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Victim of Love

Written by the poet

Metwally Basal

Egypt

Is love a disease, or is it a cure?!

And by what authority did it conquer the living?!

If it touched a madman, it cured him with a glance!

And with a glance, how many sane men were driven mad!

This is he who conquered hearts entirely

Without his hands shedding blood!!

Without soldiers, and without armaments

He subdued kings and subjugated princes!

And by his command, he made women poets!

And all men became poets!

A great secret, unfathomable

It has baffled writers and men of letters!

If my heart were made of iron or gold

Or even solid stone

This tyrant would not have humiliated me

And I suffered a crushing defeat from him!

Alone, I talk to myself like strangers.

O soul, have we become strangers here?!

I complain about the estrangement of family and loved ones.

If it weren't for home, I wouldn't have been able to survive!

The arts of medicine have failed to prescribe the cure.

For my illness or to find a cure from it.

I am sick and all fates are around me, and my soul seeks refuge in hope.

And my loved ones, if they would take pity on my condition,

Perhaps seeing them will be a cure!

Between me and them, as the echo returns

And I sense their breath and singing!

But I wonder, when I call out to them,

My long calls are in vain!

My voice has become hoarse, and winter has harmed me

And the cold has torn my soul to shreds!

O lovers, where is your bliss?!

I have encountered misery and wretchedness!

My expectations were disappointed when I spoke out my anguish

And found from them cruelty and coldness!

And I was amazed by those who told me that love

Is a paradise in which whoever wishes may live

Fire burns my ribs. I wish I had never listened to it.

I declared that I am tired of your love

And today I have become innocent of it

From the book (Sailors Without a Port), which was printed and published in 2021 AD

ـــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــــ

A pink moon in the horizon

Written by the poet

Metwally Basal

Egypt

I search... for a homeland for love

For any refuge... for lovers

because my country... no longer believes

in the existence of love or longing!

Today, it no longer recognizes

anything but gold and paper!

People nest in cities

Like ants... living in tunnels

People here are only concerned about...

money!

And the constant search all day long

for sustenance

doesn't concern people here...

The state of the moon at all!!

To become a full moon

Or... To turn into a new moon

Or it becomes a blood moon

Harbing a hell on the horizon!

You won't find here.. a heart that rejoices

or grieves at a meeting or a parting!

You won't find a conscience that wobbles..

If an infant is slaughtered in the markets!

Compassion.. is driven into exile

And dozens of morals are arrested!

The rope is mixed with the arrow

And the delicate.. of tastes is snatched

People here are lambs to be eaten

Or wolves.. wild-eyed

Fish eating fish

And a marriage that might lead.. to divorce

I search like a stranger..

About a land... about people

And homes... and companions!

And meadows that grow poetry

And mountains of kisses and embraces

I search for...

A pulse for my veins!

I search for...

Idles for my eyes!

Like a drowning man... searching for a breath

For any air

In the depths!

Is there a place above ground

Free from lies and hypocrisy?!

In which we breathe without fear

In which we move without collars!!

Is there a place under the sun

Fit as a refuge for lovers?!

From the book (Sailors Without a Port), which was printed and published in 2021 AD

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

كورينا جونغياتو، المولودة في ١٢ أبريل ١٩٨١ في بوخارست، رومانيا، شاعرة وكاتبة وناقدة أدبية شهيرة ثنائية اللغة. حاصلة على ماجستير في فقه اللغة وعلم النفس التربوي، بالإضافة إلى بكالوريوس في الآداب والفلسفة، وقد نمّت شغفها بالأدب منذ صغرها، حيث بدأت رحلتها الشعرية في الثانية عشرة من عمرها. تُجيد كورينا خمس لغات، وقد قدّمت مساهمات قيّمة في عالم الأدب. ألّفت مجموعتين شعريتين شهيرتين: "المنفى في النور" و"طقوس شروق الشمس"، والمجموعة الثالثة قيد الإعداد حاليًا. إلى جانب كتابتها، تُعدّ كورينا قوة دافعة في المجتمع الأدبي العالمي. وهي مؤسِّسة ورئيسة تحرير "فيرسيوم آند ذا بويتري تريبيون" و"منتدى فيرسيوم آند ذا بويتري تريبيون". بالإضافة إلى ذلك، تشغل منصب كبير الإداريين ومنسق النشر العالمي لـ Motivational Strips، المنتدى الأكثر نشاطًا للكتاب في العالم، وتعمل كمستشارة رئيسية لاتحاد كتاب الأمم المتحدة في كازاخستان.

نالت إنجازاتها الأدبية تقديرًا واسع النطاق، بما في ذلك جوائز مرموقة مثل جائزة أكاديمية غوجارات ساهيتيا عام ٢٠٢٠ ووسام شكسبير عام ٢٠٢١. كما كُرِّمت بجائزة "سيزار فاليجو" (التميز الأدبي) من "بريمو مونديال" لعام ٢٠٢٠، تقديرًا لمساهماتها الاستثنائية في هذا المجال. نُشرت أعمال كورينا الشعرية في العديد من المجلات والمختارات الأدبية الوطنية والدولية، وهي مشاركة فاعلة في مهرجانات الشعر العالمية والفعاليات الثقافية، وغالبًا ما تتولى دور المنظم والمشرف. ومن خلال تفانيها الراسخ في الأدب والثقافة، تواصل كورينا إلهام الكُتّاب والقراء حول العالم وربطهم ببعضهم البعض.

 

 

 

Corina Junghiatu, born on April 12, 1981, in Bucharest, Romania, is a renowned bilingual poet, writer, and literary critic. With a Master's degree in Philology and Psycho-pedagogy, as well as a Bachelor's degree in Letters and Philosophy, she has cultivated a deep passion for literature from a young age, beginning her poetic journey at 12. Fluent in five languages, Corina has made significant contributions to the literary world.

She is the author of two acclaimed poetry collections: Exile in the Light and The Ritual of a Sunrise, with a third collection currently in progress. Beyond her writing, Corina is a driving force in the global literary community. She serves as the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Verseum&The Poetry Tribune  and the Verseum&The Poetry Tribune Forum. Additionally, she holds the role of Chief Administrator and Global Publishing Coordinator for Motivational Strips, the world’s most active writers' forum, and acts as the Chief Advisor for the World Nations Writers' Union in Kazakhstan.

Her literary achievements have earned her widespread recognition, including prestigious awards such as the Gujarat Sahitya Akademi Award in 2020 and the Order of Shakespeare Medal in 2021. She was also honored with the PREMIO MUNDIAL 2020 "CESAR VALLEJO" (Excellence in Literature) Award, acknowledging her exceptional contributions to the field.

Corina’s poetry has been featured in numerous national and international journals and anthologies, and she is an active participant in global poetry festivals and cultural events, often stepping into roles of co-organizer and moderator. Through her unwavering dedication to literature and culture, Corina continues to inspire and connect writers and readers worldwide.

To write...

To write means to capture the unseen's order

in a living, incandescent geometry,

a rhombus that drives its edges into the sun

and rips away its light, transforming it into word.

To write is to catch a secret from the air,

to speak it without crushing its wings,

to let the light dress itself in letter

without losing its first wonder.

To write is to peel back layer after layer of the flesh of the world,

until only the void remains, filled with meaning,

only you and the electric miracle of the letter,

only you and the burning blood of the verb.

To write is like catching a lightning bolt in your fist,

you hold it tight until it starts to whisper,

and then you throw it onto paper,

to set the world ablaze with its fiery nerves.

 

©Corina Junghiatu

 

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Peace

Peace is not a word,

but the natural order of the world.

It does not ask to be sung,

but to be lived

in moments of deep communion

with the earth, the sky, our brother,

even with the wind.

If you look into the eyes of a child

who has lived through war,

you will understand more

than from all the speeches of politicians,

written on pages filled with empty words.

That gaze is deeper

than all the crafted rhetoric,

stronger than any proclamation of victory.

It is a cry,

but not one of war - of peace,

a cry only the heart can comprehend,

without rhetoric, without the false mask of power.

His gaze is a wound

that no campaign promises can heal.

He does not know what “reconciliation” means

unless it no longer hurts.

He does not understand “unity”

unless a heart beats in unison with his.

Peace is the body of the entire world,

without hatred, without fear,

without the desire to conquer,

without the urge to impose,

without coercion, without forced silence,

without kneeling.

Peace is not merely the absence of war,

but the presence of understanding and compassion.

It is not found in the search for absolute truth,

but in accepting the imperfections of others.

Peace is equality, but not uniformity.

Peace is a lesson in love,

but not unconditional love

rather, a love that demands responsibility.

Peace cannot be imposed,

only understood and lived,

for it is the fruit of consciousness,

of the profound realization

that all things are one.

And every moment of harmony in our lives

is a victory over the war in the world.

Let us live this way:

without expectations, without pride,

but with open hearts and clear vision,

like a child who, despite knowing pain,

has chosen to love again.

©Corina Junghiatu

 

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Poetry as the Miracle of Childhood -When Verses Become Wings 

 

There is an age when the world is made of magic. When the sun does not rise but plays, hiding among branches, and the wind does not blow but whispers secrets. At this age, poetry is not a text but a state of being. A form of discovery. An invisible key that opens the doors to an unseen world. 

Childhood is the first territory of poetry. Before we learn to write, we utter rhymes without knowing what they are. We play with sounds, meanings, and rhythms, just as a painter spreads colors on a canvas. Poetry is our first secret language, a code that makes every child, deep down, a poet. 

 Poetry

- The Alphabet of Sensitivity 

Poetry is not just an artistic exercise but a space where the

child practices emotions. By learning to listen to poetry, the child learns to feel. Words, musicality, and metaphoric images educate sensitivity, shaping their perception of the world. Just as mathematics structures logical thinking, poetry builds the inner architecture of the soul. 

Poetry in education fosters creativity, emotional intelligence, and critical thinking. It enhances language skills, enriches vocabulary, and nurtures empathy by offering diverse perspectives. Through rhythm and metaphor, poetry makes learning engaging and memorable. It encourages self-expression, strengthens cultural awareness, and cultivates a lifelong appreciation for literature, shaping well-rounded individuals with a deeper understanding of the human experience. 

In a world dominated by technology, where screens become surrogate parents, poetry remains one of the last places where a child can encounter their own voice. By reading poetry, they learn to listen to their thoughts, to understand their dreams. Poetry is the space where words are not just letters but windows into unseen worlds. 

Poetry, a School of Empathy 

Children who grow up with poetry learn more easily to understand and feel the emotions of others. Metaphors help them step into different perspectives, to see the world through someone else’s eyes. Poetry becomes a bridge between souls, a code of universal understanding. 

When a child reads a verse about the sorrow of a fallen leaf or the joy of a bird finding its way home, they are not just learning words. They are learning about loss and rediscovery, about melancholy and hope. Poetry teaches them that emotions are natural and that every feeling can be transformed into beauty. 

Poetry and Play - Learning Without Effort 

A child does not learn rhymes because they have to but because they love them. Poetry is not a lesson; it is a game. Its rhythm, repetitions, and sonority turn it into a natural mental exercise. Children exposed to poetry from an early age develop a richer vocabulary, a stronger imagination, and a sharper memory. 

It is no coincidence that our first lullabies are, in fact, poems. That the first stories we hear come in rhythmic patterns, easy to remember. Poetry is, naturally, the first form of emotional and cognitive education. 

 

Poetry, a Refuge in a Rushed World 

Children today grow up in a world of speed. Everything happens fast, without pause, without stillness. Poetry is one of the few places where time slows down. By reading or writing poetry, a child learns to observe, to listen, to wait. They discover that beauty is not something to be consumed but something to be savored. 

In a world full of noise, poetry teaches children to appreciate silence. In a world overloaded with data and information, poetry reminds them that the deepest truths are not found in textbooks but within themselves. 

