, te napipa ogromnu čvorugu i malu

posjekotinu, iz koje je jedva primijetno izbijala

krv, i pošto najzad ugleda družinu kako se

šeretski smije njegovoj nezgodi, on se,

razbješnjen kao pas kome su oteli kost, sjuri

prema Sejfuli, psujući mu majku kopilansku; te

ga svom žestinom raspali cipelom u stražnjicu

da jadni momak zaglavinja i koliki je dug

poletje ravno u krilo Mehmedalije Čvorka.

– Hoja, Sejfula! Ne sij bostan!

– Klizav teren, ha, momčino!

– Ustani pa opet, delijo! – čuli su se

glasovi iz svih grla.

Vrludajući od

pijanstva, boli i

osvetničke mržnje, Velija

je ipak nekako natrefio

sporedni izlaz i nestao u

mrkloj noći. Pratio ga je

urnebesan smijeh

njegovih drugova, koji su

pretpostavljali po šta je

Velija otišao. I da prava

zabava tek predstoji.

Samo, što je taj smijeh

prije sličio smijehu pećinskih ljudi ili glasanju

zvijeri negoli na ljudski smijeh.

Društvo je uguralo Sejfulu u sredinu,

tjeralo ga da pije rakiju naiskap i zagovaralo

raznim pitanjima kako im se ne bi izmigoljio i

umakao. Čim bi pokušao da bježi, potpetljali bi

mu nogu, gurali ga jedni na druge i tako

ponovo vraćali u sredinu. Jadnik je slutio

kakvo mu se zlo sprema, kolutao unezvijereno

očima i sa strahom u srcu očekivao otkuda će

se pojaviti Velija. A on se zaista i pojavio.

Zastao je koji časak na vratima, mrkliji od

mrkle noći iz koje je dolazio. U lijevoj ruci bio

mu je jular, a u desnoj kandžija. Na čelu,

između dva oka, kao kod Indijki, isticala se


42


crvena tačka; zapravo je to bila kapljica

zgrušane krvi. Ugledavši ga takvog,

mehandžija Hamza odbrza u prostoriju za

pripremanje kahva te zakračuna za sobom

vrata. Kako ništa ne bi čuo a ni vidio.

Priviknuvši oči na svjetlost, raširenih

ruku i raskrečenih nogu Velija se polahko

uputi prema Sejfuli. Glave malo iskošene

udesno, zuba iskeženih, sličio je na gladnu

zvijer puštanu iz kafeza dok se ustremljuje na

svoju žrtvu.

Ugledavši svog mučitelja, Sejfula

instinktivno osjeti opasnost, diže obje ruke da

se zaštiti i poče panično da uzmiče natraške,

očajnički ispuštajući

neartikulisane glasove:

be, be, beee!..., a što bi se

moglo protumačiti kao:

ne, ne, neee!...

I kao što niko ne

vidje da se gladni vuk

sažalio na tužno blejanje

bespomoćnog janjeta,

tako ni u očima Velijinog,

mržnjom i bijesom,

izobličenog lica nije bilo

ni iskre milosti dok se

primicao bespomoćnoj, uzdrhtaloj žrtvi.

Bezizgledno bježeći natraške, žrtva natrapa na

bešćutnu rulju od koje ga nekolicina ščepa za

ruke i silno zavitla pravo u naručje čovjeku

zvijeri. A on, vješt kroćenju pastuha, munjevito

nabaci Sejfuli jular na glavu, potom mu jedan

kraj ugura u usta, spretno napravi nekoliko

čvorova i čvrsto pritegnu tako da se uže

nesretniku, slično oštrici noža, duboko ureza u

kožu. Oko šake lijeve ruke više puta omota

slobodan kraj julara, a desnom rukom

izmahnu: i šesteropleta kandžija poče zviždati,

spuštajući se po Sejfulinom nesretnom tijelu.

Mučenik je samo stenjao i ječao, a gomila oko

njega igrala je, navijala, urlala kao u transu te

tako samo podsticala Velijinu mržnju i bijes.

Psujući žrtvi kopilansku majku, mučitelj je

zamahivao sve jače, sve bješnje. A kad se

šesterostruka zmija stade ovijati oko

nesretnikove glave i lica i kad olovne kuglice

na njenim krajevima počeše orati krvave

brazde po njegovim dugo nebrijanim, upalim

obrazima i čelu, rulja zanijemje. Iz Sejfulinih

usta zajedno s bijelom pjenom pocurila je krv

i kao crveno-bijele niti padala posvud po

prljavom drvenom podu. Njegove oči,

izbuljene i velike, kolutale su unezvijereno i

tužno po drvenim licima, kao da bi da iskoče iz

svojih duplji. Čuo se još samo neujednačen

ritam njegovih bosih

nogu, što su teturavo

igrale svoju mučeničku

igru. Uskoro ga i one

izdadoše, kleknuše, i

jadnik se prući nauznak

po hrastovom podu. Kao

da je nekom višom silom

pokošen. Ležao je tako

raširenih ruku i nogu,

krkljajući zbog naviranja

krvave pjene, koja je

prijetila da ga uguši.

Družina se šutke uputi prema izlazu.

Jednog po jednog gutala je tamna zavjesa noći.

Velija se sagnu, hladnokrvno razveza jular,

vrhom cipele snažno ćušnu Sejfulu u rebra i

pomisli: “Ovo ti je za Zuhru!” Zatim se okrenu

i odbrza za družinom u noć. Lice mu je bila

prekrila tanka patina osvetničkog

samozadovoljstva.

MANJE POZNATE RIJEČI:

AGA – turski plemić; bogat i moćan čovjek. ASIJA

– silan, ohol, naprasit čovjek. ASLI – sigurno, vjerovatno,

zaista.

BOGAZA – uzak prolaz; razgrađena ograda ili

živica. BEG – turski plemić; ugledan, bogat čovjek.

BUDŽAK – ćošak, kut, ćoše. BEKRIJANJE – pijančenje,

opijanje.

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43


DEGENEK – fizička kazna, udaranje.

FUKARA – siromah, sirotinja.

JARAK – kanal za odvođenje vode. JULAR –

povodac, oglavak za konja od pletenog užeta ili kože.

KURBAN-BAJRAM – jedan od dva najveća

muslimanska praznika. KABADAHIJA – zamjenik dahije;

nasilnik, siledžija. KULAK – vlasnik zemlje koja prelazi

zakonom dozvoljen maksimum.

