In Remembrance of Million Centuries’ Poet- Alaxander Pope
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Hidden Soul
Hellen Jonebow ( Hungary)
Creeping through the narrow
passages in your head which were
destroyed by landslides and
blocked by boulders.
They will pick up shovels and
every other tool that they crafted for their art
and shatter the mortar in which
you trap all the memories
which still nail you to a cross.
People who play with words can
sell their soul
for a sliver of precious gem
hiding in mounds of coal
People who pen their minds can
destroy your soul
hit an axe at your pretense
knowing that there is something beautiful to
Don’t fall in love with someone who writes :
they might damage you while they dig,
and might leave what they find untouched,
after they have told the world about
Me without you
Fatiha Milla ( Cameroon)
Me feel alone everyday while you absence
What true love really meant.
I’d never feel this inner peace;
If not for you, I’d never have
The pleasures of romance.
I’d miss the bliss, the craziness,
I have to feel your tender touch;
I have to hear your voice;
No other one could take your place;
I don’t know what I’d do;
I’d be searching for my other half,
Incomplete, if not for you.
You had Nothing but Much
Afwana Tuja ( Yemen)
You had no say ;
You had no guns ;
no nuclear weapons, no shield against explosions.
Laws and rules and faith and belief,
just sounds trying to creep into
your vocabulary.
Burnt up forests, shattered walls,
Battered buildings and broken roads.
They wrote down every heartbeat of yours,
as they fought over these blooded bodes.
You were too naive, child,
a mere puppet whose strings lie
in hands of men with neatly cut suits
and camouflaged boots,
who’re simply trying to protect their
Laws and rules and faith and belief,
and lands more precious than you
Jesus in Court
Ajoy Bhattacharya(West Bengal)Don’t shed tears Jesus,
Don’t shed tears.
I shall be hurt very much,
To find tears in your eyes.
Each day we crushed you
Stroke after stroke.
Even then don’t shed tears.
l shall be hurt to find
Tears in your eyes.
You stood leaning your head On the wooden panel usually, Spectacles on your eyes,
Still I could see your eyes Through the glasses.
One hour —Two hours–Three hours.
Then one day–Two days–Three days.
The arguments between
The persons with black cloaks,
The movement of head
Up and down and from
Left to right by the judge,
Took you to pay no heed to those.
The sight of your eyes sought them Who built their homes
On the North and South Poles.
Yet, don’t shed tears Jesus, Because l shall be hurt much To see tears in your eyes.
The Order is out today.
Blood –Blood –and Blood; Spread everywhere the eyes go.
The man and woman
Who brought you to earth, Went to their ways–
North and South.
Jesus! You are to go to exile Through your own
Blood stained path.
My earnest prayer to you Jesus,
Don’t shed tears,
Because I shall be hurt too much
To see tears in your eyes
Behind the Heart
Andraw Macow( Guyana)
It mounts at sea, a concave wall
Down-ribbed with shine,
And pushes forward, building tall
Its steep incline.
Then from their hiding rise to sight
Black shapes on boards
Bearing before the fringe of white
It mottles towards.Then from their hiding rise to sight
Black shapes on boards
Bearing before the fringe of white
It mottles towards.Their pale feet curl,
They poise their weight
With a learn’d skill.
It is the wave they imitate
Keeps them so still.The marbling bodies have become
Half wave, half men,
Grafted it seems by feet of foam
Some seconds, then,
Late as they can, they slice the face
In timed procession:
Balance is triumph in this place,
Triumph possession.
But
Musalin Abedin( Azarbaijan)
All you want is for people to love you as much as you love them
You feel as if you overdo it
You’re not even trying to
You just want them to feel understood
Every emotion they’re feeling and the circumstances they have you consider in intense detail
But it feels as if they force themselves to care for you
They swear it’s not the truth
But you find them going several days without even speaking to you
You have to initiate everything
When you spent time together it was because you asked
And when you don’t ask, they don’t notice
They don’t realize why you went quiet
And when they ask if you’re okay, if they ever do, you can’t tell them how you really feel
You can tell them the situation
That’s expected
But emotions?
Seem too much to handle
So you say you’re fine
And you do whatever it takes to keep it that way.
Yet you let it build up inside
And when the attacks come
You suffer through it on your own
Because youre to scared to burden anyone with the mess you are
So when youre in tears
You don’t tell them anymore
Not like you used to as a kid
Cuz then, you just wanted the attention
Wanted a omebody to notice
But now it has nothing to do with that
You don’t want people to see how broken you are
How you fight to not cover up everything with a lie
Because they beg you not to
Yet you feel even worse wondering why they act like they care but seem so distant when you need them most
Or its just you over thinking two days of silence
Taking it as them not caring
When really they’re just busy
But you make time for them
So why can’t they make time for you?
But here you are overthinking again because they’ve come through at your lowest times
Yet you wonder why you feel so detached from them
Why it feel like you’re always fighting to get their attention
They only ask when you ask
Only talk when you start
What if you just stopped caring?
What if you just stopped asking?
What if you just stopped speaking?
You don’t want to stop existing
But what if she was right?