 

Words That Grow With Us 

A child who discovers poetry will never be alone. The words they once loved will accompany them throughout life. They will transform, adapt, become landmarks, memories, lessons. Poetry is a seed that, once planted in the soul, never stops blooming. 

And perhaps, one day, that child, now grown, will rediscover, in

some forgotten corner of memory, a verse that once moved them. And in that moment, they will know that no matter how far they have come, poetry has always been with them, like an invisible thread connecting childhood to the present. 

Because poetry is not just about words. It is about how words make us feel. And the child who learns to feel the world through poetry will always remain closer to its essence.

 

 

 

 

 

وُلد ديبران فيلي في كوسوفو مخرج وممثل وشاعر وكاتب وأكاديمي ورئيس تحرير مجلة أورفيو الدولية المرموقة. حاز على العديد من الجوائز. حارب مع جيش تحرير كوسوفو (UCK) لتحرير كوسوفو من الصرب الذين قتلوا العديد من النساء والأطفال وكبار السن، وأصيب بجروح بالغة. ألّف كتابًا تُرجم إلى 9 لغات للقائد الشهيد العظيم في جيش تحرير كوسوفو آدم جاشاري. أخرج ديبران فيلي العديد من الأفلام كمخرج وممثل.

 

Dibran Fylli was born in Kosovo. He is a director, actor, poet, writer, Academician, Editor-in-Chief of the prestigious international magazine Orfeu. Dibran Fylli has won many awards. He fought with (UCK), the Army for the liberation of Kosovo from the Serbs who killed many women, children and elderly people. He was seriously injured. He wrote the book translated into 9 languages ​​for the Great Martyr Commander of the UCK Adem Jashari. Dibran Fylli has made many films as a director and actor.

 

 

I WILL BE LOOKING FOR YOU

 

I'll look for you there

Where love never ceases to exist 

And relax there

Where we wrote love letters;

 

I'll look for you there

Where the sun rises but reluctant to set

For a steady romantic walk 

And pluck flowers on the beautiful meadows;

 

I'll look for you there

Where the picturesque mountains 

Like to host eternal lovers like You and Me 

And dance in the freshness of the breeze 

When only the leaves rustle;

 

You know, 

I was absolutely amazed while waiting for you In all the places I loved to be there 

And my soul got invaded 

By the awesome silence of the green fields

Among the witnessing poppies;

 

I wonder, 

The night took me away 

In its lap all of a sudden 

And I cherish the memories 

That's only yours and mine 

Your smiling face leads the show

As it had been as always before 

I can never forget you

Be it today 

Be it tomorrow

As I love to remember you 

Ever forever!

 

 

HERE, WHERE YOU HAVE BEEN

 

(To Mother Teresa)

 Was there one saved life

a cured desease Just there

 where the tears on youless faces

use to transforme in smilings

for the houseless you were

a roof for the waifs

were bread for the orphans

Mother...

Where you were

has no place for enmity

you loved the peace

and the humanity

loved and love You.

 Where you were the God was ...

 it is mistake it is a wrong sayin

maybe a lie or a windy word

if someone says

i could not meet greet

pamper even and kiss her hand

her angelic soul...

 

 

LIKE IN A DREAM 

 

On the moonless night

Let's talk about school grades

Tidying up the assignment line

with the theme for love.

 

As in a dream

Under your body my eye slipped

In the oasis Strait stopped

There in the glowing ocean

in the restless night.

 

The stars in the sky move in bursts

The moon turned red and beganA night as long as a century.

The darkness of the night

like an arrow kills.

 

I look at your brown hair

with the braid behind the back

In the oasis of the Strait

This moonless night

I don't hesitate to drown.

in the scorching ocean...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

أنطونيتا ميكالي - إيطاليا

في عالم الأدب والحياة، تُعتبر أنطونيتا ميكالي شخصيةً لامعةً، مُعلمةً، كاتبةً، شاعرةً، وصحفيةً كرّست رحلتها للتفاعل العميق بين الكلمات والثقافة. وُلدت أنطونيتا ونشأت في سحر روما الخالد، وبدأت رحلتها التعليمية في جامعة "لا سابينزا" المرموقة بروما، حيث تخرجت في الأدب الحديث. إلا أن مساعيها الأكاديمية لم تنتهِ هناك؛ فقد حصلت على درجة الماجستير في الصحافة الثقافية والتواصل، مُتعمقةً في عالم الكلمات الدقيق وتأثيرها المجتمعي. قادها شغفها بصقل عقول الشباب إلى مسيرة مهنية مُرضية كمعلمة في المرحلة الابتدائية. إيمانها الراسخ بأن التكوين...

 

 

ANTONIETTA MICALI - ITALY

 

 

In the realm where literature meets. life, Antonietta Micali stands as a luminary, a teacher, writer, poet, and journalist who has dedicated her journey to the profound intersection of words and culture. Born and bred amidst the timeless allure of Rome, Antonietta's educational odyssey unfolded at the prestigious "La Sapienza" University of Rome, where she graduated in Modern Literature. However, her academic pursuits didn't conclude there; she pursued a Master's degree in Cultural Journalism and Communication, delving deeper into the nuanced world of words and their societal impact. Antonietta's passion for shaping young minds led her to a fulfilling career as a primary school teacher. Firm in her belief that the formation.

 

 

 

I WOULD LIKE TO LOVE

 

 

 

I would like to leave

to go where

there are no barriers,

where everything is the same as everyone,

where black and white

they shake hands

where hearts are on fire,

but only for love.

I would like to leave

to reach

my lost soul

in front of the cry of a child

who looks at the helpless hand

of the mother

transported by the waters

of a murderous and lying sea.

I would like to give comfort

to those who are disappointed and no longer hope.

I would like to extend my hand

to those who suffer and believe in life.

I would like the world was wrapped

from a cloud of love...

I would like, I could love.

 

 

NOSTALGIA 

 

 

Sometimes like fog,

nostalgia envelops me.

Without an antidote

for the absence

that brings peace.

Within my thoughts,

suddenly...

like the sun after the storm,

a strange word flows,

"forgetfulness..."

a senseless chill

that I hastily throw far away...

Every inch

of skin, of heart,

now contaminated,

lost forever

in your deep eyes,

like the sea, your gaze

envelops me,

dragging me

into the hells of passion.

 

 

 

 BETWEEN FIRE AND SNOW 

 

 

 

Etna,

bristling, majestic

as queen

cloaked in white,

drawing a path of fire,

full of passion,

that envelops

the gaze of those who admire you.

Sicily,

land of Poseidon, of Hephaestus

of love, of contradictions,

unique beauty,

where ice and fire

intertwine in a hug,

as different

lovers, but with the same heart.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

كانغ، بيونغ - تشول كاتب، شاعر، مترجم، دكتوراه في العلوم السياسية -  كوريا الجنوبية

السيد كانغ بيونغ-تشول كاتب، شاعر، مترجم كوري، وحاصل على دكتوراه في العلوم السياسية. وُلد في مدينة جيجو، كوريا الجنوبية، عام ١٩٦٤، وبدأ مسيرته الكتابية عام ١٩٩٣. نُشرت أولى قصصه القصيرة، "أغنية شوبا"، وهو في التاسعة والعشرين من عمره.

في عام ٢٠٠٥، نشر كانغ مجموعة قصص قصيرة، وحاز منذ ذلك الحين على ثماني جوائز أدبية، ونشر أكثر من ثمانية كتب. كان عضواً في لجنة كُتّاب السجون (WiPC) التابعة لمنظمة القلم الدولية من عام ٢٠٠٩ إلى عام ٢٠١٤. ومن عام ٢٠١٨ إلى عام ٢٠٢٢، شغل منصب الأمين العام لمركز جيجو للتعليم الموحد. قبل ذلك، شغل عدة مناصب مرموقة، منها أستاذ مُعيّن خصيصًا في جامعة جيجو الدولية (2016-2018)، وأستاذ باحث في معهد الدفاع الوطني بجامعة تشونغنام الوطنية (2013-2016)، وباحث أول في جمعية أبحاث إيودو (2010-2017)، والرئيس التنفيذي لموقع جيجوين نيوز الإخباري الإلكتروني (2010-2013). عمل كانغ أيضًا كاتبًا افتتاحيًا في صحيفة جيمين إلبو، وهي صحيفة بارزة في مدينة جيجو. يشغل حاليًا منصب الرئيس المؤسس للجمعية الكورية للأدب العالمي، ونائب رئيس المعهد الكوري للسلام والتعاون، ونائب رئيس جيجو بن.

 

 

 

KANG BYEONG- CHEOL (SOUTH KOREA)

 

 

Kang, Byeong-Cheol (writer, poet, translator, Doctor of Philosophy in Political Science)

 

Mr. Kang Byeong-Cheol is a Korean author, poet, translator, and holder of a Doctorate in Political Science. Born in Jeju City, South Korea, in 1964, he began his writing career in 1993. His first short story, “Song of Shuba,” was published when he was twenty-nine years old.

In 2005, Kang published a collection of short stories and has since won eight literary awards, publishing over eight books in total. He served as a member of the Writers in Prison Committee (WiPC) of PEN International from 2009 to 2014. From 2018 to 2022, he was Secretary General of the Jeju Unification Education Center. Before that, he held several notable positions, including Specially Appointed Professor at Jeju International University (2016–2018), Research Professor at Chungnam National University’s National Defense Institute (2013–2016), Senior Researcher at the Society of Ieodo Research (2010–2017), and CEO of the online news outlet Jejuin News (2010–2013).

Kang has also worked as an editorial writer for JeminIlbo, a prominent newspaper in Jeju City. Currently, he serves as the founding President of the Korean Association of World Literature, Vice President of The Korean Institute for Peace and Cooperation, and Vice President of Jeju PEN.

 

THE BLOOM OF COMPASSION

 

I strive to hold compassion near,

For truth oft whispers, calm and clear:

No soul is free from sorrow's chain,

Each heart has known its share of pain.

I cast away envy’s shadowed guise,

For all who live bear muffled cries.

When one woe fades, another will rise,

A journey through grief beneath the skies.

In every ache, I pause to see,

The mirrored pain in humanity.

And as I ponder this shared despair,

Understanding blooms, a flower rare.

From the soil of suffering, tender and deep,

A lotus of mercy begins to leap.

Desires unfulfilled birth anguish anew,

Yet wisdom whispers—they’re fleeting too.

I remind myself, through moments grim,

That every yearning is a phantom dim.

And for those who chase illusions in vain,

I offer my pity, for they too know pain.

So I strive to cradle compassion's flame,

A radiant light no sorrow can claim.

For in this garden of shared plight,

Blooms love, soft as dawn’s first light.

 

 

 

MIGRATORY CRANE BIRDS FLY BEYOND FEAR

 

 

Migratory crane bird,

Flying in search of a good world

They flap my wings high in the blue sky

Soaring above the clouds floating in the sky.

With a courageous heart and a strong spirit

They sing brave songs along the way

Cranes have graced the Korean coast for a long time,

Now their numbers are gradually decreasing.

Why do we have to see this sad scene?

Why is it so hard to see this beautiful bird?

Korean heroes with strong and courageous hearts

They overcame difficulties while dreaming of a better world.

Like migratory cranes, they fought against fear

They dreamed and pursued better days for years to come.

So, let's protect these majestic birds.

Because they are a symbol of hope and recovery.

They are an inspiration to us all with their perseverance.

 

 

 

 

FORGOTTEN THINGS

 

 

"How did Earth's civilization begin?" a student asked

"While making a stone axe?"

"As he makes earthen vessels?"

Earth's civilization is the creation of humanity

It began with the care we give to each other

Animals do not create civilization

There are only predators and prey

We are forgetting

How civilizations were built

How to shape our future

Long ago, when civilizations were first born

Our ancestors knew that we had to care for each other.