MADŽARIJA – starinski novac. ME(J)HANA –

ugostiteljski object; kafana. ME(J)HANDŽIJA – vlasnik

me(j)hane.

NEARTIKULISANE – neodređene, neuobličene.

OSTRUGA – loza ili list kupine.

PASTUH – neuškopljen konj za prijeplod. PATINA

– zelenkasta hrđa na nekim metalima.

RAMAZANSKI BAJRAM

– jedan od dva najveća

muslimansk praznika.

SADIST – onaj koji uživa

da muči druge.

ŠVABE – narod iz

Švapske.

TRANS – ekstaza; zanos,

ushićenje.

UĆEIFITI – početi se

osjećati ugodno, zadovoljno.

ZAKRAČUNATI –

zatvoriti kračunom.

Mirosław Grudzień

Poland

Translated by Mirosław Grudzień & Anna

Maria Stępień

Marina

At that time, Marek was a guardian of

foreign student exchange groups on behalf of

the university and the Association of Polish

Students. He spoke with them alternately in

Polish and Russian, and learned Ukrainian on

the go.

Marina was from Kiev. A pure-blooded

Ukrainian woman after her great-greatgrandfathers,

since generations. She had, as

she claimed, Cossack ancestors from

Zaporozhye. However, she was Russian, she

thought in Russian, and she pronounced her

name in Russian – Marina, not Maryna. She

spoke Ukrainian sparingly and only when

absolutely necessary to her friends. Like all of

them, she tried to talk to Marek, not very much

in Polish, adding Russian phrases from time to

time.

She bore the name of the “Polish tsarina”,

famous in Ruthenian legends, the wife of False

Dmitry (Lzhe-Dmitry) who, after murdering

him, was forced to leave Moscow, and joined a

certain Cossack chieftain.

But THIS Marina

was in no way associated

with the adventurous

“Polish tsarina”. She was

reserved, modest, full of

hidden, slightly oldfashioned

charm.

Beautiful, slender and

delicate, black-haired. In

the whole group, she was

the only one from Kiev.

She seemed to be isolated

in the group of Lviv

residents, she only hung out with a little

Jewish girl with deer-like eyes - Roza

Feltzman.

When the time of departure was

approaching, he and the students from Lviv

were chatting over a Crimean wine with the

perky name of “Chorny Polkovnik” (Black

Colonel). He began giving them nicknames.

The fawn, Slavic, wide-in-hip Oksana he called

“Kamysh” – that is reed, rushes. Something

swayed by the wind, that was how he thought

about it.

“That I can't stand on my own feet, look

for support like ivy? Am I so shaky?” she asked,

suddenly sad.


44


Marina was named by Marek in Russian:

“Farforovaya Chashka”, a cup from porcelain.

The Lviv girls brought with them such eastern

drinking cups with a delicate and exotic blue

pattern; such eastern green tea cups were

fashionable in the Soviet Union at that time,

they were made in Central Asian Uzbekistan,

in the city of Samarkand, whose even the name

itself carried an aftertaste of a legend.

Before they returned to Lviv, they gave

him a wooden, folk Hutzul spoon as a souvenir,

and signed it. “With this spoon always drink

kvass and remember us.” To this they added a

recording of an old folk song that Marek liked

to listen to:

Black eyes like blackthorn

Black eyes like blackthorn

When will we get married?

II

He thought he

would never see Marina

again. And yet he met her

again, at the end of his

studies, three years later,

in Warsaw... at the National Library. He

browsed there through the books for his

master's thesis, through manuscripts from the

17th century. He lived in a dormitory of the

University of Technology.

She began her studies at the University

of Warsaw and lived in a university dormitory.

She spoke Polish well, but out of old habits,

they switched to Russian at certain points.

They made an appointment at the exit of

Świętokrzyska street to Marszałkowska

street. He was standing next to the appointed

newsstand and, out of boredom, he read the

shop signboards one by one.

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“Welcome,” he heard behind his back,

“how are you doing, young man?” she asked a

bit wryly and narrowed her eyes with a

delicate smile.

“Why do you have such a dark look?

Worried about something?”

“A little. I didn't find some important

papers that I needed.”

“Then lighten up. Let's think of

something more interesting than your books

and papers on this evening.”

Marek invited her to the Ateneum

Theater, to the performance of Giraudoux's

“Electra”, with wonderful

performances by famous

Polish actors and

actresses.

She, in turn, invited

him to the dormitory the

next day and introduced

him to her colleagues,

Ukrainians from Dnieper

Ukraine

and

Transdnieper.

They sat them at the

table, offering backfat and Ukrainian vodka.

The topics of the conversation varied, about

Lviv at one moment and about Kiev at another

one. They spoke mainly Russian, but some of

them spoke also quite good Polish. They did

not hide their reluctance towards their

compatriots from the vicinity of Lviv… from

Halychyna, as they called this area. To Marek’s

surprise, he realized that the Ukrainian nation

is not even half as uniform as the Polish.

“Drink, Marko, brother,” said Mykola.

“And eat it, backfat is good. We have never

vodka without backfat. You are an honest guy.

We will never betray you. Live long and

prosper!”


45


... “Give a Cossack your hand,” Marek

interrupted him, citing a famous poem by

Shevchenko, a Ukrainian national poet.

“... and give a pure heart”... and again,

with the name of Christ, we will rebuilt our

paradise.” finished Dmytro, who had been

seriously silent so far.

Together with them he sang a cheerful

song, “You Have Deceived Me”. Marina joined

in eagerly.

“I told you that on Tuesday I would kiss

you forty times...”she accompanied with her

clear and resonant voice, smiling.

He wondered what

throats they had there –

three boys and one girl,

quite randomly chosen ...

and a beautiful choir

came out. He asked them

about it.

“We have been

Orthodox for centuries in

central and eastern

Ukraine. Instruments are

not used in the church,

only the human voice. And we sing a lot... then

we are said to follow the angelic choirs in

heaven. That is why the faithful participate

more in the church service than in your

country...Yes, and even simple people have

been trained in singing ... for a thousand years,

from Olga and Vladimir the Great.”

They repaid him with the song Green

Ukraine in Polish. In order to honour the hosts

in a particular way, he initiated a song to the

words of Shevchenko:

“The wide Dnieper roars and groans ...”

They got up and sang while standing as if

it were an anthem.

The next day, when he walked Marina to

the hostel, they were already waiting for

them... they liked him, it seemed. They took

advantage of refreshments, drank something

and snacked, promising to return the favour.