What if it doesn’t matter if you did?
Loss Adolescent
Sarupa Luise (Benin)
Grass and weeds, after school? The adolescent
of the fluid leap and jump shot? Of the glissando
stride and lay-up? The plosive woop woop cries sent up
when the body satisfies the calculating eye?
O the tree ashimmer in hypotheticals’ blooms—
where’s the undissuaded youth who sought
a scarce grace here? Who sought to make bank?
The shoulder and arm and wrist on repeat
even as day went thoroughly dark
who refused to come inside until they exhausted
the audience of their mind? O extraordinary dunk,
O hard slam, shudder the immovable tree.
Where is the glimmer of a sign of life?
Boundless
Mira Landy ( Spain)
They will scratch your heart and
creep through the narrow
passages in your head which were
destroyed by landslides and
blocked by boulders.
They will pick up shovels and
every other tool that they crafted for their art
and shatter the mortar in which
you trap all the memories
which still nail you to a cross.
People who play with words can
sell their soul
for a sliver of precious gem
hiding in mounds of coal
People who pen their minds can
destroy your soul
hit an axe at your pretense
knowing that there is something beautiful too.
Love beyond farewell
Ishrat Hasan ( Bangladesh)
Not every farewell needs a voice,
Some leave us without a choice.
No words exchanged, no last embrace,
Only silence takes their place.
Some goodbyes walk on tender feet,
Unseen, unheard, yet bittersweet.
They do not cry, they do not plead,
But quietly plant a longing seed.
I feel your absence in the air,
A trace of love that lingers there.
Though miles may stretch and worlds divide,
Your memory stays, my constant guide.
No spoken word could ever show,
The depth of love I still bestow.
For silence too can softly prove,
The endless strength of tender love.
And if you fade beyond my sight,
I’ll search for you in dreams at night.
For not all partings mean the end,
Some hearts remain, some souls still bend.
So let the world believe we’re through,
I carry half my soul in you.
Not every goodbye makes love depart,
Some only whisper deeper in the heart.
Precious
Meherin Sultani( Iraq)
You had no say ;
You had no guns ;
no nuclear weapons, no shield against explosions.
Laws and rules and faith and belief,
just sounds trying to creep into
your vocabulary.
Burnt up forests, shattered walls,
Battered buildings and broken roads.
They wrote down every heartbeat of yours,
as they fought over these blooded bodes.
You were too naive, child,
a mere puppet whose strings lie
in hands of men with neatly cut suits
and camouflaged boots,
who’re simply trying to protect their
Laws and rules and faith and belief,
and lands more precious than you.
You had your time, child,
Your next will probably be better –
far, far away from where logic bows down to savages
Rise up to the question of purity
Nasreen Islam Shelley ( Bangladesh)
Rise up, exploited, deprived of justice
And those deprived of justice——–
Wake up —–Wake up
Windy arsons in every hole.
Who are committed unacceptable foot-stomping insults
Opposite of immoral and inhuman slavery
Let the people be clean —
Let’s uproot it completely, let’s go wherever we can
The slogan of Koras lyrics Mukti.
Oh, human beings——
Come on, come on at a fast pace
Break the chains around your waist and the shackles around your feet
Scream in unison
Let’s sing the triumphant song of humanity.
Rise up—
Sleeping conscience, justice, morality
Human values, thought and consciousness——
Build up under the pressure of conscience
Irresistible, powerful force
All black hands are destroyed.
O earth, roar with thunder
Let the morale of truth roar ——-
Let the heavens and the earth tremble
Let all injustice, lawlessness, brutality
Injustice, corruption—-
Let humanity be free, let it be pure
Gaza and Us
Arefa Goldar( Kolkata)
We live at the same time of the century, under the roof of the sky, orbiting the planet and stars –
Yet they are like aliens.
Deprived of the freedom of civilization’s inherent soil – water and air…
They are now starving due to food crisis –
Eight billion of us are starving for our taste in humanity.
Their strong backbone has not learned to bow down.
We protest despite seeing the politics of polarization.
We lose to our conscience every day.
They have sent a message…
We have turned our backs and focused on the hobby of Meta…
We have crossed the line of rescue,
The indiscriminate shooting,
The desire to survive of the helpless child of the skeleton,
And have buried the Bohemian milestone along the borders of the United Nations.
Yet You
Ayrin Rosalin( Belarus)
As ’twere the cape of a long ridge of such,
Save that there was no sea to lave its base,
But a most living landscape, and the wave
Of woods and corn-fields, and the abodes of men
Scattered at intervals, and wreathing smoke
Arising from such rustic roofs: the hill
Was crowned with a peculiar diadem
Of trees, in circular array, so fixed,
Not by the sport of nature, but of man:
These two, a maiden and a youth, were there
Gazing—the one on all that was beneath
Fair as herself—but the boy gazed on her;
And both were young, and one was beautiful:
And both were young—yet not alike in youth.