 

 

 

MAN'S SUMMER, GOD'S SUMMER

 

 

Summer mornings beckon with beauty and grace,

Inviting us to embrace life's vibrant embrace.

Everywhere, vitality dances in the air,

Disarming our worries with nature's flair.

Whose Summer Is It!

The green trees by the roadside caress your hair,

Morning sunlight threads through, gentle and fair.

They dance with delight, leaves shimmer and sway,

Nature's symphony plays at the break of day.

Whose Summer Is It!

Tall poplar trees stand proud, tranquil and serene,

Youthful buds blossoming, a sight to be seen.

Reaching for the sky with elegance and might,

Their whispers hold secrets, an enchanting light.

Whose Summer Is It!

Amidst fields where missiles rain, smoke fills the air,

Broken concrete piles, no place to hide in Ukraine.

Youthful buds are bleeding, dying in summer's embrace,

mothers find a dreadful despair and cry,

how can find refuge for creatures, a sanctuary.

Whose Summer Is It!

Oh, the beauty of summer morning we embrace,

Nature's masterpiece, a tranquil and vibrant space.

The world alive, pulsing with colors so bright,

A symphony of dreams, filling us with delight.

The summer we seek,

Whose summer will it be?

Under bleeding skies, where pain resides,

Whose summer unfolds, where hope abides?

We cherish each moment, as a new day is born,

Spreading joy as the sun paints the morn.

Summer morning, my love for you grows deep,

A precious gift to cherish, forever to keep.

In search of a summer of peace and harmony,

The wind whispers through the bamboo trees.

Harmonious sways, like a beautiful chord,

Varied in size, yet moving in one accord.

The bamboo forest reveals God's summer's grace,

A symphony of harmony, filling every space!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

إندو دراجوشا - ألبانيا 

ولد ندو دراجوشا في 29 سبتمبر 1953 في قرية دراجوشا، على مشارف ليزا (ألبانيا). أنهى ندو تعليمه الثانوي في مدرسة "شجنازي جوكا" في مدينة شكودرا ثم تخرج من معهد التربية بفرعي: اللغة الألبانية - الأدب والحلقة الدنيا في شكودر أيضًا. بالإضافة إلى ذلك، تخرج دراغوشا أيضًا في تيرانا في علم النفس. عمل ندويه كمدرس في جميع المراحل التعليمية في أماكن مختلفة في منطقة ليزادي. منذ عام 1998 ندوهاسبيين مديرا لجريدة "ليسابا" الأدبية-

 

 

 

 

NDUE DRAGUSHA - ALBANIA

NdueDragushawasborn on September 29, 1953 in the village of Dragusha, on the outskirts of Lezha (Albania). Nduefinishedhissecondaryeducationat the "ShejnazeJuka" school in the city of Shkodra and thengraduated from the Institute of Education in the branches: Albanian Language - Literature and Lower Cycle, also in Shkodër. In addition to this, Dragushaalsograduated in Tirana in Psychology. Nduehasworkedas a teacher in allcycles of education in differentplaces in the Lezhadistrict. Since 1998 Nduehasbeen the Director of the newspaper "LISSABA", a literary-artisticnewspaper, whichhastraveledaround and off ourcontinent. NdueDragushastartedwritingwhenshewas in high school, where he wasalsoveryactive in artistic and cultural activities. NdueDragushaisalreadyone of the mostaccomplishedintellectuals in the city and district of Lezha, who, within the scope of the aboveattributes, has for yearsformed the profile of a serious creator in the genre of poetry and prose. His poetryis so variedthatit can be said to be one of the best in thiscollection: with realisticvariations and motifs, metricalvariables in verse, regular linguisticorganization, sometimesaccording to our creative tradition, butalso in contemporaryforms, with whichNdueDragushahasoutlinedwhatiscalled "authorial style". NdueDragushahasalsobeensuccessful in the field of scientific prose, with a monograph and twobiographies of prominentfigures... So far, he haspublishedseveral books.

 

TO SISTER LIRIDONA!

 

(With immense sorrow) 

 

I don'tknowifyou'veread Dante Alighieri,

I don'tknowwhat books you'veread,

But I learnedthatyou, sister, 

Hellitselfyoulived,

Eversinceyougave love to the devil. 

Thatwas your path in this life

With demons by their side, 

no onewouldhave a future.

Youwillrest in peacetoday in Paradise  

For the land of wickedCainsis. 

There are so few Abelli left on earth, 

Thathandsascleanas the sunhave,

But the world of Cainsmocksus,

With vampire teeth and a burning soul! 

Today, all the eyes of the world shedtears,

In theirtears your new face speaks...

Your face thatshoneamong the flowerstoday,

And the murderer'sfilthycrawling face killed

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

داردان بيريشا – كوسوفو - شاعر

وُلِد داردان بيريشا في 4 أغسطس/آب 1963 في قرية كرامنيك (كوسوفو). بدأ الكتابة في الصف السادس الابتدائي. نشر بيريشا قصائد للأطفال في مجلات: "الرواد" و"طائر الصباح" ومجلات أخرى للأطفال. كما نشر بيريشا قصائده في نفس المجلات والصحف. من أوائل أعماله

 

Dardan Berisha was born on August 4, 1963 in the village of Kramnik (Kosovo). He began writing in the sixth grade. Berisha has published children's poems in the magazines: Pioneers, Morning Bird and other magazines for children. In addition, Berisha has also published in same magazines and newspapers. The first works he published are:

 

-"The Blind Seal"-children's stories, 2007 Gutenberg, (Pristina) -"The Petrified Flight", adult drama, 2010, Drenusha, (Pristina)

 

Dardan Berisha is co-author of the monograph

 

-"Mustafë Ibishi", with Mag. Jetish Kadishani, 2009, Drenusha, (Pristina) "The Mother, The Stone Where I Pray", poems for adults, 2022, (Pristina) of which it is the third work.

 

 

 

LOVE ARROW 

 

 

Beloved

I think more than me

No one loves you.

But if an arrow comes towards you

Open your chest!

Let it into your heart

Even if that arrow wasn't me... 

 

 

 

 

 

TO THE BEAUTIFUL EARTHLY 

 

 

A whole ballad melts on your face

And in the depths of your eyes it drowns 

And I...

I lie down on the cobblestones 

Where I take the steps

An umbrella I become to shade you

So that the August sun wouldn't burn you

And the autumn rain wouldn't wet you.

Hero Me

To your beauty I bow!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dimitris P. Kraniotis

Greece

 

The end

The savour of fruits

Still remains

In my mouth

But the bitterness of words

Demolishes the clouds

And wrings the snow

Counting the pebbles

But you never told me

Why you deceived me

Why with pain

And injustice did you desire

 

Illusions

Noiseless wrinkles

On our forehead

The frontiers of history

Shed oblique glances

At Homer’s verses

Illusions

Full of guilt

Redeem

Wounded whispers

That became echoes

In lighted caves

Of the fools and the innocent

 

Sinful corners

“St. Nikon Repent-Υe!”

On the calendar

Of a cloudy morning

With the rain to persist

Determined to wash away

The Erinyes of guilts

 

Victories and defeats

In sinful corners

Of pavements and rooms

Of minor moments

And of similar, too

 

Biography

Dimitris P. Kraniotis was born in Larissa Prefecture in central Greece and he grew

up in Stomio (Larissa) . He studied Medicine at the Aristotle University of

Thessaloniki. He lives in Larissa (Greece) and works as a medical doctor (internist).

He is the author of 11 poetry books in Greece and abroad. Also he is the Editor-in-

chief of an international anthology. His poems have been translated in 36 languages

and published in many countries. He participated as guest poet in International Poetry

Festivals. He is Doctor of Literature, Academician, President of the 22nd World

Congress of Poets (UPLI), President of the World Poets Society (WPS), Chairman of

the Writers

 

 

 

 

KUJTIM HAJDARI

 

 He is a poet, translator, and editor Albanian.  He graduated with a degree in Albanian language and contemporary literature from the University of Albania and has worked for many years as a teacher.

  He started writing at a young age,  but his works did not see the light of publication due to political reasons.

  He writes in Albanian, Italian, and English. He has lived in Albania, Italy, and now in the USA

His published creativity began in 2017

 So far, he has published 17 poetry volumes, has translated 5 books in English, and has participated in 102 anthologies (17 national and 85 international anthologies)

  He is editor and publisher of serial anthology "All together" on Amazon.

  He has participated in up to 40 competitions, national and international, up to now and has warned many appreciations and awards. In August 2024, he was the winner of the International Impact Book Awards in the USA. 

  The publications of his poems will take on considerable geographical space. You will find them published in Albania, Kosovo, North Macedonia, Italy, the USA, Romania, Morocco, Egypt, Denmark, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Turkey, Spain, Germany, China, etc.  

 

 

I WILL LEAVE MY VOICE OUTSIDE

 

"Goodbye, world!" I would never like to say,

It's a heavy word that fills me with pain,

It burns and torments me like a furnace,

It tears my heart apart and makes me scream.

 

One day, in the endless mystery of eternity,

I will be gone, like raindrops in the drowning sea,

But I will leave my voice that will never die,

Like a storm or a breeze, I will call out among people.

 

It will caress a flower in the embrace of spring,

It will warm the face of a little child in winter,

It will comfort a beloved girl with tenderness,

And will ignite the gaze of a burning boy.

 

I will warm the hearts consumed by longing,

I will soothe souls burdened in sorrow and pain,

I will cast light like the morning sun,

In the darkness of souls drowned in despair.

 

"Goodbye, world!" How heavy this word weighs!

It would hurt, squeeze, and shatter my heart,

So I leave my heart outside, ignited, unfading,

You will feel me and will say: He lives, hasn't gone.

 

 

***

 

A BIRD SINGS

 

A bird sings at the window,

Sometimes, it taps the verses with its beak,

It seeks to tell me something,

With its sweet chirping, it calls me.

 

"When you stay closed inside,

A part of the sky dies every day."

Then it flapped its wings and flew away,

As if saying to me: "Come, I'm waiting for you!"

 

My wings grew, and to my surprise,

I flew after him, chasing dreams,

I can't tell you how true it was, I don't know,

But I tell you: those moments are etched in my heart!

Kujtim Hajdari

 

 

 

 

 

 

POEM BY MOHAMED ELLAGHAFI - MOROCCO

 

Mohamed Ellaghafi a Moroccan poet, writer, and publisher, was born on December 7, 1960, in Casablanca. He is the founder and current president of the University of Moroccan Creators and the founder of the National Poetry Award in Morocco. He has published more than fifteen books, ranging from poetry to short stories, and has participated in significant national and Arab poetry gatherings. He is considered one of the pioneers of modern poetry in Morocco, with his beginnings tracing back to the early 1980s as the founder of the (Five Senses) poetic movement, an artistic movement that emerged to align with the course of modernity.

 

Currently, he publishes in the Qatari magazine Doha, the London-based newspaper Al-Zaman, and the Egyptian magazine Al-Ahram. He was also honored by the Moroccan Ministry of Culture in 2019, in Beirut and Cairo in 2014, and by several prestigious associations both nationally and internationally.

 

His works have been translated into several languages, including English, French, Persian, German, and Italian.

 

 

THIS POEM 

 

This poem eats from my flesh

while you drink my blood,

O breaths steeped

in sorrow.

I will not blame the sun for setting,

I will not turn my neck backwards

as I count the minutes of my life.

 

No one will believe me if I say

there's a great terror in my head

and a hell in my chest.

No one will believe me,

not the courier of love

nor the beloved lamented in my papers.

 

This poem eats from my flesh

while I tear down the continent of my heart

searching for a title

for a new draft.

 

This poem eats from my flesh,

my black blood boils between your lips

and upon the roadside of your breasts

the pain of the day sighs.

 

This poem eats from my flesh,

and the earth, and the beloved,

and the clouds that rain from my eyes.

 

Between you and me, a thousand breezes and a faint whisper,

and this noise obscures the meanings.