But it lasted much shorter this time, they

excused themselves politely, said goodbye...

already on the stairs Marek and Marina looked

at each other with a relieved and knowing

smile.

With wheat vodka still buzzing in their

heads, they went for a walk around the

campus. They both staggered on their feet, at

one point he hugged her

waist lightly ... without

any special thought, as if

instinctively. She released

herself stiffly.

“I'm not used to it,”

she uttered the sentence

in Polish, like a lesson

learned ... but softly and

gently enough so that he

did not feel offended. She

seemed to be convinced

that such confidential

gestures towards girl friends are nothing out

of the ordinary in the case of Polish young

men.

Obediently, he withdrew his hyperactive

hand. She asked him about Wlodek, who,

during their previous stay, was the guardian of

student groups, who had travelled with them

to Krakow and Warsaw three years earlier

during a trip included in the cultural and

tourist program.

At that time, Wlodek and Marina were

constantly together. They appeared a good

pair when you looked at them. He resembled a

character from a famous Polish painting: a


46


lancer and a girl. Unfortunately, when you got

to know Wlodek better, he was far from Polish

lancers.

Marek tried not to answer, but she

insisted. Finally, impatient, perhaps under the

influence of the alcohol he had drunk, he said:

“Oh, Marina. You still talk about this

Wlodek. And I ... I'm on a walk with a beautiful

girl. I came such a long way to you ...”

“Do not lie, you shutnick (joker),” she

interrupted him. “You came to the library, to

rummage in manuscripts from the

seventeenth century...”

“That's too, for sure.

But I'd rather spend my

time with you than with

the manuscripts. Do you

believe me?” he asked and

looked into her eyes.

“Well, quite...” she

smiled.

After a while,

however, she became sad,

sighed and began with

melancholy:

“Oh, Marek. You are a good boy. But what

is Wlodek doing now?”

He took a deep breath and said:

“He's already graduated. He works for

the secret police of our Polish People’s

Republic. The Biezopasnost (Security Service),

do you understand?” it was easier for him, in a

way, to talk about it in her language, not his. It

was all absolutely true, but anyway, somehow

he felt shabby having said that.

“I think you like the boys from the

Security Service?” he asked coldly, genuinely

irritated.

“No, why! The devils stand behinds

this...and human harm, pain. But I feel sorry

for Wlodek”.

He fell silent, helpless.

He walked her to the room. She looked

into his eyes and said softly:

“Do not be angry.

... “No, no. I am not,” he replied gently.

She opened the door and said in Russian:

“Zakhodi (come in)”.

He entered the

corridor, convinced that

they would say goodbye

in a moment. She did

approach, he took her

into his arms in a friendly

manner just to kiss her

cheeks... planning to leave

soon.

She clung to him

with her whole body.

“Obnimi.

me,” she whispered. “Embrace me.”

Embrace

He did what she asked for. She kept

repeating softly, as if a refrain, all night:

“Embrace me ... embrace me with all

your strength... close me in your embraces ...”

Polish version published in the bimonthly

magazine LUBLIN 2014)

“Of course,” she said softly. After a

moment she added glumly:

“Biezopasnost ... but this is a dangerous

job. Very dangerous.”

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47


essay 47-51

Raúl Bolaños Romero

Mexico

PINOCHO: An initiatory novel.

Few are those who know that Pinocchio,

the wooden doll out of the mind and creativity

of the Italian writer Carlo Lorenzo Fillipo

Giovanni Lorenzini; better known by his

pseudonym Carlo Collodi, it is not a children's

story. In fact, by its length it is a novel, but its

alleged childhood plot is no more than the

vehicle through which Collodi tried to deliver

a deep spiritual,

initiatory, esoteric and

inner and personal

development message.

Indeed, the first

thing that would have

been pointed out is that

the author, Carlo Collodi,

was a member of the

Masonic Order, an

institution that guards

and studies the ancient

hermetic traditions

attributed to Hermes Trimegistus, Gnosis,

Qabbalah, Yoga, Pythagorean mathematics,

etc. Collodi wrote "The Adventures of

Pinocchio" that was published in 1882, under

a convulsive atmosphere in the Italian

reunification that was also directed by another

Freemason José Garibaldi.

A superficial analysis of the work reveals

an apology for education and a denunciation of

vice and laziness. Ideals typical of Western

culture, but which are inescapable mandates

for esoteric orders.

Walt Disney, who immortalized this

story in animated films, was also a Freemason.

With some variations on Collodi's original

plot, he tried to maintain the esoteric and

initiatory teachings of the tale.

It should be noted that in those years or

times gone by, Freemasonry was really

constituted for the integral development of

human consciousness, everyone taught them

the initiatory path, they did not seek personal

power but to be free internally and externally

and so expressed it in this wonderful tale.

Today all this is lost and they only seek the

power and domination of the masses with

extraordinary knowledge that great teachers

left us as an inheritance.

SYMBOLOGY OF THE TALE OF PINOCHO.

The tale of Pinocchio is the story of the

Human Soul on its

journey of spiritual

evolution. Pinocchio is

created under the

influence of two

characters, one male and

the other female, which

symbolize the two

aspects of God. It is carved

by the carpenter

Geppetto and the Fairy

Blue which gives it life.

At the same time,

the Fairy chooses a

cricket named Pepe and entrusts him with a

mission: to stay with Pinocchio and be his

conscience; This means that God places with

each soul the consciousness of the truth, which

always accompanies it within itself.

Geppetto's greatest wish is for Pinocchio

to become a real boy. And he knows that his

wish can only come true if Pinocchio learns

and grows, so he sends him to school; This

represents our development, which is a

lifelong learning process.

Pinocchio walks out the front door led by

his father, and he does so loaded with purpose,

with the deep longing to become something

superior: a real child.


48


But when he goes out into the world

problems arise. Making use of his newfound

freedom, Pinocchio makes some wrong

decisions, and succumbs to the temptation of

pride as it is said that he allows himself to be

carried away by his ego or by the 7 deadly sins.

Despite Jiminy Cricket's protests. He

follows John the Honored and joins a circus

troupe. The fundamental characteristic of the

soul is free will, which is power at all times to

choose.

In the theatrical representation of him

Pinocchio receives great applause, and he is

very happy, but after the performance he is

locked in a cage. Letting

ourselves be carried away

by pride, by the "I" (ego),

can give us pleasure, but

in the long run it always

produces pain, because it

enslaves the soul.