As the sweet moon on the horizon’s verge,
The maid was on the eve of womanhood;
The boy had fewer summers, but his heart
Had far outgrown his years, and to his eye
There was but one beloved face on earth,
And that was shining on him; he had looked
Upon it till it could not pass away;
He had no breath, no being, but in hers:
She was his voice; he did not speak to her,
But trembled on her words; she was his sight,
For his eye followed hers, and saw with hers,
Which coloured all his objects;—he had ceased
To live within himself: she was his life,
The ocean to the river of his thoughts,
Which terminated all; upon a tone,
A touch of hers, his blood would ebb and flow,
And his cheek change tempestuously—his heart
Unknowing of its cause of agony.
But she in these fond feelings had no share:
Her sighs were not for him; to her he was
Even as a brother—but no more; ’twas much,
For brotherless she was, save in the name
Her infant friendship had bestowed on him;
Herself the solitary scion left
Of a time-honored race.—It was a name
Which pleased him, and yet pleased him not—and why?
Time taught him a deep answer—when she loved
Another; even now she loved another,
And on the summit of that hill she stood.
You Are My Favourite Mistake!
Ishrat Hasan ( Bangladesh)
I wasn’t looking, yet there you stood,
A wrong I’d never undo—if I could.
I knew the risk the moment we began,
A spark too wild to hold within my hand.
You were the fire I couldn’t tame,
A beautiful storm without a name.
You weren’t the path I meant to take,
But somehow, every step felt fate.
You touched my soul in quiet ways,
Lit corners dark from brighter days.
A fleeting flame, a breath, a break
You were my heart’s most perfect ache!
We weren’t built to last, and still,
I’d choose you once again—I will.
Not every love is meant to stay,
But some are worth the price they pay.
So if you ask what I’d forsake?
Nothing…..
You are my favorite mistake!
The Mis-Heart
Muskan Talabi( Morocco)
When you ll arrive like round yellow fish,
sucking with love at the coral of our love.
Yet they wait,
in their short time,
like little utero half-borns,
half killed, thin and bone soft.
They breathe the air that stands
for twenty-five illicit days,
the sun crawling inside the sheets,
the moon spinning like a tornado
in the washbowl,
and we orchestrated them both,
calling ourselves TWO CAMP DIRECTORS.
There was a song, our song on your cassette,
that played over and over
and baptised the prodigals.
It spoke the unspeakable,
as the rain will on an attic roof,
letting the animal join its soul
as we kneeled before a miracle–
forgetting its knife.
The daisies confer
in the old-married kitchen
papered with blue and green chefs
who call out pies, cookies, yummy,
at the charcoal and cigarette smoke
they wear like a yellowy salve.
The daisies absorb it all–
the twenty-five-year-old sanctioned love
(If one could call such handfuls of fists
and immobile arms that!)
and on this day my world rips itself up
while the country unfastens along
with its perjuring king and his court.
It unfastens into an abortion of belief,
as in me–
the legal rift–
as on might do with the daisies
but does not
for they stand for a love
undergoihng open heart surgery
that might take
if one prayed tough enough.
And yet I demand,
even in prayer,
that I am not a thief,
a mugger of need,
and that your heart survive
on its own,
belonging only to itself,
whole, entirely whole,
and workable
in its dark cavern under your ribs.
I pray it will know truth,
if truth catches in its cup
and yet I pray, as a child would,
that the surgery taken.
Azan
Jita Lahiri ( India)
The Azan from mosque is ringing again
On the handlebars of my father’s bicycle after returning from the office. tied in a handkerchief,
a little bit of childhood happiness.
The Azan from big mosque is ringing
Reminding the newlywed bride’s parents of her newly-married mother’s face
The bright faces of the children returning from school,
The Azan has always rung in parallel with the time when stories of success and failure are being told.
Exactly at five in the afternoon
On a lonely afternoon
The melody of the azan is coming through
With salty tears on the eyelids.
Eighteen Years Later
Ambia Akhtar Nitu ( Bangladesh)
I saw you after eighteen years.
Tell me how I can recognize you,
This is not you, that’s you.
People change step by step,
Youth awakens and reaches maturity without knowing it.
You didn’t have a full mustache,
Your body was not full of virtue,
Your magical, tender mind
When you loved me.
Your two bored eyes,
He would stare at me –
with fixed eyes the whole time.
In your unwavering gaze
I am thrilled, disoriented.
Thought column, thinking, thinking –
A moment passes.
A waning crescent moon
It took the smile off my face,
Flowers spread in the Bakul forest –
I couldn’t scream.
I love you, my dear.
But eighteen years later
This is not me, that is me,
My blooming bouquet of bougainvillea flowers
I couldn’t keep up with the gestures.
The soul of a widower, filled with sorrow and shame,
Standing at one end of the afternoon-
How do I invite you?
I am empty, I am nothing.
A stream of water flows secretly like rain,
Who called me back today?
Oh my dear, I didn’t recognize you –
Forgive me.
After eighteen years,
In the web of your love
My eyelids are wet with steam.
The frozen tears of the past year,
Speechless silence
He clings to it anxiously.
My heart is flooded with blood,
The waves play and merge into the tears of the two.
The name of love is love.
There is no second.
The endless heavenly smile of love,
The ocean – the salt rises in waves
The fragrance spreads in abundance.