I almost buried what was left of the remnants of my bones

if not for the poem’s return to its senses.

 

I passed through here contemplating the shores,

smiling at all this emptiness

that contains nothing but your shadow.

 

I see in the froth of the waves

the whiteness of your heart, O sea.

 

This poem eats from my flesh

while you drink my black blood.

Nothing remains of this thin body

but bones floating on the surface

of my flowing tears.

 

This poem eats from my flesh

while you drink my black blood

by the shore,

the sky is open and the sea stretches out,

slaughtering me from vein to vein.

I wish I were dust,

and you were sifting me with the salt of your heart.

 

This poem eats from my flesh

while you drink my blood,

so what remains at a distance from the eye

is a mirage and questions for the wind

that didn't bring your messages.

 

This poem eats from my flesh

while you drink my blood.

Has the evening not come yet

for us to smile together on the surface of the water

and wait for the wind to merge our faces

and for us to fade away slowly

like the clouds at noon?

 

I am skilled at singing like a caged bird,

and also skilled at standing on one leg

like a sad heron.

 

Sad,

both I and the sea,

each of us battling,

its waves visible,

and my waves internal.

 

 

 

Prepared Angela Kosta Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

       

نبذة عن الكاتبة: 

تاميكيو ل دولي كاتبة حائزة على جوائز متعددة ورئيسة تحرير

تاميكيو ل. دولي كاتبة حائزة على جوائز متعددة. ألّفت 150 كتابًا و100 كتاب منشور. تكتب الكاتبة روايات خيالية وغير خيالية في مجالات الجريمة والإثارة والغموض والفانتازيا والتاريخ والغربية والرومانسية ونهاية العالم بسبب الزومبي والظواهر الخارقة للطبيعة. في أوقات فراغها، تكتب قصصًا قصيرة، وشعرًا، ومقالات، وكتبًا في الصحة، وكتبًا للأطفال، ومذكرات، وكتبًا ملهمة، وكتبًا ثقافية، وكتبًا عن الأمريكيين من أصل أفريقي، وكتبًا تاريخية. كما أنها مسؤولة إعلامية ومدونة.

منشوراتها في مجال الأدب: هي مؤسسة وناشرة مجلة CreatiVIngenuitiy، ومجلة InSight، ومؤسسة ومدونة مدونة Literature Journal، ومؤسسة Coffee Talk Poetry، ومحررة مجلة Friendship of People، وعضو في هيئة تحرير مجلة Orfeu، وعضو في هيئة تحرير مجلة The Wordsmith، ورئيسة تحرير مجلة Sauvarna.

 

 

About the Author Tamikio L Dooley 

 

 

Tamikio L. Dooley is a multi-award-winning author. She is the author of 150 titles and 100 published books. The author writes fiction and nonfiction of crime, thriller, mystery, fantasy, historical, western, romance, zombie apocalypse, and paranormal. In her spare time, she writes short stories, poetry, articles, essays, health books, and children’s books, diaries, journals, inspiring books, culture, African American, and history books. She is also a publicist and blogger.

Literacy Publications: She is the founder and publisher of CreatiVIngenuitiy Magazine, and InSight Magazine, the founder and blogger of Literature Journal Blog, the founder of Coffee Talk Poetry, the editor of Friendship of People Magazine, part of the Editorial Board of Orfeu Magazine, part of the Editorial Board for The Wordsmith Magazine, and chief editor of Sauvarna Magazine.

Organizations: Tamikio is the president and founder of Humanist of the World Organization, and the president and founder of Empowering Education Skills and Programs Organization. She is part of the Advisory Board, and an Affiliate/Ambassador for the World Healing, World Peace Foundation, and the Exhibition Art Coordinator for EvolucionArts, and the Exhibition Coordinator and Curator for the Writers Capital International Foundation.

 Features: Tamikio is featured in Humanity Magazine, CreatiVIngenuitiy Magazine, Kidliomag, Friendship of People Magazine, Connections E-Magazine, The World of Myth Magazine, Raven Cage Zine Magazine, Orfeu Magazine, along with other magazines and newspapers.

Certificates: She has received awards and certificates for her works published in Bard’s Day Key Anthology, People’s Poetry Parliament, Antologia (a anthology published in Italian), and Multinational Pen Soldiers Poetry Anthology.  

Artist: Tamikio L. Dooley is an artist. She creates acrylic, colored-pencil, oil, sketch, and watercolor artwork. Her piece of acrylic artwork called Autumn is featured in Evolucionarts “Fire” Exhibition in September 2024, and her acrylic paintings called Birds of the Seas, and Blue Coast, are featured in Evolucionarts “Water” Exhibition in November 2024. She is also an Exhibition Curator for Evolucionarts Arts International Fine Arts Exhibition. Tamikio is the Chief Coordinator representing the USA art and literature community for the Writers Capital International Foundation. Three of her art pieces are featured in the Panorama International Literature Festival 2025. She is the author of Rhythm of Art 2024, Artistic Vision Magazine 2024, and Colorful World Korean Artist Magazine 2024.

 

Recognition Awards & Certificates

-An honorable recognition as the best crime author in September 2016,

- National Poetry Stage Bangladesh Award 2023,

-Certificate for Hyperpoem Book (a poetry book publishing 1700 poets) 2023,

- “Zheng Nian Cup” National Literature (second place prize) 2023,

-Virtual International Artist Gallery Certificate (2023),

- Best Leadership Award, Best Poetry Collection Award 2023,

-People’s Poetry Parliament Literature Certificate 2023,

-Certificate of Appreciate Memorial of V.M. Terehov 2023 (Russia Nizhny Novgord),

-The World Literary Award 2022,

-Samantarel Certificate 2024,

-Orfeu Gratitude Certificate 2023,

-CPS Gallery Virtual Exhibition “Rain and Snow” Poem Certificate excellent work 2023,

-Won her first crystal trophy award in the crime category (2016),

-Honorary Doctorate Friendship of People Magazine Award, 2024,

-Humanist Certificates Friendship of People Magazine, 2024,

-Nominee for International Awards by Dimitris P. Kraniotis - Awarded the Ink Your Words Magazine for Culture and Literature Award 2024 (International Awards),

 

-Nominated for African Peace Ambassador Award by Olga Levadnaya-Awarded the African Peace Ambassador Award 2024,

-Humanitarian Ambassador Nidal International Journal of Culture and Literature Certificate-Dr. Aoun Al-Buhaisi, 2024,

-Ambassador of the Pen Certificate-Dr. Aoun Al-Buhaisi, 2024,

-World Poets Poetry Collection Certificate, 2024,

-Gold Peace Medal Award issued by Adullghani Yahya Al-ebarah: Nominated for the Nobel Prize Leader of the International Campaign to Defend Peace, 2024, and the World Day for International Justice Certificate, 2024,

-International Youth Day Empowering the Future Certificate issued by Adullghani Yahya Al-ebarah 2024,

-International Friendship Day certificate issued by Adullghani Yahya Al-ebarah 2024,

-International Day Against Nuclear Test 2024,

-International literary Association “Creative Tribune” the Ambassador, and press secretary certificate 2024,

-Civilians Certificate issued by Adullghani Yahya Al-ebarah 2024,

International Charity Day Certificate issued by Adullghani Yahya Al-ebarah 2024,

-“World Poetry Yearbook 2024”-Published,

-Humanity Culture and Peace Certificate issued by Dr. Muhummad Fawzi Farid Presdient of the Forum for Creativity for Culture Art and Peace 2024, 

Honorary Diploma from Russia (International Magazine “Arina NN”, Russia Nizhny Novgorad 2025,

 

BEYOND THE SEA

 

Beyond the sea, 

the moonlight guides rhythms of souls. 

And to the sea, the soul speaks. 

The soul desires cleansing by the moon’s light, not the oceans. 

The summons intends something for the people by the sea.

Beyond the sea, 

past waves like angelic snow, 

they crash and roar, 

their souls yearning for the moon’s light beyond the sea.

Beyond the sea, beyond the sea, 

the moonlight glows brighter because of the wishes of the souls. 

It moves toward the seashore where the souls wait, 

to take them… beyond the sea.

 

كيم سون يونغ – شاعرة من كوريا الجنوبية

وُلدت الشاعرة كيم سون يونغ في 17 مايو 1938 في كايسونغ، مقاطعة جيونجي. تخرجت من كلية سودو للمعلمات، وعملت لاحقًا مُعلمةً في مدرسة سودو الإعدادية للبنات، ثم أستاذةً في جامعة سيجونغ. في عام 1962، ظهرت لأول مرة في أدبها في ديوان "هيونداي مونهاك" (الأدب الحديث) بعد أن أُوصي بنشر قصائدها "الطائر الأزرق"، و"الصدى"، و"كتابات الفصول". كانت أيضًا عضوًا فاعلًا في المجموعة الأدبية "تشيونغمي" (靑眉). منذ صدور مجموعتها الشعرية الأولى، "ساغا" (思歌)، عام ١٩٦٩، نشرت ١٥ مجموعة شعرية، منها "متجر أحذية الفراغ" (١٩٧٢)، و"طقوس الزهور البرية" (١٩٧٦)، و"جو الخيال" (١٩٧٦)، و"كلمات مكتوبة ليلًا" (١٩٨٢)، و"الإله الذي يسكن شجرة الليلك" (١٩٨٣)، و"أغنية الشوق" (١٩٨٧)، و"لتحطيم" (٢٠٠٨). حازت على العديد من الجوائز الأدبية، منها جائزة الشعر المعاصر وجائزة الأدب الكوري. كما عملت عضوًا في المجلس الاستشاري لجمعية الشعراء الكوريين وجمعية الكاتبات الكوريات، وعضوًا في مركز "بن" الكوري الدولي.

 

Poet Ms. Kim Sun Young - South Korea

Poet Kim Sun-Young was born on May 17, 1938, in Kaesong, Gyeonggi Province. She graduated from Sudo Women's Teachers College and later served as a teacher at Sudo Girls' Middle School and as a professor at Sejong University.In 1962, she made her literary debut in HyundaeMunhak(Modern Literature) after her poems Bluebird, Echo, and Graffiti of the Seasons were recommended for publication. She was also an active member of the literary coterie Cheongmi (靑眉).Since the publication of her first poetry collection, Saga (思歌), in 1969, she has published 15 poetry collections, including The Shoe Store of Emptiness (1972), Wildflower Ritual (1976), Atmosphere of Fantasy (1976), Words Written at Night (1982), God Who Lives in the Lilac Tree (1983), Song of Longing (1987), and To Shatter (2008).She has received numerous literary awards, including the Contemporary Poetry Award and the Korean Literature Award. She has also served as an advisory board member of the Korean Poets Association and the Korean Women Writers’ Association, as well as a member of the International PEN Korea Center.

 

The Vegetative Nature of Longing

 

Even when erased,

Even when erased again,

It reappears like a crescent moon,

Grows beyond a half-moon,

Becomes a full moon.

 

Like a face

Drifting as a full moon,

People hang

The space of longing

In their hearts.

 

Love,

Even when one tries to forget,

Has a terrifying vegetative nature—

It reveals itself, it grows.

That is why tonight is a full moon.