The Blue Fairy

comes to him, asking the

cause of her confinement,

and Pinocchio tries to

justify himself before her

by telling lies; But with

every lie he tells her nose

grows. Then Pinocchio discovers that evil

cannot be hidden, and honestly acknowledges

his mistakes, repenting of them. The same

happen with us; As long as we justify ourselves

and do not acknowledge our mistakes before

God and before ourselves, we cannot learn.

The Fairy then frees him and receives

another chance. Jiminy Cricket is determined

to help Pinocchio stay on track, but it doesn't

take long for new temptations to present

themselves.

Juan el Honrado reappears, inviting you

to the Island of Pleasure, a place where

children can have fun all day and satisfy all

their desires. Pinocchio cannot resist the

attraction of traveling to the Island and joins

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the group. Our great temptation is not to have

to exert ourselves, to receive everything for

nothing.

And it happens that when Pinocchio and

the other children have been on the Island for

too long, they begin to turn into donkeys and

forget even to speak, the donkey represents

the mind and this was shown by the greatest

initiate of all time when he entered Jerusalem

mounted in the donkey, it is the human

intellect, the mind that dominates or rides you.

The same happens with the human soul, when

it is brutalized by indifference and the

permanent satisfaction of desire; he forgets

who he is and what his mission is.

Over and over again

Pinocchio reaps what he

sows. His bad actions lead

him to an unhappy life,

where the doll pays for

the karma generated with

suffering. But Pinocchio

realizes in time. When he

discovers that donkey

ears and tails are growing

out, he goes to Jiminy

Cricket to ask for help.

This saves him, because

Jiminy Cricket knows how he can escape from

the Island. As soon as they are free they start

looking for Geppetto. But they return to his

house and discover that he has disappeared;

he has gone looking for Pinocchio.

This image is of fundamental

importance, since it makes us understand that

not only are we looking for God, but that God

is looking for us. Pinocchio receives

indications about the whereabouts of his

father. He can find it at the bottom of the sea,

in the belly of a great whale that swallowed

Geppetto's boat. The marine animal is an

ancient symbol of the reconciliation of spirit

and matter. The sea is a symbol of the

unconscious. Thus, the story tells us that we


49


will find our spiritual inspiration, our true

nature, in our own unconscious self, deep

within ourselves.

Remember the biblical passage of Jonas

who lives in the belly of the whale here is more

wisdom of the soul.

When Pinocchio and Jiminy Cricket look

for Geppetto in the sea, he is swallowed by the

same whale. The interior of the whale

represents the Masonic chamber of

reflections, the descent to the center of the

Earth. In her womb there takes place a joyous

reunion of Pinocchio with his father, but they

soon realize that they must escape to continue

together in daylight and

on dry land. In other

words, our spiritual

journey does not end

when we begin to

reconnect with our

spiritual depths in our

dreams, in our prayers, or

in our meditations.

The next step is to

bring this higher state of

consciousness into daily

life, and that is often the

hardest part. By

candlelight, Pinocchio meditates on his fate

and decides to change, leaving his past of

unconsciousness behind.

In the story, Pinocchio has a plan. He

comes up with a way to escape, which requires

a lot of strength and courage, and he succeeds.

But when they are in the middle of the sea,

Geppetto seems to be drowning and Pinocchio

sacrifices himself to save him. And this is

precisely the key, what will make him worthy

of being a real child; selfless love.

When the other's need is more

important than mine, when “I” cease to be me

and the center of my life, the door opens that

gives way to the miracle.

When Geppetto returns to himself on the

beach, he finds next to him the lifeless body of

his son Pinocchio who does not survive the

fury of the ocean and finally drowns. This

death of the doll is the "mystical death" of the

profane being initiated, the total death of the

ego or of the 7 deadly sins.

Very upset, he takes him home and puts

him on the bed. But the boy's action of love,

giving his life for his father, has made him

worthy of being a real boy. He is resurrected

and his destiny is thus fulfilled; be a real child.

This tale is the symbol of our own

journey of spiritual unfoldment. The meaning

of life is that we go through the process of

realizing our true nature

in God. Conscious and cocreators.

The whole key to

this is love, the selfless

offering, which in turn

means the renunciation of

the personal and selfish

“I”. The purpose of life

shared by all men is to

manifest the infinite in

the finite, bring the divine

to the human, and give

individual expression to

our spiritual qualities.

There are more stories that call them

Fairies but they are the living symbol of inner

wisdom and unfortunately this humanity has

already lost the wisdom of the soul, it only

addresses its mind and intellect, preventing its

consciousness from acting in its daily life.

It should be clarified that the ego has

disguised itself as the attributes of

consciousness and now believes that it is the

cricket that speaks to it inside when it is the

ego that does.

Many stories tell the story of the state of

human unconsciousness and that within it

there are the 7 deadly sins (the ego) this same

is described in all the religions of the world


50


and ancient cultures.

The sleeping beauty, clear allusion to the

consciousness that sleeps within the human

being and the 7 dwarfs of him. A beautiful

princess who has to be rescued from a

dungeon and the knight who has to face the

dragon that has her captive, a clear allusion to

the conscience locked in the human

subconscious and the dragon (the ego has her

prisoner.

Doña blanca (conscience) encased in

pillars of gold and silver, terrible materialism.

All are clear hidden messages, which in

other times could not be transmitted to

humanity directly,

because the inquisition

burned them alive or on

the rack.

There are no

inquisitors anymore, but

that fear has been etched

in them and the mental

atoms have been passed

from generation to

generation that they are

diabolical things or black

magic, because the

inquisitive mind still

continues in thousands of people.

It is necessary to educate our brothers

with a didactics and a dialectic, so that they

know their interior and thus recover the

paradise lost, or their consciousness (awaken

from deep sleep) awakening all their powers

that it contains, since it contains the wisdom of

creation .

In POPOL VUH, the sacred book of the

Mayans, he narrates that the gods created men

of wood, a clear allusion to us, but that they

have not yet become complete human beings

or that consciousness is not crystallized within

the human being. Everywhere they shout the

wisdom of the Soul.