The tears of separation have come to an end,
The murmur of music spreads at your feet,
That’s what a truly brave lover is called.
Today or tomorrow, the return of love
Gives strength, courage
Either forward,
To pay the price of love
Sacrifice is giving one’s life.
Raise your beloved hand-
Hold this hand tightly,
Love awakens the maiden’s sleep.
With the flowers of the marigolds, my heart is filled with joy.
Go forward slowly,
Men’s strength is always beneficial to women.
It erases all sorrows and sorrows.-
Our Heart’s Visitors
Dimitris P. Kraniotis (Greece)
A strange talk
With a stony garment
Threateningly hovers
In our every step
Cold drops of courtesy
Burn our breath
Did hope cease
To visit our heart?
The snow today
Isn’t white
It is colorless
Like the iris of our eyes
Like good morning
Which doesn’t come out of our lips
Did love cease
To visit our heart?
A torn poster
In the whirl of the wind
Our every word
Blue pebbles
Sunk in the blue of the sea
Our dreams
Did poetry cease
To visit our heart?
A day without you
Ishrat Hasan ( Bangladesh)
A day without you burns like fire in my veins,
A sweet ache that remains.
The hours stumble, broken and slow,
Each second whispers the name I know!
The air feels empty, the sky turns pale,
Every heartbeat falters, every breath is frail.
The world may dance, the rivers may run,
But nothing feels alive without my sun.
Your absence is thunder beneath my skin,
A storm of desire I drown within.
Even the stars lose their daring glow,
When you are the light they long to know.
I crave your touch, the fire of your eyes,
The promise of love that never dies.
A day without you is too much to bear,
A wound that lingers, a silent prayer.
So let the dreams bring you close to me,
Where passion flows like an endless sea.
For love is eternal, wild and true—
And I am nothing…… a day without you!
I’ve recently forgot.
Javed Mahdi( Pakistan)
“Advances on a dried-out farm
Are what we chiefly need,
And loaned to friends of Ms.L.A.
Are very good, indeed,
See how the back-block Cockatoos
Are rolling up to feed.”
“But not on us,” the Savings cried,
Falling a little flat,
“We didn’t think a man like you
Would do a thing like that;
For most of us are very small,
And none of us are fat.”
“This haughty tone,” the Premier said,
“Is not the proper line;
Before I’d be dict.
My Village
Taslima Laskor ( West Bengal)
My small village is on the banks of the Naikuria River.
Morning and evening, the boatman sails in the kajal water.
On a bright night, the broken moon dances.
The fish and the peacocks jump up and down.
The fields are full of golden rice, ripe Aman rice.
The Baul plays the late afternoon song in unison.
The birds, the cranes, and the sparrows make a noise.
The pain of the mind, the burning of the heart, will all be healed.
Maya embraces me in the shade full of happiness.
The wind speaks in the wind of the trees.
The mother of my birth is the best for me.
The boys and girls play on the sandbank.
The mother, who is sad, cries when the monsoon comes to get her shawl.
At night, you will hear her calling out in awe.
She is my mother, mixed with laughter and tears.
His immense glory is nurtured in his mother’s milk.
The Blessing of Solitude
Swapna Mondal ( Bangladesh)
This is an infallible truth—
Here no one is dear to anyone, no one waits for anyone.
Time will make you understand that
the one who was dearest to you
The one with whom you found company one day,
He will also go away one day,
Leaving you
Leaving you
Alone on the shore of time
You will become lonely
You will become alone
Absolutely alone,,
If this loneliness brings tears to your eyes,
Then do not stop those tears—
Because every teardrop
Is like a prayer of your soul,
Which goes to heaven and silently offers.
Close your eyes and listen to the sound of that cry—
You will understand that this is actually the music of your inner world,
Which only sounds in the ears of silence,
Which no one else will ever hear.
There are all the colors of the world around, all the sounds,
Yet feel—
As if nothing is for you.
Raise your hand and see—
No one is waiting for you,
As if the boats on the other side of the river
have gone to another pier forever.
The vast land inside you
is now expanding,
An invisible universe is being born in the bosom of emptiness.
This is a sacred solitude—
Where every breath is like meditation,
Every silence is like scripture,
Every feeling falls into the depths,
And faith awakens in poetry.
That day you will understand
Loneliness has not made you poor
Rather, the seeds of blessings have been sown
Which sprouted in the soil of darkness.
In the womb of this silence, the poet is born
Who transforms his tears into verses,
Dispels all darkness with the radiant light of his inner self.
So Much
Alice Dew ( France)
— A word on his preface.
In this preface it has pleased the magnanimous
Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed
‘Satanic School,’Now melt into sorrow,
now madden to crime?
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,
Where the flowers ever blossom,
the beams ever shine
the which he doth recommend to the notice of the legislature;
thereby adding to his other laurels,
the ambition of those of an informer. If there…
My heart chose you!