 

 

그리움의 식물성

 

 

지워도

지워도

생기는 초승달같이

반달에서 더 자란

만월같이

 

만월로 둥실

걸린

얼굴같이

사람들은 그리움 공간을

가슴에 걸어 두지요

 

사랑은

잊으려 하여도

드러나고 자라나는 무서운

식물성이 있어요

그래서 오늘밤 만월이에요

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

جاء على إيميلي

 

السيرة الذاتية: الشاعر والكاتب الدكتور ديبابراتا ماجي، المعروف بكونه نجمًا صاعدًا في عالم الأدب ضمن رابطة الشعراء العالمية، هو مهندس متقاعد وُلد في الهند في 6 سبتمبر 1961 في قرية دولبور بمقاطعة هاورا في ولاية البنغال الغربية (الهند)، لوالده المرحوم هاريندرا ناث ماجي ووالدته المرحومة نيرمالا ماجي. حاز على عشر شهادات دكتوراه فخرية حول العالم وتسع جوائز أدبية سنوية، بما في ذلك تمثال ساراسواتي الفضي. نُشر إبداعه الأدبي الفريد في مختلف المجلات والصحف والمختارات المعاصرة، وحظي بتقدير واسع النطاق في الهند وخارجها. لاقت ستة كتب في الشعر تحمل الرقم الدولي المعياري للكتاب (ISBN) وهي: كافيتا بيشيترا (112 صفحة)، كافيتا داربان (120 صفحة)، بروباد أنجينا (120 صفحة)، بريمير بويكونث (128 صفحة)، سونيت بهاسكار (200 صفحة)، وهارانو بامساري (168 صفحة)، استحسانًا كبيرًا من مجتمع القراء. تُغطي مساهماته الأدبية 210 ديوانًا شعريًا. حاز على جوائز مرموقة، منها جائزة بهارات غوراف إيشان، وجائزة التضامن الدولي، وجوائز كابي راتنا، وجائزة سارات ساهيتيا راتنا، وجائزة بنغال شيكشا غوراف، وجائزة كابي راتنا الدولية، بما في ذلك الجائزة الملكية للفنون والأدب، وجائزة بيشوا بونغو ساهيتي، وجائزة القلم الذهبي، وجائزة النجمة الذهبية، وجائزة ويليام شكسبير، وجائزة شاعر الطبيعة، وجائزة الشعر الذهبية. كما حاز على جوائز الإنجاز مدى الحياة ست مرات خلال مسيرته المهنية. كما دُعي كضيف شرف من العديد من المؤسسات الأدبية.

 

Biography:

Internationally renowned poet and writer Dr. Debabrata Maji recognizes as rising star in the literary world under World Poetic Fraternity is a retired engineer born in India on September 6, 1961 in Deulpur Village of Howrah District in West Bengal (India) of father late Harendra Nath Maji and mother late Nirmala Maji. He is the recipient of ten Honorary Doctorates across the globe and Nine Annual Literary Awards including one Silver Saraswati Statue. His unique creation of literary art has been spread everywhere in various magazines, newspapers, contemporary anthology and received appreciation from all quarter of life in India and abroad. Six books on Poetry verse with ISBN No. Kavita Bichitra (112 pages), Kavita Darpan (120 pages), Probad Angina (120 pages),  Premer Boikunth (128 pages), Sonnet Bhaskar (200 pages) and Harano Bamsari (168 pages)  have received well response from reading community. His literatures contribution is moving around in 210 poetry books. He conferred with most prestigious award like Bharat Gaurav Ishan Award, International Solidarity Award, Kabi Ratna Awards, Sarat Sahitya Ratna Award, Bengal Shiksha Gaurav, International Kabi Ratna Award including Royal of Art and Literature Award, Bishwa Bongo Sahity Award, Golden Pen Award, Golden Star Award, William Shakespeare Award, Poet of Nature Award, Gold Poetry Prize Winner. He was also the recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Awards six times during his career. He was also invited as Guest from several literary organisations.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

السيرة الذاتية للمؤلف: شو شينغ، وُلد في مقاطعة سيتشوان، ويقيم حاليًا في ميانيانغ. وهو عضو في جمعية الشعر الصينية في شيكاغو، الولايات المتحدة الأمريكية، وعضو مجلس نادي الشعراء الصينيين العالمي في هونج كونج، وجمعية الشعر الصينية، ورابطة كتاب سيتشوان، وكاتب عمود في صحيفة "سفن دايز" الكندية، ونائب رئيس أكاديمية ميانيانغ ويست شو للأدب والفنون. نُشرت أعماله في الصحف والمجلات المحلية والدولية، مثل صحيفة "بيبول ديلي"، ومجلة "بويتري بيريويكال"، ومجلة "أدب وفن جيش التحرير الشعبي"، ومجلة "بكين أدب"، ومجلة "بروسوبيسيا". فاز بجائزة الأدب في الفترة من 2008 إلى 2011، وجائزة الأدب الدولي الثالث في كندا، ومهرجان "شعراء سيدني للشعر" عام 2022. نشر مجموعات شعرية، مثل "زهور على النهر"، و"قرية نصف مفتوحة"، و"مسقط رأسي في الشعر".

Email :editress2001@163.com

 

 

 

 

Poems by Xu Xing Sichuan, China

 

1. Tearful Stone Flowers

 

The wind blew and melancholy flowed out of the eyes

The trail leading to the Hindu Kush Mountains
In fact, the heartis very bitter, the tulip
Can't remember her own pet name

The song "Stone Flowers" sung for many years
Can move Pashtuns for several generations, but can't

Call back the beloved and most-cared person
Because of a war and disaster

Only know that in every morning or dusk
The white headscarf stained with blood and tears

Always stand at the smoke- filled mountain pass

A lifetime of watch and an ordinary Afghanistan
The helplessness and occasional infatuation of a woman

Think about the people and things far in the past
If only these ruthless winds could
Blow away the shadow of winter...

（Translated by Joseph Spring）

 

2. The King of Monkeys

Some beautiful things are always like sunshine

And flowers move you behind the dusk
Simple and amiable and past life and present life

There will always be a prosperous forest
The sky and clouds that nurture you look at your spirituality
Light to see you elegant and charming moonlight lingering
Watch you yell at all the birds to sing the rising sun
The twilight is brilliant. I can see you jump up and down
The graceful dance and blond hair
The piece of water that is wet is blue
Look at the warmth like flowers on your red stone
Look at your wives and concubines partying like queens every night

Look at your children like stars falling on a jade plate

Some beautiful things are always like sunshine

Share you with the flowers behind the dusk

A mischievous and joyful life...

（Translated by Joseph Spring）

 

3. March

The branches of the past standing at the entrance of the village in March

The laughter of the red willow and green wind is awkward and sad
But the two flying swallows are a little bit
I don't know that my bleeding heart is in frost
The cold wave has long passed. The mirror is like water
The history of the corner of the eye hurts in some cauliflower
Suona with tears in the yellow season
Hastily spread out a period of sun and moon without maple leaves

The crying sun climbed through the wooden latticed window
Growing quietly on another man's fence
And bloom into broken cherry blossoms in March is not

All belong to the fate of the season of women
I can'ttell you the story of the day, but I have no regrets...
（Translated by Joseph Spring）

  

4. Love is Wet with Rain

 

Pure iS white paper

Two sheets of white paper of different sizes

Stick together gracefully in romance

The willows flutter in air so lovely

When an unexpected heavy rain wet the paper

Wet are our love too

The creases become boundaries of spring...

（Translated by Zhang Qiong）

  

5. l Can't Hold a Drop of Water

 

l open my hand and see three lines of footprints

Of a stray horse in a blighted desert

Meeting with summer, the sunshine wrung dry by wind

Never let the hand stand up

Like a tree watching for life below

Only birds whine down from the corner of the eyes of evening

In the palm of my hand suffering through

The past and present life of a drop of water...

（Translated by Zhang Qiong）

  

6. A Lone Bird

 

A bird stands on a reed

With a lonely figure entangled in

The twisted dusk and the starlit

L ost distance

 

Moonlight is a healing net

Fingertips of wind cut through the aching river

A soft voice of a woman

Sing the reed flower white...

（Translated by Zhang Qiong）

  

Bio ofthe Author ：Xu Xing,born in Sichuan Province, Now livesin Mianyang.He is a member of Chinese Poetry Society of Chicago,USA,Council member world club of Chinese poets h.k,Chinese Poetry Society,Sichuan Writers Association,A columnist for The Canadian newspaper Seven Days,Vice President of Mianyang West Shu Literature and Art Academy. His works are published on papers and journals home and abroad, such as People Daily, Poetry periooical,People's Liberation Army Literature and Art, Beijing Literature,Prosopisia. He won literature Award in 2008-2011,the 3rd International style Literature Award in Canada,"Poets of Sydney Poetry Festival" in 2022. He published collections of peoms, such as Flowers up the River, A Half-unlocked Village, Hometown in Poetry.

 

Communications: Xu Xing, No. 4, 6th Floor, Building 20, Fule Community, Shenjiaba, Youxian District, Mianyang City, Sichuan Province, China

Postal Code:  621000

Tel: 18981186056

Micro signal: xuxing_scmy 

Email : editress2001@163.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

الشاعر أشوك تشاكرافارثي ثولانا من حيدر أباد، ولاية تيلانجانا، الهند، يقف الدكتور ، شاعرًا لامعًا يصنع أبياتًا تتردد صداها مع الحياة وجوهر السلام. لمدة لا تقل عن ثلاثة عقود، كان الدكتور أشوك مناضلاً لا يعرف الكلل يدافع عن قضية اللاعنف وحقوق الإنسان وحماية البيئة والأخوة العالمية. جلبت له كتاباته الغزيرة وتفانيه تقديرًا وإعجابًا وطنيًا ودوليًا من قادة ومؤسسات العالم. ريشة أخرى في قبعته هي أن أعماله قد تُرجمت إلى أكثر من 41 لغة حتى الآن. وبصرف النظر عن ذلك، فقد لامس شعره أرواح مائة دولة من خلال إحدى عشرة مجموعة شعرية وهي بمثابة شهادة على براعته الأدبية والتزامه بعالم متناغم.

 

YES, A STRONG WILL…

 

Hours and days of life

Rapidly get devoured;

And the fleeting time

Keeps on bullying us.

 

Despite being aware

Time always chases us;

With an unending thirst

We run after elusive joys.

 

Squeezed and crushed

By unforeseen upheavals;

Life’s hopes get shrunk,

And nightmares creep out.

 

At times, flowery paths

At times, thorny paths;

But confidence is the power,

Patience is the real healer.

 

Yes, a strong will liberates us,

A positive spirit uplifts us,

Pluck out the thorns of ego,

To grab ever-new contentment.

 

 

AWAKE - AWAKEN

 

Unending desires

Like the mighty waves

Relentlessly stir

And very often scare...

Threaten our wisdom

In the guise of stardom

With illusory wrath

Distracting life’s path;

Oh human, come out

Stimulate your wit

Let not illusory waves

Block your life’s ways.

 

Peeping out of the trance

Give wisdom a right chance

Waves of desires never cease

Wrong options they choose.

Why not you awaken your wit

It’s wise, isn’t it!

Tread life with caution

Believe God and the creation

Yes, awake and awaken others

Life will bestow ever new glitters.

 

 

 

 

ABOUT THE POET  : In the heart of Hyderabad, Telangana State, India, Dr. Ashok Chakravarthy Tholana, stands as an illustrious poet who crafts verses that resonate with life and the essence of peace.  For no less than three decades, Dr. Ashok has been a tireless crusader who champions the cause of non-violence, human rights, environment protection and universal brotherhood. His prolific writings and dedication brought him national and international accolades and admiration from world leaders and institutions. Another feather in his cap is that, his works have been translated to over 41 languages as on date. That apart, his poetry has touched the souls of a hundred nations with eleven poetry collections and they serve as a testament to his literary prowess and commitment to a harmonious world.