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Zoran Radosavljević

Bosna i Hercegovina

San

Hvala ti sto si tu i dajes svetlosti trag...

hvala ti sto osecam tvoj miris blag... hvala ti sto

u vremenu trazenja... nadjosmo istinu o

nama... bajka samo nama znana..gde se val

sudara o val... gde morske zvezde zele na

bal..gde ljubav srcem svira... ljubav je miris

budjenja na livadi rosnih dodira... Negde

izmedju postoji proslost trenutkom

zapletena... Cutanjem ne

postizemo nista ”niti

menjamo

niti

pokrecemo... cutanjem

jedno drugom u zagrljaj

ne slecemo... Mora se

pricati da volis “i ako si

sama u svojoj sobi”

razgovor u tisini sobe gde

se pomalo bojis...

razgovor da se ne

predajes... da celu sebe

ljubavi toj dajes” da pricas

dok ne svane zora..ti si moja ljubavnica mora...

jer svaki tvoj nezni dodir” pokrece okeane...

leteti recima tvojih dodira... znam da umes...

znam da razumes... Ti me vidis svojim ocima

koje i tamu boje... volim sve najdraze moje ti si

moj otkucaj srca... Svaki dan neki osecaju

izgore u ocima... svaka samoca najgora je

nocima..preko dana donosim ti pune ruke

neznosti... potrosimo svaki sekund jer vreme

moze prekinuti igru bez da nas upozori...

Svaku moc te sanjam i tu si mi sjajna... cuvam

te u snu kao da si tajna... ono sto se najduze

ceka..najace se grli... kad mi nedostajes ja svoje

snove jako zagrlim i isplacem sve sto ti zelim

reci a ne mogu... Sakrijem zelje iza zalazeceg

sunca. Sa novim jutrom budit ce se zelje


51


zajedno sa mnom... .ti to umes..ti me najbolje

razumes...

... nekako uvek fali...

jos jedan...

jos jedan zagrljaj...

jos jedan poljubac... .

jos jedan trenutak...

jos jedan sat...

jos jedan san..

Sameer Goel

Nigeria

The

Sophisticating

Decision

Clamouring around

the street of your mind

turns you into a hothead

fool.

The desert won't

receive rain because it

Giveth not rain to the sky,

so is every man who

never respects others instruction will cease to

be heroes of all. None will throw honour of

gold around his name as an outstanding leader

of all.

Few will recognize the truth but self

Greed residing beneath will hide some into a

cage of unending satisfaction of penury.

They pour lies into the basket of our

emotion with enticing sweet words but they

only want us to see what they want us to see

by depriving people from seeing the future

opportunities which are before us which give

no help to the system.

They have smooth evil tricky words

capable of turning drops of water to the ocean:

all lies will be exposed and everyone engulfed

shall be set free to see the glorious light.

Why must we engage in evil conspiracy

sending awful messages into the data-mind of

fresh young generation builders?

Cultivate goodness, let it spread around

the desert so others can rise and proclaim

good things about you.

Why such a stone heart even impulsive

person can understand this message.

Listen, you that

sophisticated people with

lies: remember the tree

never changes direction

after falling only in the air

it has the opportunity to

swing like a pendulum

bulb.

Few times from now

those who care about you

will begin to careless

about you, because you have not taken

diligence on others' opinions.

In all, excellence is the position of the

mindset, a great leader sets the word ablaze

demanding people coming up to fight and

catch up. Great name is not built one day but is

recorded how many people can stand

shoulder to shoulder and say thank you for

supporting, innovating, inspiring, encouraging

them to reach their ultimate happiness.


52


confabulation 52-58

Meethesh Nirmohi

India

Bio

Meethesh Nirmohi (30/09/1951) is a

Eminent poet, short story writer, Critic,editor and

translator.

He is M.A.in Rajasthani from J.N.V.U.Jodhpur

- 1st div.1st position 78%marks with two Gold

Medal.He is also M.A.in philosophy from Univ.of

Jodhpur - 1st Div.2nd position with 68.44% marks

fom Jodhpur university, Jodhpur, Rajasthan -

INDIA.

He has been writing

in both Rajasthani and Hindi

form more than four

decades. He has participated

in National and Inter

National Taskand – 24 to 30

Jun, 2012 and Mascow -01

to 08 Jun 2018 (Russia)

poetic and short story

seminars and symposiums.

With International JLF

(Jaipur Literature Festival.)

and PLF, Jaipur.

He has two poetry

collection in Rajasthani and Two in in Hindi and

one short story collection in Rajasthani on his

credits,former Editor of the Rajasthani quarterly

literaryjournal, AAGOONCH. His short story

collection of Rajasthani 'AMAWAS AKAM AR

CHAND '(2002) was awarded the prestigious

Murlidhar Vyas 'Rajasthani'Katha Sahitya Purskar,

2005 by Rajasthani Bhasha, Sahitya evan Sanskriti

Akadami.His Rajasthani short story BANDHAN got

Multi lingual (16 Indian languages with English)

Short story competetions prize'1987 from VIPULA

Telugu monthly. A publication of EENADU group,

Hyderabad-India.

His collection of Hindi poems 'CHIDIYA

BHAR SHABD'(2006) had been awarded the

prestigious Sudheendra Purskar,2008 by

Rajasthan Sahitya Akadami and Kanta Varama

National Poetry Award From Shiv Veena Sansthan,

Kota.His first Hindi poems collection 'CHEHRON

KEE TAKHTIYON PAR' was published in 1986 and

Awarded the prestigious Mahakavi Nirala Purskar,

1988 by Gyan Bharti.His Poem "O mrityu!" was

awarded the prestigious Rajasthan Patrika

Srijanatmak purskar '2009 (National leval) from

Dainik Rajasthan Patrika, Jaipur. He awarded Salek

Chand Jain International Poetry and Short Story

Award by Sirjan Gatha. Com in (01 to 08 JUN 2018:

Pahandarawan Antarrashatreeya Hindi

Sammelan, MASCO-RUSSIA).

His poems and short stories have been

included in Anthology of Modern Indian poetry

(1950-2010) in Rajasthani,published from Sahitya

Akademi, New Delhi. And SHAKH BHARE SHABAD

(Post Independence

Rajasthani Poetry) and

TEEN BEESI PAR (Post

Independence Rajasthani

short story.These books are

published from National

Book Trust of India,New

Delhi. He is co-author of 42

prestigious collections of

poetry and short stories.

A large number of his

poems and short stories

have been translated in

English and other several

Indian languages.

And such Poems and Short Stories were

included in Curriculam of Board of Sec. Education

Rajasthan, Ajmer (11th and 12 th classes -

Rajasthani and Hindi) .And A Rajasthani Poetry

book "AAPAI RAI OLAI - DOLAI " were also

included in Curriculam of Mohan lal Sukhadiya

University,Udaipur and Ajamer University. He is

regular takar -as poet and short story writer of

A.I.R.and Doordarashan since 36 years.

He is retired as a Administrative officer,from

Govt. of Rajasthan, Deptt. of Sec. education.