The Allure of Silence
Dalia Ghosh Tikadar ( Kolkata)
I’ve let the clouds drift by, like whispers in the sky
Their secrets lost, as they wander, wondering why
I’ll capture sunlight’s fleeting sigh
To hold in darkness, where shadows dance and lie
Your shadow falls, a silent guest
Under the chaatim tree, where ancient secrets rest
A lone lamp post stands, a beacon in the night
Telling tales of longing, and love’s gentle light
The mountains within me crumble, like fallen leaves
Under silence’s gentle touch, where heartbeats softly breathe
I’ve tied a knot with you, a bond that’s strong and free
In a secluded territory, where love’s wildflower blooms in me
On the riverbank, where stairs descend into the night
I’ve placed my hand in yours, a promise of love’s pure light
In the evening, under starry skies, we’ll find our way
With a compassionate gaze, that chases all our fears away
The hidden disobedience, a rebel heart that beats
Suddenly becomes shameless, and our love’s wild spirit meets
The sounds of chaos fade, like whispers in the wind
As our love’s gentle silence, becomes the rhythm we entwine
Yet, throughout life’s journey, we’ll find our own pace
A relentless movement, where love’s the guiding light in our space
Between the worlds of joy and sorrow, we’ll find our way
Without a word, our hearts will speak, in love’s own secret way
To The Nazrul
Apu Chattopadhyay ( Kolkata)
” Tomake poriche mone
Aji nipo balikar bhiru sihorone
Juthikar ashru-sikhto cholo cholo mukhe
Ketoki bodhur obogunthito buke
Tomare poriche mone.”
I love you
Hundred times in the form of a hundred times.
Lah mum is the honor of the
heart.
Earth stand up
The ball is stupid in high voice ooor
Your temple_ mosque is leaving for you
Whose fear was over whelmed by the subjugation!
Rhythm
The synagogue of the subordinate!
Martyr
The peak? Oh you have to get you with that.”
” O Country”
Bring back peace.
Protect the wealth of the country,
Stop the noise of the country
Everyone in this country has equal rights
Whether she is a Hindu,
She is a Muslim,
He is a meth.
Life at the moment of the moment/ let’s
All pride/ All obstacles
Let’s put your hands in your hand.
“All of us are on the floor
Each we are on the next floor.”
Blind Empowerment
Shabana Bibi ( West Bengal)
Lacks of laughter, and laments
The brutal, blind, empowerment
The premature realization of one’s own humanity
Where does man keep this shame
Wrapped in the moon of strength
The smile that has spread
In the dust
The simple child’s burial
Is a heavy burden,
The pressure of the strong on the weak
In the pride of masculinity
The conscience of humanity is tied
In the pride of power.
The mass burial of humanity!
How long will man be soaked in the stream of blood in this demonic struggle
?
Commitment
Suchandrita Ghosal Chakraborty ( Kolkata)
The Sky is lid of Universe.
Committed to hold Star, Sun,
Moon and World.
The Sun rises in the east
Committed to give us light,
Brings us joyful , lighten day.
The Moon enlighten us at night.
Committed to gift beautiful charming , dreamy night.
The Stars twinkling at night
Committed to send light,
Showing pleasant scenario.
The Universe is our Mother.
Committed us not to fall,
With his geocentric power.
Human being should have some commitment towards universe.
With the help of implantation,
We can committed to us, and
towards Universe.
For maintaining equilibrium
Tree is our life.
We have to preserve, their existence.
Learn to Love
Sumita Chakraborty ( West Bengal)
Human are the best creature among the triworld
Stay well man, keep up the good work.
There are wicked people, honest people, all over the world
People know how to love, yet they are lazy and lazy.
Controversy and conflict, don’t destroy the heart with pride
You have to come again and again, you live in this world.
There are certain types of people who are jealous for many reasons
In their heart there is a flower of spring.
Caste discrimination is not religion, shake it from your mind
With ace and politics, why push the weak.
If you are a real person, you can be someone
Bring compassion in the chest, a wave of eloquence in the mouth.
Stand up and say, I want unity
We humans have only love.
Be sad in everyone’s sadness, happy in everyone’s happiness
Don’t cheat on someone’s mind, don’t be a game bookie.
Corona acting in a bunch of tears
Do not see fear as the main cause of terrorism.
The temple mosque is in all minds, purifying the mind
Money is soil, it will go away, how to keep the wealth.
Sin resides in the whole body, you cannot see it
The creator will also see in the heart.
You can be good only if you do good deeds
Love people, religion of people.
Hidden in love, Mongolian wisdom
Good home world doctrine , world meditation.
Surrender
Arefa Goldar (West Bengal)
Thereafter, Once you will stand at the door, there never turning back.
But I know, you will come and hold my hand one day.
I am tidying up a little every day so myself –
Reckless without holding back
I can go with you.
Without informing anyone…
Even though the day has passed and the evening has fallen
I will not return.
Then, it will be closed forever
The door of this house..
Inside the closed door
Millions of memories are like rain
It will be miraculous tears.
Known round – large Field – Crossing the weight hole to the destination
you will take –
“Death”! Surrender to you
Willing to go with a smile…
Appeal of Green
Sarbani Das ( Kolkata)
The germinated saplings, I say everyone,
wants to live as a tree, do not cut off anyone.
so that the bot neem ashoth or the fruit tree.
Rain on the shrimp leaves will see my dance free.