 

As a co-author his works in the Russian based – “Global Harmony Association” on the subjects of “Global Peace Science of Spherons”, “Gandhica” and the “Anti-nuclear Manifesto” continue to inspire and ignite the flame of hope and unity across the globe. As a Co-author, his contributions are acknowledged @:

 

Global Peace Science of Spherons: https://peacefromharmony.org/docs/global-peace-science-2016.pdf

Gandhica: https://peacefromharmony.org/?cat=en_c&key=848

Anti-Nuclear Manifesto: https://peacefromharmony.org/?cat=en_c&key=908 

International Day of Nonviolence- October 2 -https://peacefromharmony.org/?cat=en_c&key=1158

 

2024 UNOs International Day of Peace @:: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PPepXwthWvE

2024 UNOs World Environment Day @::https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXSI4lrBY2w&t=17s

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

د  برويز شهريار شاعر - محرر المجلس الوطني لبحوث وتدريب المعلمين نيودلهي - الهند

السيرة الذاتية

وُلدت نيجار عارف عام ١٩٩٣ في ٢٠ يناير في أذربيجان. درست في جامعة أذربيجان الحكومية التربوية، قسم اللغة الإنجليزية، بين عامي ٢٠١٠ و٢٠١٤. نيجار عارف عضو في "اتحاد الشباب العالمي للكتاب الأتراك"، وتخرجت من "مدرسة الشباب الثالثة للكتاب" التابعة لاتحاد كتاب أذربيجان. وهي أيضًا عضو في "المنتدى الدولي للإبداع والإنسانية" في المغرب. تُرجمت قصائدها جزئيًا إلى الإنجليزية والتركية والروسية والفارسية والجبل الأسود والإسبانية، ونُشرت في دول مختلفة. شاركت في "مهرجان المهرجانات الأدبي الأوراسي الرابع" الذي أقيم في باكو عام ٢٠١٩، و"مهرجان ميديلين الدولي للشعر الثلاثين" الذي أقيم في كولومبيا عام ٢٠٢٠، و"مهرجان بانوراما الأدبي الدولي ٢٠٢٠" في الهند عبر منصة إلكترونية. شاركت أيضًا في مشروع "رحلة الكلمة إلى أوروبا" و"100 شاعر حول العالم من أجل الحب" و"اللقاء الافتراضي الرابع للشعراء العالميين 2020".

alsiyrat aldhaatia

 

 

BIOGRAPHY

NigarArif was born in 1993 on the 20th of January in Azerbaijan. She studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014. NigarArif is a member of the “World Youth Turkish Writers’ Union” and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”. She is also a member of the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Montenegro, and Spanish and have been published in different countries. She was a participant of “ IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals“ which was held in Baku in 2019 and “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020 which was held in Colombia, "Panaroma International Literary Festival 2020" in India at an online platform. She participated at the” Word trip Europe” project, "100 poets around the World for love" and “ Fourth Global Poet Virtual Meeting 2020” as well.

 

 

HOPE

The world rests on hopes and expectations

Homosapiens have been growing in the true relations

Where there is no hope and desire at all

Living organisms convert into rocks and dissertations

 

Hope can raise you from the dirty mud

Hope can bloom  flower from a tiny bud

Hope and faith are the powerful luck

Which brings crown to king diamond stud

 

If you are in trouble and in stress

Don’t stop achieving your progress

Hopes and despair are natural phenomena

Like sun and shadow never regress

 

Among fires, smokes and smells of burning flesh

Humanity has lost dignity between ego clash

Let’s HOPE,  God will restore the peace

When civilians are dying, PRESS unable to flash 📸

©️ Copyright:

Dr. Perwaiz Shaharyar 

Editor, NCERT, New Delhi, India

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

 

MY LOVE FOR YOU

 

So intensively,

I have been craving for

The wine of your lips

The bowls of your eyes

Your black curly hairs

The lake of your blue eyes 

Whenever,

You will look rather attentively into

The mirror

You will find me at

Your face-to-face

Each impression of my staring 

will see stuck on

At your entity

Your lips and cheeks

When my face appears at your face

The concealed secret of the heart will be revealed at everyone

How will you possess yourself in the new situation

Can you adapt yourself in it?

 

Copyright:

Dr Perwaiz Shaharyar

Editor, NCERT, New Delhi, India

Mobile No. 9910 78 2 964

 

JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ

THE BURNING BOAT

I had burnt my boat
When I crossed the sea
I was then alone
Only my shadow witnessed it
Now, the stink of burning only I can smell
The burnt mark is visible to those
Who have sparks in their eyes
I am carrying the sea and burnt boat within me
My boat was burning
There on the sands of seashore
Since then with the every tide
Sea attempts to put out the fire and
Wash off my burnt boat
Even for the high tide, it’s not possible to do so
My heart is burning in separation of my beloved
It’s pangs are too intensive
My blanket cannot properly cover my body
To extinguish the fire
The sea is nothing but my vast body
My toes are touching the sea bed
My boat is my heart within – the Sun on the sky
Smokes come out all over in my mind
My hairs turned into ashes grey
By the heat of my burning heart
It seems, my heart can’t meet;
Can’t make reunion with my beloved
Till the sea of my body gets dried out
O, my Lord!
How long I will have to wait
To show you my burning heart
Alas…!

Perwaiz Shaharyar
Editor, NCERT, New Delhi

 

 

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Dr. ABDUL HALIL AL MADANI IRAQ)

 

SPRING HAS PASSED THROUGH YOUR SKY

 

 

Peace... O forest of daffodils,

Peace with perfume and bouquets of flowers,

O a pleasure, you who are a sea of honey,

O fragrant torrent,

And a gorgeous birth,

O gardens and sun of dreams

And light in the meadows of the full moon,

Peace be upon you, O a basket of roses,

That have passed,

Like clusters of years,

From dawn...to dawn,

You are the dawn...Without you I would not have been the princess of dawn,..

The night lit up in your eyes

And the wild lilacs slept...

Peace O light's boat

And the dance of the shore and the river

Peace O stature of the lily

O necklace

of pearls and gems...

Peace... O you are the shining and the colors of the morning,

The night that flows,

Do you know that (You) are the seasons and the moons?

And an ebb without flow,

The fields that draw dreams,

Of *Amber perfume,

And you are our bright night,

The shining planet,

A light that ignites Night,

That passed through of life...

Years follow days that flow by...

In the blink of an eye,

So a happy birth,

Oh plate of cream,

And a piece of vanilla

And a spring...of wine...

And poetry that turns the rhythm,

Oh flow...of fires and embers..

 

 

*Ambergris is a type of luxurious perfume extracted from the belly of a whale.

 

 

(Translated by: Ali Abdul Salam Al-Hashimi)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

تاسون روكو جوزيبي

شاعر ومؤرخ وكاتب مقالات إيطالي، له 80 كتابًا منشورًا، وحاصل على وسام فارس الجمهورية الإيطالية، وتقلّد العديد من المناصب الفخرية طوال فترة انتدابه. تُرجمت أعماله ونُشرت في العديد من الدول، سواءً في مختارات أو في مجلات دولية. وهو مؤسس جامعة بونتي والجمعية التي يرأسها، ومنظم العديد من المسابقات الأدبية والتاريخية.

 

 

 

TASSONE ROCCO GIUSEPPE

Italianpoet, historian and essayist with 80 published books, knight of the Italian Republic and varioushonoraryappointmentsthroughout the mandate. His works havebeentranslated and published in several countries both in anthologies and in international journals. He is the founder of the Ponti University with the Society he chairs and of varioushistorical-literarycompetitions.

 

LEAVE

 

 

A last handshake

to greet the sun that will continue

to rise and set.

A last handshake

to greet the hawthorn flourishing

the emigrating of the swallows,

the dancing  of a dragon-fly,

my Sour Mountains

and my rugged bluffs.

A last handshake

to greet my rivers,

from the Mesima to the Petrace,

by now deprived of life.

A last handshake

to greet my world

of paper and of ink

that has bent my back

and made my eyes tired.

A last handshake

to greet the country,

between the olives there on the hill,

to which I due

some ashes that today

pay back homage to them.

 

 

SUNSET

 

 

And, with last

caress,

the sun blinded

the sea!

 

 

 

 

 

SMALL AND WORLDWIDE SENSATIONS

So, when that day will come,

now that my looks in the past

rather than in the future,

I need to go away alone:

 neither crying nor a tear

thinking at nothing

because I know all will end.

While the Universe will go around

in the time and in the Eternity

pleased with a meaningless little bit

of have been, for a certain period

a planetary element!

 

 

 

 

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النصر الخفي بقلم مويا بوكباباج

... ذاكرة النهر

مختبئة في عبير أوراق الشجر...

لورا باورز، الولايات المتحدة الأمريكية

إذا كنت تعرف معنى الوطن، فإن قصيدة "النصر الخفي" لموجي بوكباباج ستُحطم قلبك. إنها صورة جميلة وحميمة لشعب ومشهد مزقته الحرب، وللندوب التي لا تزال باقية. يُصبح بوكباباج الصوت المؤثر للجماهير، الأحياء منهم والأموات، الذين عايشوا حرب كوسوفو، ويُركز على الصلة بين الرجال والنساء والأطفال ووطنهم. القصائد التي تُشكل "النصر الخفي" هي شظايا متعرجة ومتألقة من قلب الشاعر، المُبعثر بين الأمم. الروح الإنسانية هي ما يوحد القصائد - الشوق إلى الوطن كما كان، وإلى من فقدوه - والحزن العميق لإدراك أنه مجرد ذكرى. يعكس هذا الانكسار قلوب إخوة الشاعر وأخواته - أصدقاءه وعائلاته وأعدائه، وما هو إنساني في كل منا. عانوا جميعًا معًا؛ كانوا وما زالوا متحدين في ألمهم، والألم والانكسار جزء مما يوحد "النصر الخفي".

 

        

THE INVISIBLE VICTORY BY MUJË BUÇPAPAJ

               

            . . . The river’s memory

            Hiding in the smell of leaves . . .

 

 

Laura BOWERS, USA

 

 

If you know what it feels like to be home, MujëBuçpapaj’sThe Invisible Victory will break your heart.  It is a beautiful, intimate portrait of a people and a landscape torn by war—and of the scars that remain.  Buçpapaj becomes the haunting voice of multitudes, both living and dead, who experienced the war in Kosovo, and he focuses on the connection between the men, women and children and their homeland.  The poems that constitute The Invisible Victory are the jagged, glittering fragments of the poet’s heart lying raw and scattered between nations.  The human spirit is what unifies the poems—the longing for home as it once was and for people who are now lost—and the utter sadness in knowing it is only a memory.  The brokenness reflects the hearts of the poet’s brothers and sisters—of friends, families, enemies, and what is human in each of us.  All suffered together; they were and are unified in their pain, and pain and brokenness are part of what unifies The Invisible Victory. 

The book begins with suffering and ends with its prospect, a final poem consisting of prophesy and history interwoven.  The most prominent emotion in the book is the poet’s sadness, and his is the sadness of nations.  The most intimate emotion, however, is the poet’s sheer determination to preserve the freedom of expression for the good of all nations.  In writing the book, he lives that passion, and the “invisible victory” becomes the defeat of any fear which might impede proclamation of the truth.  Showing his love for his homeland and his gift for brilliant, vivid imagery and metaphor, Buçpapaj interweaves concepts of home and those who remember home and, in doing so, touches what is human in us all.

Inherent in the poems is a longing for a lost past that has not begun to fade from the reaches of memory, but rather, that is separated only by a thin, yet immovable curtain of time.  Buçpapaj examines the substance of time through the poetic medium as though hopeful that he will find some loophole through which he might rescue all that was lost to him.  Ironically, the collection begins with the image of the sunset in “The Invisible Victory”—the beginning of the end—and it ends with a poem titled “This Is Just the Beginning,” which opens with an image of the devil’s son reigning on a throne of fire and closes with a sad and frightening prospect: the harvest has come and death waits.  The final stanza reads: “Farewell / You people remaining / At the beginning.”  It seems to be saying that all the hellish experience documented in the book is only a precursor to what is to come.  Interestingly, both “The Invisible Victory” and “This Is Just the Beginning” are written in the past tense.  The collection is interspersed with brief, imagistic poems much like stills from the action of mind and memory.  They force the reader to stop, take a step back, and to gaze in awe at what simply is, while realizing that any single moment is timeless.