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53


Lenuș Lungu

Romania

Author's portrait Santosh

Kumar Bhutan

The chance and joy to meet a worldrenowned

man, chosen as Santosh Kumar

Bhutan with exemplary achievements in

professional, social terms, an inspired poet, a

great humanist who resembles a rainbow

emerged after the storms of time that still

gives us hope in people… His professional,

literary, humanistic

career is successful. A

sensitive soul, in search of

beauty and people of

character, always in love

with the written word,

which

ennobles

characters, the only solid

truth of the world. A

warm soul, which

receives you with grace

and balance in its

universe, without

pretending to return its gesture. And you

cannot enter defiled, because it exudes purity,

honesty, sincerity… A gentle soul, who lives

intensely every second, every event, burning

with his whole being and urging those around

him to do the same… A special soul, full of

longings and turmoil that he so sublimely put

into the word for us, for those who will come,

for those who know and feel the vibration of

the soul in the written word… In the great soul

as life of Santosh it beats like the waves in the

rock, and most of them understand only the

falling sand. It is a joy for the eyes of my soul

to admire the sculpture of the letters and

humanity of the wave on the rock and a divine

the precious sand of his works… Remarkable

personality, generous in feelings and actions,

harsh with himself and tolerant of others, an

oasis of goodness, sincere love, true

friendship. He viewed the difficulties as

temporary obstacles, and always kept hope for

a better tomorrow. His modesty and dignity

are very remarkable. Subtle intellectual,

highly educated, with great vocation and

cultural generosity, with a love of books, of the

printed word. A traveler through life a unique

man, with a sensitive soul. In his works he

communicates the states of mind felt and

lived. In his poems there is a turmoil of the

soul in a harsh reality. It

expresses the truth, the

state of the human spirit,

reflects the feelings,

sheds light for the love of

beauty. Everything he

does he does with

diligence, dedication,

serenity and joy. It

highlights the sincerity,

seriousness and

consistency with which

human duties are

performed.

Biography About the Author

Santosh Kumar Biswa is a Bhutanese

Author and Poet and is currently working as a

Teacher at Damphu Central School, Bhutan. He

is an accomplished source of several

educational books and poetry anthology and

an Inspirational World Peace Agent, in which

he promotes peace in his place and around the

world through literature.

He trades with multiple stems that are

related to current issues based on his

observations and experiences that needs

consolation for the soles of the soul to tread urgent attention and through his writing, he


54


partakes in his global concerns and tries to

point out issues about life and gives examples

for more encompassing understanding to

uplift peace in the world. He commits his life

promoting peace and humility among

humanity for better life in the society. He had

also studied Global Citizenship education from

UNICEF.

He is an award winning writer who

achieved various laurels from the circle of

writing from across the world like; World Icon

of Literature Award, New World History

Maker of English Poetry Award, Gold Level

Award on Poetic Prowess and profundity,

Poetic Prowess Award,

Poetic Parley Gold Quill

Award twice, World

Poetic Star Award, Global

Literary Society Bronze

Star Award, Writer of the

Week Award, Eternal

Flame's Commendations,

Writer Guild of America

Honor, Platinum Category

Certificate of Honor from

Motivational Strips, Edgar

Allan Poet American Poet

award and many more.

SANTOSH KUMAR BISWA, Bhutan

• Founder of World Literary Forum for

Peace and Human Rights - WLFPH, BHUTAN.

• Peace Cadet Coordinator, Directorate

of Dynamic Peace Rescue Mission

International, Nigeria

• Director of Editing Department at

Inked with Magic, Literary Forum, Africa.

• President of Bhutan at The World

People’s Forum. TWPF @ BTYA, Bangladesh.

• The Member of the International

Frontiers for Peace and Humanitarian

Organization (IFPHO) representing Bhutan.

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

• Outstanding Achievement Award for

humanity

• Chairman of Bhutan, World

International Economic Group.

DOCTORATE HONORIS CAUSA

• Doctor Honoris Causa, Honorary

Doctor on Literature, The Institute of the

European Roma Studies and Research into

Crime Against Humanity and International

Law, Belgrade, The Republic of Serbia.

• Doctor Honoris Causa, Doctor of Peace

and Humanity, Dynamic Peace Rescue Mission


• Doctor Honoris

Causa, Honorary

Doctorate on Peace,

Security,

Peace

combating terrorism and

poverty, Sustainable

development and

Humanity, Chaudhary Art

Trust, India

• Doctor Honoris

Causa, Honorary

Doctorate

on

Humanitarian service,

Peaceful coexistence and the Concept of peace

among all, Council of Physical and Spiritual

Cure and The Royal Sovereign Empire of

Indira Royal Family, Africa.

• Doctor Honoris Causa, Doctor of

Excellence, Dynamic Peace Rescue Mission

International, Nigeria & International

Operation for Peace and Security to Activate

Humanitarian Law for Peace, India.

• Honorary Grand Master, Great

Honorary Master, Worldwide Writers

Association Artist of thw ORBE (ADADO),

Peru.

Other QUALIFICATIONS

• Post-Graduation in English Literature,


55


Royal University of Bhutan

• Bachelor of Education, National

Institute of Education, Bhutan

• GCED101- AN INTRODUCTION TO

GCED (Global Citizenship Education), UNESCO

• CURRICULUM DEVELOPMENT FOR

GCED EDUCATORS, UNESCO

• Gross National Happiness (GNH)

Training Workshop, Thimphu, Bhutan

CERTIFIED PEACE

• World Peace Ambassador, Humanity

Protection Unit, Nigeria

• World Peace Ambassador, The

soulmate Indonesia Peace

and

Humanity

Organization, Indonesia.

• Ambassador of

Literary and Humanity,

Council of Physical and

Spiritual Cure Kano State,

Nigeria

• Peace Ambassador

(Cadet) Representing

Bhutan, Dynamic Peace

Rescue

Mission


• Ambassador of Art and Literature, The

International Egyptian Academy for

Development, Art and Peace Publishinh,

Nigeria.

• Certificate of Honor for Ambassador of

Peace amd Humanity, World Peace amd

Humanity Mission, Bangladesh.

AWARD

• Peace Medal, National Change Mission

Commission for Culture and Sports, Morocco.

• Global Icon of World Peace and Human

Amity, Galaxy International Jury Award, India.

• Golden Icon of World Peace and Human

Amity, Galaxy Jury Award, Galaxy

International Foundation, India.