All the corners of the earth will be filled with oxygen,
I will absorb my bosom poultry by drain.
The aroma of the flowers will spread the smell of the wind in the air,
Tired body will cool if the soft winds get sit here.
You don’t destroy the tree let me live
I promise to rain every year in the rainy season vive.
It is nice to hear the sound of the leaves of the tree
Dhamsa Madal will play when the garden decoration you see.
You like eucalyptus ! but don’t like me?
They absorb water, I put in you shadow free.
You plant exterior leaves across the porch of the mind,
I am afraid of when will I get out of me slide.
The birds loses nests to look for tired traveler shades
Yet you don’t stop with our cut blades.
The tree tightens the ground by preventing erosion,
Saves from the earthquake keeps trapped in destruction.
I Green appeal to all people for birth,
The right to survive has all the creatures on earth.
A tree in a tree is not just slogan,
Let us live Let the green win next generation
Ashes of Humanity
Gauri Sen( West Bengal)
Civilization stands covered in the ashes of humanity
The storm of nudity brings the ominous sign of destruction.
Heaped corpses fall from the pale valley
Dead dreams float in the flowing streams of the Indus and Sutlej.
The festoon has hung a chain around the neck of truth
The immortal clown preaches the virtues of the future.
The nervous system of the brain imprisoned in the box of modernity
A spineless species has settled in civilizations.
Sara Intijar( Egypt)
Know ye the land where cypress and myrtle
Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime,
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?
Know ye the land of the cedar and vine,
Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine;
Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppress’d with perfume,
Wax faint o’er the gardens of G?l in her bloom; [1]
Where the …
The City of Perth
Sara Makaan
One of the fairest on the earth,
With your stately mansions and scenery most fine,
Which seems very beautiful in the summer time;
And the beautiful silvery Tay,
Rolling smoothly on its way,
And glittering like silver in the sunshine –
And the Railway Bridge across it is really sublime.
The scenery is very beautiful when in full bloom,
It far excels the river Doon –
For the North Inch and South Inch is most beautiful to behold,
Where the buttercups …
Society on the Road
Puja Naskar ( West Bengal)
Yes, the society is stuck on the broken road,
There is no Me-you-nobody!
How many things lie like pages leading,
Me-You are not lovers.
How many things are grinding under the wheel;
Also the story of the table floor changing hands.
Eagle -vulture free happy married life,
Counting hours, only the unknown Eagle hut
Me-You are not the same.
Corporates are the backbone of society.
It’s like a temporary lie
Ties are loosened in all things
Maybe
Manimala Chatterjee ( Kolkata)
One day, maybe this darkness will pass,
I will be able to see everything again in the light of the new sun.
Maybe, the world will change a lot,
Still, past memories will be remembered.
I will see the people who left me in the darkness again,
Those who snatched away my thirsty dust-and-mud hands out of negligence,
They will also see the two eyes that are looking at me and whisper.
Maybe this darkness will pass one day….
The pain of those days and sleepless nights will remain,
The incomprehensible cries of lonely days will remain,
Even if the sound is cut off, the echo of countless people’s jokes will continue to resonate in the heart again and again.
Maybe it will pass, or it will not, someday…..
Still, some skeletons of memories will only peek through the chest of the past.
To see if I’m still alive despite their best efforts! Maybe, maybe!!!!!
Inspiration
Malalin Jui(Poland)
Eliza, Natures and his darling, seize.
Her when an infant, taken with her Charms,
He oft would flourish in his mighty Arms;
And, lest their force the tender burthen wrong,
Slacken the vigour of his Muscles strong;
Then to the Mothers brest her softly move,
Which while she drain’d of Milk she fill’d with Love:
But as with riper Years her Virtue grew,
And ev’ry minute adds a Lustre new;
When with meridian height her Beauty shin’d,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, —
the hall-thane’s {2b} hate. Such held themselves
far and fast who the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it bode so.
Twelve years’ tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
If you wish
Rabindranath Mondal ( West Bengal)
You may take a footpath’s cup of tea,
You may gossip beneath the black cloud’s spree,
You may recall those fruitless days,
You may sow in blossom fields that sway.
One day, when heavy rains make river dams break,
When children’s cries rise from an epidemic’s wake,
When jungle tigers prowl with a bloody shake,
When enemies loot, leaving ruins in their wake—
We shall stand, unwavering, at every corner.
We shall donate all, becoming stronger.
We shall resist with our might and measure,
We shall destroy our foes forever.
A new institute shall rise with wisdom sought,
A conscious mind shall lead a life well-thought,
A pure society shall be built with dignified effort,
A proud nation shall bloom with garlands wrought.
Let no deceitful seeds take root in greed,
Shut the doors to every evil breed,
Let life turn green with laughter freed.
If you wish, if you agree,
Two of us shall stand by the sea,
If you wish, for a lifetime true,
We shall dream in a hut, in flowers anew.
Pretty
Mahbubi ( Uzbekistan)
…S–
and there, on board, tricked out in fur and fin,
the landlubber who wound up captain. Where’s it going,
this our (H)MS? More west? More forth? The quest
itself is at a long and short behest: it’s wound
in winds. (Take rough from seas, and women from the shore,
unmentionables out of mind). We’re here
for something rich, beyond
appearances. What do I mean? (What can one say?)