Buçpapaj occasionally speaks in the first person, gradually bringing his own loss and grief to the surface of the work.  In the title poem, which also opens the collection, the poet makes himself known as an integral part of his world and its circumstances:

 

                                I was also

                                Under the cracked skin

                                Of the sun’s

                                Rusty clothes

                                Measuring the colour

                                Of corn fields  (from “The Invisible Victory”)

 

The sun is setting, and there is an ominous implication in the fact that the poem is written in the past tense: “Life / Wasn’t enough for Man / To do good.”  The poet speaks from beyond this time, and his tone is brimming with a nearly breathless melancholy; in it, we hear the mournful echo as the sun disappears: too late, it’s too late, too late.

Initially, the first person persona seems somewhat distant from events, albeit saddened by what he has witnessed.  It is not long, however, before the narrator’s references to himself become intimate and raw, thus making the personal more universal:

 

O God

It seems to me

Instead of my Homeland

I have left a field

Of men

Devoid of sight

Behind the plane’s door  (from “Dirty Fantasy”)

 

It is when Buçpapaj makes himself most visible in his poems that I can also hear the voices of an entire nation of people.  “A Letter to my Mother” is the longest and one of the strongest poems in the collection.  Buçpapaj lives right on the surface of this poem, and it contains some of the most touching passages in the book.  Buçpapaj’s very tears have pooled in the midst of its lines:

 

                                Dear Mother

I spent a black winter

In the womb of curse

Where death finds

Man in solitude

With roads wrapped round his head

 

[. . .]

 

And because of the heavy field

I left one of my legs

And my youngest daughter’s tears

In dust

 

Buçpapaj’s words are filled with a fiery sadness.  He is bold and unapologetic in his grief.  In “The Night Over Kosova,” he tells of the hate-sparked fires which destroyed homes, hearts, and such beauty.  Buçpapaj mourns in tears and flame, and through him, his nation finds a voice.

Buçpapaj’s poems are generally short, usually less than a page, and they tend to end suddenly, with strong, yet understated aphorisms, the effect of which is startling—much like the effect of the war’s losses on the people.  This is no accident.  It also pulls the reader’s attention to the poignant conclusion of each poem.  Characteristically short lines work well with this technique; the devices reflect each other in form and in effect.  Short lines, at times, have the effect of making the speaker sound as though he is gasping for breath, as though wounded or exhausted (as he is in “A Letter to My Mother”).  The short, enjambed lines combined with virtually nonexistent punctuation can also accelerate the reading of the poem, and this effect, combined with the often sudden conclusions, leaves us somewhat dizzy—like running off the edge of the earth into space—at which point we realize what Buçpapaj had in mind all along: to yank the solid foundation from beneath us in order to make us feel what he and so many others felt at the great losses they suffered.  With the poems’ conclusions, and often within the poems as well, one finds oneself soaring off the edge of the earth in defiance of gravity, and this changes one’s conception of “necessary” footing, just as the great losses due to war must have affected those who suffered it.

                What charms me most about this book is the way Buçpapaj employs such fresh, stunning images within his metaphor.  I have selected only three of the numerous examples from the book.  They speak for themselves:

 

                                Dusk

                                Had fallen from the trees

Down on school children’s bags

 

The sound of the hearth’s ashes

Rolling round the world  (from “Kosovë 1999”)

 

The Big Marsh

Still eating land from under

The ribs of the dead  (from “The Field of Tplani”)

 

Having the colour of North Winds

                                The river was the wind’s portrait

                                Standing over trees  (From “The Wind’s Portrait”)

               

                Buçpapaj employs everything he loves and everything he hates in order to paint a precise portrait of his broken heart.  The pages overflow with sunsets, mountains, birds, books, and corn fields.  But we also see abandoned ruins, exodus engulfed in darkness, the muddy, frozen hands of children, and the dead beneath a tangle of burnt, labyrinthine roads of a ravaged land.  The dead remind us that, despite the season of renewal, some of the most valuable losses will never be regained.  As the poet writes in “Total Disillusion,” “Homeland has abandoned / His own home.”   

The poems are haunted, as the poet’s heart is haunted—riddled with ghosts of the lost and an atmosphere of appalled, exhausted silence.  In the shivers of the poet’s heart, we see the dead:

 

Those already weeping

In graves

Are at the bottom of the meadow

Beaten by winds

And afraid of cows  (from “Ghastly Silence”)

 

O abandoned trains

Take me to the dead

Weeping under the rain

We have to reconcile them  (from “The Southern Trains”)

 

Despite the fact that the book ends with the prospect of destruction, I do not sense a fear of that destruction.  Rather, there is victory in the written word and its freeing power:

 

Here rests our dream

That forbidden freedom had collapsed

 

[. . .]

 

We’ll go to the ruins to unbury

FREEDOM

And feed on IT our papers written

Amidst mud

 

On the day we defeated fear  (from “The Square”)

 

“Fear had conquered the world,” the poet says in “Black Fear.”  Perhaps, then, the invisible victory is in overcoming fear and thus freeing the spirit of mankind to profess the truth—which is precisely what Buçpapaj does in writing The Invisible Victory. 

 

Hope hasn’t abandoned me

In this ward of horror

 

Light a wooden fire

Over this desolate world

Say prayers for me in Albanian

For I am alive and

I don’t want to lose  (from “A Letter to my Mother”) 

 

In poems such as “The Wind’s Statue,” we find another irony: the violence was aimed at the poet, as he stands for all who require freedom of expression.  Yet the voices of the people survived in him, while the people themselves were murdered.  The victory is evident in the fact that, despite their deaths, they were not silenced, and that is because one survivor with a voice and a gift was not afraid.  Many more after me will sing praises of MujëBuçpapaj’s great work.  The Invisible Victory is a gorgeous, timeless victory.

 

 

  

 

ANGELA KOSTA - ITALY





THE HUNGER BITE...

"How much does a tear weigh? The tear of a capricious child weighs less than the wind, that of a hungry child, it weighs more than all the earth." (Gianni Rodari - Italy)

I had been travelling in Italy by train to Milan for a while, but that day has stuck in my memory and will never be eradicated from my mind. I was at milan station in Rogoredo and as I waited for the train to arrive, I devoted myself to reading a book of poetry. I was focusing on the wonderful verses, as I felt someone grab me by the elbow. I turned my head and saw a pale boy in his face with dirt, with his hair untied, his clothes torn and unwrapped, and his eyes, the eyes which I will never forget because they will never be able to be taken out of my mind. I didn't need to see his hand outstretched as he waited for some stitched ones. It was the eyes that cried out hunger and wondered for hours and why not days I thought with deep regret. I asked how old he was and what was his name?
“Aaron, I'm nine years old”, - he replied briefly, as if he wished he didn't waste his breath or the little energy he had left. I gave him a few euros, aware that they would not change his miserable condition at all, but they would still satisfy his hunger for at least a few days. Aaron looked at the money, touched them as if he wanted to make sure they were true, squeezed them tightly in his fist-raiser hand, and quickly put them under his socks. He thanked me with his childish smile but manly at the same time and after greeting me, he walked to the park.
“Aaron!” I called him in a moment.
He turned his head and turned to come towards me.
“Take these”!

I said as I extended the panine on paper and the bottle of water.
He was chewed and then he opened the paper and bit a piece. As he made it bite him again, he thought for a moment, hesitated and collected it again on paninen paper.
“I said, I just bought it”.
“I'll share it with my brothers and sister”, - he answered by raising my shoulders.
They are small and always hungry, he kept telling me in his childish voice as I thought how big he seemed to himself and how much he had been prematurely manhooded by destitution. I looked at the watch and as I thought the train was leaving in half an hour, I said:
“Come with me Aaron! He raised his head and asked where I would take him”.
"Let's go to this club nearby, buy pans for your brothers and sisters," I replied sweetly”.
"I have the money you gave me, madam," he said without letting me finish well.
“Come on! I told him. They spent tomorrow”!
He followed me silently, and as I waited my turn, I could feel the gaze of people who looked at me with curiosity or wondering what did that poor boy want in my company? That's what it made me. If society could eliminate these prejudices, if poverty were to disappear from the planet, like... It was my turn to ask Aaron, the reality that instantly disappeared the "as" desire, how many pannies should I order?
“Five! He answered with his fingers”.
I ordered double, and as I left the bag in my hand, I smiled at him and told him to take them home. He thanked me with excitement in his eyes and left. As he walked, (he nearly pulled his legs from helplessness), I thought that his shoulders, though still a child, bore the weight of the hard time: destitution. I accompanied him with his eyes until he mingled with the crowd of people and rushed to get the train.
On the journey, I thought nothing but Aaron and his siblings, who were starving in this harsh and unjust world. My thought also stopped at the fact that neither the abundance nor well-being of our children can be compared to that of Aaron and many other children anywhere in the world. The earthly globe was to be the same for all: no misery, no wars, no diseases, as God and Nature created, but that man transformed into the planet exploitation of the powerless and the afflictions.

أنجيلا كوستا - إيطاليا

لقمة الجوع...

"كم تزن دمعة؟ دمعة طفل متقلب المزاج أخف من الريح، ودمعة طفل جائع أثقل من الأرض كلها." (جياني روداري - إيطاليا)

كنت مسافرًا في إيطاليا بالقطار إلى ميلانو لفترة، لكن ذلك اليوم علق في ذاكرتي ولن يُمحى من ذاكرتي أبدًا. كنت في محطة ميلانو في روغوريدو، وبينما كنت أنتظر وصول القطار، انشغلت بقراءة ديوان شعر. كنت أركز على الأبيات الرائعة، حين شعرتُ بشخص يمسكني من مرفقي. التفتُّ فرأيتُ صبيًا شاحبًا، وجهه متسخ، شعره مفكوك، ملابسه ممزقة وغير ملفوفة، وعيناه، عينان لن أنساهما أبدًا، لأنهما لن تُمحى من ذاكرتي أبدًا. لم أكن بحاجة لرؤية يده ممدودة وهو ينتظر بعض الخيوط المخيطة. كانت عيناه تصرخان جوعًا وتتساءلان لساعات، ولماذا لا أيامًا؟ فكرتُ بندمٍ عميق. سألته كم عمره وما اسمه؟

آرون، عمري تسع سنوات"، أجاب باقتضاب، كأنه يتمنى لو لم يُبدد أنفاسه أو ما تبقى لديه من طاقة. أعطيته بضعة يوروهات، مُدركًا أنها لن تُغير حالته البائسة إطلاقًا، لكنها ستُشبع جوعه لبضعة أيام على الأقل. نظر آرون إلى النقود، ولمسها كأنه يريد التأكد من صحتها، ثم ضغط عليها بقوة بيده التي ترفع قبضتها، ثم وضعها بسرعة تحت جواربه. شكرني بابتسامة طفولية ورجولية في آنٍ واحد، وبعد أن حيّاني، سار إلى الحديقة.

"آرون!" ناديته بعد لحظة.

أدار رأسه والتفت نحوي.

"خذ هذه"!

قلتُ وأنا أمدّ له ورقة خبز البانيني وزجاجة الماء.

كان قد مضغها، ثم فتح الورقة وقضم قطعة منها. وبينما هو يُعيدها إليه، فكّر للحظة، ثم تردد، ثم جمعها مرة أخرى على ورقة خبز البانيني.

 

"سأشاركها مع إخوتي وأخواتي"، أجابني رافعًا كتفي.

إنهم صغار وجائعون دائمًا، ظل يُخبرني بصوته الطفولي وأنا أفكر في مدى ضخامة حجمه، وكم أصبح رجلاً قبل أوانه بسبب الفقر. نظرت إلى الساعة، وبينما كنت أظن أن القطار سيغادر بعد نصف ساعة، قلت: "تعال معي يا آرون!" رفع رأسه وسألني إلى أين سآخذه.

"لنذهب إلى هذا النادي القريب، ونشتري المقالي لإخوتك وأخواتك،" أجبته بلطف.