• Mahatma Gandhi Global Excellence

Award 2020, Mahatma Gandhi Global Peace

Forum, India.

• Outstanding Achievement Award for

Humanity, People Awareness Council, India

• Special Achievement Award for

Leadership, Commitment and dedication in

the pursuit of Peace, harmony, Unity and

Solidarity, Institute of Leadership and Peace,

Philippines.

• Certificate of Devotion for Devotion

and Care for Peace and Humanity, The

soulmate Indonesia Peace

and

Humanity

Organization, Indonesia.

Culture, India

• International

Medal for Best Character

in a year 2019,

Commission National

Change De Mission

Culturelle et Sports,

Morocco

• World Icon of

Literature, National

Academy of Art and

• Certificate of Honor as Mundail Award

for Literary Excellence 2019-2020, Urubamba,

Cusco-Peru.

• Certificate of Creativity People, IOPSH

to Activate International Humanitarian Law

for Peace, Morocco.

• Certificate of Excellence, Khidmat

Foundation, India.

The volume of poems poems with a

modern lyric, with a structure and a form,

creates a special state of mind, with a deep

meaning, awakening strong feelings in us, as

people. The poet Santosh has a rich and loving


56


soul. Reading the poet's lyrics, they managed

to introduce me to a vibration of metaphors

and epithets that try to transpose the message

of words. I travel through the poet's states and

emotions through the passage of the soul

through faith and love. He manages to capture

in a nuanced way, the unseen universe of

moods.

A praise brought to humanity, in its

incessant outpouring. The lyrical self,

presented, expressing deep feelings: love,

admiration, emotion, humanity. Butterfly

Rhythm anthologies and White Dove, two

world-renowned anthologies. They are unique

in the reflection of human

thoughts, in the creation

of ideas, feelings, deeds,

love, nature, education,

ideologies. He paints with

the brush of the soul over

the horizons, horizons

with a braid of whispers,

thoughts and peace. Each

poem urges a reverie, a

deep introspection, it is

like a dive, a fantastic

exploration.

The poet oscillates between states of

longing, dreaming, bliss and ecstasy, in front of

the wonders of the world, which are gradually

revealed to him. Soul in transformation, here

is the one troubled by the author, the passage

of time over dreams, moments, flight, love,

universe. It is present in every poem,

accompanies the lyrics with its warm chords

and fills the pantry of the author's delicate

heart. He is a man of great value who loves and

helps his fellow men.

Earthly life is his greatest good and is the

foundation of all the other goods that one can

claim on earth. The volume of poems is

outlined in precious images, in an explosion of

words of the senses, intertwined with the

sounds of harp, violin and piano, where soft

and gentle touches, while on the screen of the

inner soul unfold fantastic images, after the

heartbeat.

Peace of love, longing, wind, thoughts

elegantly perform their scores in wonderful

settings, bathed in the light of heaven by the

infinite humanity of the author. Memories are

a strong feeling, symbolized by the two stars,

day and night. I invite the reader on a

seductive journey into the world of soul

poetry where love is personified according to

the soul of each person. However, the feeling

of love has a definition

that could include all the

characteristics of the

human soul.

Love is the uplifting

feeling that takes place in

the heart of every human

being. Everything is

simple and complex, at

the same time, natural

and settled, it seems to

flow naturally, but the

sensitive eye and the fine

intuition of the poet capture the essentials as

in a stop-frame that captures a mood, a unique

moment.

I believe that a poet's true book is one,

provided it is unique, because the definition of

a poet who publishes a good book lies in two

words: talent and energy. Poetry is perceived

exactly as it is shown, with all the

transparency of a soul. He is aware of and

understands the deep, sacred relationship that

writers develop with poetry, but he does not

deny his right to hope that beauty must be

highlighted.

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57


Babangida B. Shira

collaboratively or even in single.

Nigeria

A critical analysis of Dr A.M

Bedu's Poem: Talking to who

care (s) to listen

Dr Ahmed Mohammed Bedu was one of

acclaimed poet, researcher, teacher,

motivator, Ph.D holder and lecturer etc

lectures at the University of Maiduguri. He was

an active educationalist who was engaging in

several

Academic

Performance. He studied

Western Languages and

Literature at Isparta

Suleyman

Universitesi.

Demirel

A poem entitled as

"Talking to Who care(s)

to Listen " by Dr A.M Bedu

is scrupulously portrays

the truth overture of

humans' lives. It preaches the gospel of

humanity, life- resilient and and cunning plans

for embarking on humanistic journey.

In deepest poetic pangs, Bedu's work

opens with:

"Child of the system"

"You have it all even without team"

As introductory verse, mesmerise the

readers' keenness of dragging the doom

minded meaning out of their world-- to real

bright structure of human advent -- in which

any one's life's struggling begins,

We, human beings as the time-travellers,

ought to be chameleons to the up-fronting

situation that we dwell in. Starting from the

unweaned creations to weaned ones. Time is

sometimes boring and trigger to mind's

suffering and tricking as it keeps paradigms.

Poet emphasizes:

"No doubt you’re ups

"One day you're downs"

With these, also, we

can reassured that

nobody knows tomorrow,

but God. Then God

encloses His schedules

into form of the dignity of

time. Because life is time,

time is life : misusing it

causes downfalls in a

person's life.

In a second stanza,

Dr A.M Bedu, the poet, emphasises his ideas in

an economy of language:

"As you’ve traveled far..."

Though the lines embody the pattern of

a grammatic elements, praisefully, it lavish the

lucid message a reader(s) wants to

comprehend. And also he adds:

"You’ll reach your bar..."

The poet, here, gives a shortcut

expression in which all the living creations

besides human beings will have faced it, willy

nilly. "You’ll.... bar." In this poetic stance,again,


58


we can deduce that, no matter how lives of

persons or animals prolong; there most be a

demarcation of their prolongations, one day.

Professionally, the poet transitions in his

narration. He gives subtle, warm and zenith

foreshadowing-- the same time flashbacking

the omnipresent conflict or blurs of life of the

bygones peoples-- by rehearsing the readers,

how skillful they're (bygone-people) in terms

of ignoring and arrogating the use of glorious

opportunity(es) that God spares for them.

Furthermore, the poet gives birth to an idea

which expresses that

"...who he covers his ears

for preachers' words,the

life's words will amplify

over his ears despite of its

pros and cons".

"It's pretty not to be

arrogant"

"Many before you

were ignorant"

As the poet reinforce above, best of my

perception here, he( the poet) quests the

mankind that how useful they take their time?