A minute of millenium, unculminating
stint, a stonishment: my god, what’s
You have swallowed a ruler, being man.
Yet waiting to die we are the same thing.
Jehovah pleasures himself with his axe
before we are both overthrown.
Skeezix, you are me. La de dah.
You grow a beard but our drool is identical.
I live in Weston, Mass., Middlesex County,
U.S.A., and it rains steadily
in the pond like white puppy eyes.
The pond is waiting for its skin.
the pond is …Read more of this…
You
Anne Trim ( South Africa)
When the horse was let free he threw up his head and tail,
Which seemed to say, “Follow ms, and ye will not fail.
So come on, boys, and follow me,
And I’ll guide ye home safely.”
And they cried, ” Old Jack can show us the way,
So let’s follow his tracks without dismay”;
And with the falling snow they were chilled to the bone,
But the horse seemed to say, “I’ll show ye home.”
When the horse was let free he threw up his head and tail,
Which seemed to say, “Follow ms, and ye will not fail.
So come on, boys, and follow me,
And I’ll guide ye home safely.”
And they cried, ” Old Jack can show us the way,
So let’s follow his tracks without dismay”;
And with the falling snow they were chilled to the bone,
But the horse seemed to say, “I’ll show ye home.”
And at last they gave a shout of delight
When they saw their camp …
Uncompleted Scissors
Qazi Shahed Bin Zafar( Bangladesh)
Uncompleted scissors,
why give a florance,
Why give it to a guy,
If you give it to a person,
You will get it right away.
A bus with a raw flower,
Comes to a person,
Raw hands,
If you write it,
It is a great injustice if someone
Speaks raw words,
If they taste like raw fish,
It is good cooking.
A child with a raw scissors in his mouth,
As sweet as he says,
The raw ones are bitter and twisted,
So far away the brick goes.
If a house is made of raw materials,
A storm breaks it,
Raw hair,
Whoever ties the wire,
If someone
Whispers someone’s sleep,
Raw ones,
And they turn red in this way.
Those who write raw rhymes,
who paint their raw minds,
who are not raw,
who are not cooked,
who are cooked.
Thoughts
Qazi Shahed Bin Zafar (Bangladesh)
What should I do! So many thoughts in my mind
For half a day, romantic thoughts
All eating and drinking, laughter and tears are as if silenced,
I lie on the carpet for a while.
Then, as usual, I have to be absorbed in some work,
In the urge to survive.
Still, my mind is heavy.
I will leave!
Couldn’t keep me away?
Even the chair on duty.
To hide from family and social responsibilities.
Sometimes, I sit in the library and express my emotions by reading books.
Although I am not that interested.
I read a lot, I learned something.
I also tried to learn. However,
Even when trying to blossom the flower of rhythm through writing, there are many obstacles!
Social, time, opportunity, money, and so many more.
I will leave. What will be left to live?
I remember this from time to time.
A life mixed with adulteration will one day end in futile efforts.
May Be
Leo Patrina ( Mongolia)
She turned and turned throughout the dark hours.
I’m from miles away and helpless. In need of divine
power, I decide to sing for an audience of one.
As I begin, I hear mother trying to follow,
trying to pull at some tangled string of memory
to release what once was. Music has charms
to soothe a savage breast, and maybe a failing mind.
When I finish the second hymn, I ask,
What’s your favorite? She says, the first thing to go
was my memory. Is it possible to forget a lifetime
of songs sung weekly? Some forget the name of their
spouse, their children, where they live;
so why not forget a beloved song? After, we think
of our blessings, say them aloud. We still have much
to be thankful for. Just when I think her mind is settled
for now, or worn out by agitation, she’s ready for more.
I let her talk as we enter the second hour, until
her words run out.
Dear Asha
Md. Apel Mahmud ( Bangladesh)
Did you remember that winter morning,
That moment still haunts my mind today!
The warmth of the coffee color had bound me in illusion,
You were not told to share dreams in the dark of the night.
The gentle smile on your lips has disturbed me many times.
Asha!
Are you okay?
Leave my kingdom of happiness.
Where there was a big sky,
For the pigeon of my friend.
Today, there are rain clouds gathering a thousand times,
How many times have I searched for it in vain.
Your rebelliousness has left me speechless,
You have strangled the bird of love.
Don’t come back,
My mind is on the balcony.
Where you used to move freely.
Hearing the word love, today I hate
Your face appears in vain.
Don’t come back,
My lonely world is very happy today.
Laurel’s Spring
Szaraph Daste (Bolivia)
Worn-down words, a kind of drown
and drench and quench and very kind
to what I would’ve said. Light marries
water and what else (unfit
for drinking purposes), light lavishes
my skin on intermittent sun. I am weather
and unreasonable, out of all
season. Petrarch loves my lies
of laurel leaves, ripped sprigs of
deciduous evergreen. A creek is lying
in my cement-walled bed, slurring
through the center of small
town; the current’s brown and
turbid (muddy, turbulent
with recent torrents), silt rushing
toward the reservoir. A Sonata
passes by too close (I have to jump)
and yes I do hear music here. It’s blue, or
turquoise, aquamarine, some synonym
on wheels, note down that note. It’s Petrarch
singing with his back to me (delivering
himself to voice), his fingers
filled with jonquil, daffodils, mistaken
narcissus.