"معي ​​المال الذي أعطيتني إياه يا سيدتي،" قال دون أن يُكمل كلامي.

"هيا! أخبرته. لقد أنفقوا غدًا!".

تبعني في صمت، وبينما كنت أنتظر دوري، شعرت بنظرات الناس ينظرون إليّ بفضول أو يتساءلون عما يريده هذا المسكين مني؟ هذا ما يريده.

صنعتني. لو استطاع المجتمع القضاء على هذه الأحكام المسبقة، لو اختفى الفقر من على وجه الأرض، مثل... جاء دوري لأسأل آرون، الواقع الذي تلاشى فيه فجأةً شهوة "الأنانية"، كم سلة عليّ أن أطلب؟

"خمسة!" أجاب بأصابعه.

طلبتُ ضعف الكمية، وبينما تركتُ الكيس في يدي، ابتسمتُ له وقلتُ له أن يأخذهما إلى المنزل. شكرني بحماسٍ في عينيه وغادر. وبينما كان يمشي (كاد أن يسحب ساقيه من فرط العجز)، فكرتُ أن كتفيه، وإن كانا لا يزالان طفلين، تحملا وطأة العوز. رافقته بعينيه حتى اختلط بحشد الناس وهرع لركوب القطار.

في الرحلة، لم أفكر إلا في آرون وإخوته، الذين يتضورون جوعًا في هذا العالم القاسي والظالم. وتوقف تفكيري أيضًا عند حقيقة أن وفرة أطفالنا ورفاههم لا تُقارن برفاهية آرون والعديد من الأطفال الآخرين في أي مكان في العالم. كان من المفترض أن يكون الكرة الأرضية واحدة للجميع: لا بؤس، لا حروب، لا أمراض، كما خلق الله والطبيعة، ولكن الإنسان تحول إلى كوكب يستغل الضعفاء والبلاء.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

الشاعرة والصحفية

مجلة Verseum الأدبية المخصصة للشعر، ومجلة The Poetry Tribune

 

شاعرة؛ وكاتبة مقالات؛ وكاتبة صحفية

مؤسسة ورئيسة التحرير في مجلة Verseum

مديرة التحرير في مجلة ميديوم

منسق النشر بأكاديمية الشرائط التحفيزية للتميز الأدبي والحكمة

كبير مستشاري اتحاد كتاب الأمم العالمي

مؤلفة ‏ ديوان قصائد "طقوس الشروق"​​

مؤلفة ديوان قصائد "المنفى في النور"​​

محررة / مديرة في لايف جورنال

 

 

كورينا جونغياتو، المولودة في ١٢ أبريل ١٩٨١ في بوخارست، رومانيا، شاعرة وكاتبة وناقدة أدبية شهيرة ثنائية اللغة. حاصلة على ماجستير في فقه اللغة وعلم النفس التربوي، بالإضافة إلى بكالوريوس في الآداب والفلسفة، وقد نمّت شغفها بالأدب منذ صغرها، حيث بدأت رحلتها الشعرية في الثانية عشرة من عمرها. تُجيد كورينا خمس لغات، وقد قدّمت مساهمات قيّمة في عالم الأدب. ألّفت مجموعتين شعريتين شهيرتين: "المنفى في النور" و"طقوس شروق الشمس"، والمجموعة الثالثة قيد الإعداد حاليًا. إلى جانب كتابتها، تُعدّ كورينا قوة دافعة في المجتمع الأدبي العالمي. وهي مؤسِّسة ورئيسة تحرير "فيرسيوم آند ذا بويتري تريبيون" و"منتدى فيرسيوم آند ذا بويتري تريبيون". بالإضافة إلى ذلك، تشغل منصب كبير الإداريين ومنسق النشر العالمي لـ Motivational Strips، المنتدى الأكثر نشاطًا للكتاب في العالم، وتعمل كمستشارة رئيسية لاتحاد كتاب الأمم المتحدة في كازاخستان.

نالت إنجازاتها الأدبية تقديرًا واسع النطاق، بما في ذلك جوائز مرموقة مثل جائزة أكاديمية غوجارات ساهيتيا عام ٢٠٢٠ ووسام شكسبير عام ٢٠٢١. كما كُرِّمت بجائزة "سيزار فاليجو" (التميز الأدبي) من "بريمو مونديال" لعام ٢٠٢٠، تقديرًا لمساهماتها الاستثنائية في هذا المجال. نُشرت أعمال كورينا الشعرية في العديد من المجلات والمختارات الأدبية الوطنية والدولية، وهي مشاركة فاعلة في مهرجانات الشعر العالمية والفعاليات الثقافية، وغالبًا ما تتولى دور المنظم والمشرف. ومن خلال تفانيها الراسخ في الأدب والثقافة، تواصل كورينا إلهام الكُتّاب والقراء حول العالم وربطهم ببعضهم البعض.

 

 

 

Corina Junghiatu, born on April 12, 1981, in Bucharest, Romania, is a renowned bilingual poet, writer, and literary critic. With a Master's degree in Philology and Psycho-pedagogy, as well as a Bachelor's degree in Letters and Philosophy, she has cultivated a deep passion for literature from a young age, beginning her poetic journey at 12. Fluent in five languages, Corina has made significant contributions to the literary world.

She is the author of two acclaimed poetry collections: Exile in the Light and The Ritual of a Sunrise, with a third collection currently in progress. Beyond her writing, Corina is a driving force in the global literary community. She serves as the Founder and Editor-in-Chief of Verseum&The Poetry Tribune  and the Verseum&The Poetry Tribune Forum. Additionally, she holds the role of Chief Administrator and Global Publishing Coordinator for Motivational Strips, the world’s most active writers' forum, and acts as the Chief Advisor for the World Nations Writers' Union in Kazakhstan.

Her literary achievements have earned her widespread recognition, including prestigious awards such as the Gujarat Sahitya Akademi Award in 2020 and the Order of Shakespeare Medal in 2021. She was also honored with the PREMIO MUNDIAL 2020 "CESAR VALLEJO" (Excellence in Literature) Award, acknowledging her exceptional contributions to the field.

Corina’s poetry has been featured in numerous national and international journals and anthologies, and she is an active participant in global poetry festivals and cultural events, often stepping into roles of co-organizer and moderator. Through her unwavering dedication to literature and culture, Corina continues to inspire and connect writers and readers worldwide.

To write...

To write means to capture the unseen's order

in a living, incandescent geometry,

a rhombus that drives its edges into the sun

and rips away its light, transforming it into word.

To write is to catch a secret from the air,

to speak it without crushing its wings,

to let the light dress itself in letter

without losing its first wonder.

To write is to peel back layer after layer of the flesh of the world,

until only the void remains, filled with meaning,

only you and the electric miracle of the letter,

only you and the burning blood of the verb.

To write is like catching a lightning bolt in your fist,

you hold it tight until it starts to whisper,

and then you throw it onto paper,

to set the world ablaze with its fiery nerves.

 

©Corina Junghiatu

 

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Peace

Peace is not a word,

but the natural order of the world.

It does not ask to be sung,

but to be lived

in moments of deep communion

with the earth, the sky, our brother,

even with the wind.

If you look into the eyes of a child

who has lived through war,

you will understand more

than from all the speeches of politicians,

written on pages filled with empty words.

That gaze is deeper

than all the crafted rhetoric,

stronger than any proclamation of victory.

It is a cry,

but not one of war - of peace,

a cry only the heart can comprehend,

without rhetoric, without the false mask of power.

His gaze is a wound

that no campaign promises can heal.

He does not know what “reconciliation” means

unless it no longer hurts.

He does not understand “unity”

unless a heart beats in unison with his.

Peace is the body of the entire world,

without hatred, without fear,

without the desire to conquer,

without the urge to impose,

without coercion, without forced silence,

without kneeling.

Peace is not merely the absence of war,

but the presence of understanding and compassion.

It is not found in the search for absolute truth,

but in accepting the imperfections of others.

Peace is equality, but not uniformity.

Peace is a lesson in love,

but not unconditional love

rather, a love that demands responsibility.

Peace cannot be imposed,

only understood and lived,

for it is the fruit of consciousness,

of the profound realization

that all things are one.

And every moment of harmony in our lives

is a victory over the war in the world.

Let us live this way:

without expectations, without pride,

but with open hearts and clear vision,

like a child who, despite knowing pain,

has chosen to love again.

©Corina Junghiatu

 

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Poetry as the Miracle of Childhood -When Verses Become Wings 

 

There is an age when the world is made of magic. When the sun does not rise but plays, hiding among branches, and the wind does not blow but whispers secrets. At this age, poetry is not a text but a state of being. A form of discovery. An invisible key that opens the doors to an unseen world. 

Childhood is the first territory of poetry. Before we learn to write, we utter rhymes without knowing what they are. We play with sounds, meanings, and rhythms, just as a painter spreads colors on a canvas. Poetry is our first secret language, a code that makes every child, deep down, a poet. 

 Poetry

- The Alphabet of Sensitivity 

Poetry is not just an artistic exercise but a space where the

child practices emotions. By learning to listen to poetry, the child learns to feel. Words, musicality, and metaphoric images educate sensitivity, shaping their perception of the world. Just as mathematics structures logical thinking, poetry builds the inner architecture of the soul. 

Poetry in education fosters creativity, emotional intelligence, and critical thinking. It enhances language skills, enriches vocabulary, and nurtures empathy by offering diverse perspectives. Through rhythm and metaphor, poetry makes learning engaging and memorable. It encourages self-expression, strengthens cultural awareness, and cultivates a lifelong appreciation for literature, shaping well-rounded individuals with a deeper understanding of the human experience. 

In a world dominated by technology, where screens become surrogate parents, poetry remains one of the last places where a child can encounter their own voice. By reading poetry, they learn to listen to their thoughts, to understand their dreams. Poetry is the space where words are not just letters but windows into unseen worlds. 

Poetry, a School of Empathy 

Children who grow up with poetry learn more easily to understand and feel the emotions of others. Metaphors help them step into different perspectives, to see the world through someone else’s eyes. Poetry becomes a bridge between souls, a code of universal understanding. 

When a child reads a verse about the sorrow of a fallen leaf or the joy of a bird finding its way home, they are not just learning words. They are learning about loss and rediscovery, about melancholy and hope. Poetry teaches them that emotions are natural and that every feeling can be transformed into beauty. 

Poetry and Play - Learning Without Effort 

A child does not learn rhymes because they have to but because they love them. Poetry is not a lesson; it is a game. Its rhythm, repetitions, and sonority turn it into a natural mental exercise. Children exposed to poetry from an early age develop a richer vocabulary, a stronger imagination, and a sharper memory. 

It is no coincidence that our first lullabies are, in fact, poems. That the first stories we hear come in rhythmic patterns, easy to remember. Poetry is, naturally, the first form of emotional and cognitive education. 

 

Poetry, a Refuge in a Rushed World 

Children today grow up in a world of speed. Everything happens fast, without pause, without stillness. Poetry is one of the few places where time slows down. By reading or writing poetry, a child learns to observe, to listen, to wait. They discover that beauty is not something to be consumed but something to be savored. 

In a world full of noise, poetry teaches children to appreciate silence. In a world overloaded with data and information, poetry reminds them that the deepest truths are not found in textbooks but within themselves. 

 

Words That Grow With Us 

A child who discovers poetry will never be alone. The words they once loved will accompany them throughout life. They will transform, adapt, become landmarks, memories, lessons. Poetry is a seed that, once planted in the soul, never stops blooming. 

And perhaps, one day, that child, now grown, will rediscover, in

some forgotten corner of memory, a verse that once moved them. And in that moment, they will know that no matter how far they have come, poetry has always been with them, like an invisible thread connecting childhood to the present. 

Because poetry is not just about words. It is about how words make us feel. And the child who learns to feel the world through poetry will always remain closer to its essence.