And also how cunning they're in terms of

deviating from the experienced problem(s)?

Then, how they will be free from it? At this

juncture, the poet closes his third stanza, with

powerful and cautious line:

"Until when they landed on keg powder"

So, by reading the above verse, will helps

the reader to navigate the mystifications of

others' lives and to give a readers glue

enlightenment of how to demystify his/her life

before the uncorrected circumstances occur.

Finally, in the fourth stanza, poet opens

his lighted-heart, pleading mouth and

soothing tongue to drop peoples' attention

about how trick-player the world is. And

simultaneously, serves as a councillor to his

readers as well by tweets the following lines:

"Work on the true path

That will lead to truth

Don't follow your heart"

In these palpable

pentameters, the

respective poet sounds

the words of advice to his

readers, and all. By

revivifying the readers'

sense of proportion that,

spending the time on

something worthwhile:

makes person to be in

luxurious being forever.

And it is the podium of a person to be in line of

dignitary that will uplifts the person's life as

the new start.

"Life is a transition"

The poet ends his dazzling and sparkling

gabby expression in mono-meter. And

extensively, he wants to beat a sound-drum

that, the life is a ladder on which each steps

must be cleared before promoted to the next.

Better to be wise enough when driving the

ages into several facets of life as the poet,

poetically advised.

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59


Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim

Nigeria

Love is sweeter than melon,

It fulls the heart to the brim,

Love your love for better,

It lights the heart like lighter,

Love can make sane to mad,

It enriches our laughter,

Is a beautiful thing for all,

Cherish it and as you fall,

It is a good thing you can't

afford,

For money can't buy a

heart,

True love don't deals with

money,

It is just for you and me,

Love is very Sweet

With my breath

I'd nurture every detail

With gentleness

I'd taste each day's lesson

With a tactful tongue

I'd sing every song

With a zesty larynx

I'd get excited

Awaiting each sunrise

With your poetry

I'd get ecstatic

Seeing the sunset

As your heart

Resides here

With mine.

Muhammad Ishaq

Abbasi

Pakistan

I will continue to ride you,

In my heart to comfort you,

Sugar Zedna

Manila

I'd like to purchase

our future

I'd pay everyday with

My collection of

Kind words

I'd cherish every moment

I Would

See spring see

The spring is here, look around,

Flowers are blooming on the ground.

Beauty is dancing everywhere,

Birds are flying here and there.

The severe coldness has gone away,

The soft breeze comes again today.

Children run out with cries of delight,

The beauty of Nature is a fair sight.

As it is a pleasant weather,

Children want to play together


60


The magazine appears in Romania

editorial office

Founding President Lenuș Lungu, Santosh Kumar Biswa

Director: Lenuș Lungu, Santosh Kumar Biswa, Ioan Muntean

Deputy Director: Paul Rotaru

Technical Editor Ioan Muntean

Covers Ioan Muntean

Editor-in-Chief: Ion Cuzuioc

Deputy Editor: Stefano Capasso

Editorial Secretary: Anna Maria Sprzęczka

Editors: Vasile Vulpaşu, Anna Maria Sprzęczka, Pietro Napoli,

Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim, Zoran Radosavljevic, Suzana Sojtari

Iwan Dartha, Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim, Destiny M O Chijioke, Nikola

Orbach Özgenç

Responsibility for the content of texts published in the journal

Taifas Literary Magazine belongs directly to the authors who sign

them, in the name of freedom of expression.

Reproduction - in whole or in part - of the journal and its electronic distribution are

authorized for the private use of the reader and for non-commercial purposes.

yaer I, no. 9, March, 2021

ISSN 2458-0198

ISSN-L 2458-0198

Founded in Constanţa,

June 2020

Revista de scrieri şi opinii

literare Taifas Literar poate fi

citită online pe site-urile

Cronopedia (lenusa.ning.com)

or: Taifas Literay Magazine

Email:

worldliterarymagazine@gmail.com

Orders for the purchase of the

magazine can be made on the

Cronopedia website and on

the email address above.

Authors in summary:

ADEPOJU ADEOLA 36, ALBY RAYMOND PARACKAL 15, AMB. MAID CORBIC 37, ANNETTE (WENGERT)

TARPLEY 38, APU MONDAL 33, AUWAL AHMED IBRAHIM 27, 59, BABANGIDA B. SHIRA 57,

BHAGIRATH CHOUDHARY 10, BIRENDU KUMAR SINHA 33, BOGDANA GĂGEANU 27, CHANDAN

BHATTACHARYA 26, CLIVE NORMAN 14, DR. PRASANA KUMAR DALAI 38, EAGLE GOLD 18,

FRANCESCA GHIRIBELLI 12, GANIMETE JAKUPI DEMIRI 34, GERLINDE STAFFLER 24, 26, GUNA MORAN

16, IBRAHIM HONJO 23, ISILDA NUNES 22, JEANNIE ASHTON 23, JOANNA SVENSSON 19, KAMAL

DHUNGANA 26, KAMRUL ISLAM 22, LENUȘ LUNGU 53, LOMAS KUMAR BHATT. 24, LYN RAMOS V

ALFONSO 2, MARIANA KISS 33, MARIVIC NEMI 34, MARUF SHAIKH 8, MEETHESH NIRMOHI 52,

MERCHANTS OF LIES 25, MIROSŁAW GRUDZIEŃ 43, MLADEN M. TOKIĆ 30, MUHAMMAD ABDUL

WAHID 31, MUHAMMAD ISHAQ ABBASI 2, 37, 59, MYRIAM GHEZAÏL BEN BRAHIM 21, NWANKWO

VICTOR AVIC 25, ODUJEBE OLUWOLE 18, PAUL ROTARU 3, PETRICĂ TATU 32, PUNYA DEVI 10, 35,

RAMESH CHANDRA PRADHANI 7, 14, 30, RAÚL BOLAÑOS ROMERO 47, REFIK MARTINOVIC 25,

ŠAHDO BOŠNJAK 39, SAMEER GOEL 12, 51, SAMEER GOEL 51, SANTOSH KUMAR BISWA 18, 28,

SELMA KOPIC 20, SHIKDAR MOHAMMED KIBRIAH 15, ŠOLKOTOVIĆ SNEŽANA, 35, STEFANO CAPASSO

15, SUGAR ZEDNA 59, TEMITOPE MICHAEL OMOTOSO 21, VOULA MEMOU 32, ZORAN

RADOSAVLJEVIĆ 50

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198


Taifas Literary Magazine No. 9, March, 2021

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