Insist
Sufia Jara ( Azarbaijan)
Never insisted on you
I admit
I delayed. I was the Empress
of Delay. But it can’t be
put off now. On the sacred branch
of my only voice – I insist.
Insist for us all,
which is the job
of the voice, and especially
of the poet. Else
what am I for, what use
am I if I don’t
insist?
There are messages to send.
Gatherings and songs.
Because we need
to insist.
Without you me Empty
Nakith Becon ( Belgium)
I admire how much she seems at home,
her confident pose as she trots toward
a black plastic garbage bag, and
notice that she or another fox
has been there already: kitchen waste
and peelings strewn across the pavement.
She noses through what’s there: empty
beer cans, cartons stained with sauces,
but nothing’s tempting enough. Hopeful,
she goes in search of another cache.
Is this a first sign of social
breakdown, nature dominating
the city’s infrastructure?
Yet surely that fluffy-haired cub I saw
a few minutes later could not be
a harbinger of anarchy? Although
maybe he is. He certainly did
not look both ways before crossing
the road, nor take in how close that car,
turning the corner, came to him.
War and Devils
Lena Naakiyn ( Peru)
your sky day and night sees your foes
smirks with its sad golden rays for the woes
sues us with betray, war and devil’s wooes
as your soil and forest have vast hidden ears
Oh dear mother land you where blessed or not
for the curse on us the land has fire spot
who says i am perfect, no one is bon mot
as your soil and forest have vast hidden ears
the penaeaceous of tribal detestation
now it has brought within us humiliation
death is every where, i hear your ululation
as your soil and forest have vast hidden ears
My Words Against Oppressed
Nasrin Sultana ( Bangladesh)
This time injustice and oppression are increasing in society –
The oppressed do not get justice anywhere!!
While thinking with a troubled mind – what news is this?
The oppressor is taking at the life from behind!!!
It is my right to live freely in a free state,
Are we really free?
The questions are arisen again and again?
Freedom will always mean justice, ethics and harmony –
Why do we all forget brotherhood and nepotism?
All eighteen crore people are brothers and sisters –
Regardless of religion, caste, we are the people of the Bengal!!
If we all stand as united against the oppressor –
Only then will the oppressed people find a place in this society today!!
Why should the relatives of my country cry over the lack of justice?
If proper justice is established, all irregularities will be eliminated!!
Let’s join hands and destroy the oppression of the oppressors –
Let’s establish peace, order, unity and cultivate harmony in soc
mangav tumen te vizitin: www.wallingtonjournal.com
Rely on You
Abatar Garkiy( Romania)
What a relief!
For on my food
you’d bring me grief
as you’re
a vector of
disease.
But you on leaf?
My mind’s at ease.
And there is much
to please
my eye.
For oh, you are
a lovely fly.
Just
do not go
and multiply.
Twist
Osama Dasti( Tajikistan)
Willie had a stubborn wart
upon his middle toe.
Regardless, though, of what he tried
the wart refused to go.
So Willie went and visited
his family foot physician,
who instantly agreed
it was a stubborn wart condition.
The doctor tried to squeeze the wart.
He tried to twist
Fortifies
Narki Adim( Albenia)
l.We burst forth,
crisp green squads
bristling with spears.
We encircle the pond.
II. Summer
Brown velvet plumes
bob jauntily. On command,
our slim, waving arrows
rush toward the sun.
III. Fall
All red-winged generals
desert us. Courage
clumps and fluffs
like bursting pillows
BY THE WAYS OF PARADISE
Maid Corbic ( Bosnia)
Long ago as a boy I knew
Yes, my path is to create works
About which the world will be buzzing
But life is a difficult field above all
Which still makes people imagine themselves
In the sea of infinity and lies creating
Their speech and ways of treating others
Love is the strongest thing in the world to live by
Although she can also be so painful
Because the scenes that happen sometime before
They are still carried in the bottom of the soul on both sides
People being people, the Balkan atypical has become just that
Because love is a laughing stock to everyone
While at the bottom of the soul traces of hope
That hope remains that love is alive
And those tyrants are deliberately destroying it
Who think that love is an expensive car
A watch and other things
Love is written all over the dessert
Possibility of traveling positions
Much-needed love becomes sex
Which arises implicitly from the attitudes of immaturity
I walked the paths of Paradise and picked apples
Hoping that love still has ways
How to find your era of wisdom
But year after year I get disappointed
Because love is something that is used
Emotions and social position in time
When someone doesn’t have his money, others laugh at him
Just because he’s not like everyone else
And love has no limit, it comes
An honest person will find his way just then
When one least hopes and dreams
Because dreams never became unrealistic
Only if a man wants to be happy
The paths of Paradise will be followed and believed with the brain, not with the heart..