Monday, June 1, 2020



Hypocrisy All Around The Hue And Cry
316,703 this is the number of people who have died in pandemic 2020. No, obviously this is not even the final number. This is the current number at the moment of writing this editorial. Most of these people were still living when I wrote the last editorial. And many of them thought they had taken enough precautions to save themselves from Covid 19. Just as we are thinking at this time. Even so, we don’t know who will survive till the next month. Such is the case with this pandemic. We don’t know how many of these dead souls used to read the monthly web journal Our Poetry Archive. We don’t even know how many readers of OPA will not be alive to flip through the pages of our upcoming editions. Yes, this is really frightening for an editor as well as for any sensible human being.  We don’t even know whether we’ll survive to continue with our monthly and other publications of OPA. We never know who will survive, who will not. We never know how long this pandemic will continue to wreak havoc on human civilization. We only know in life there is no second innings to play once again like it is in the cricket field.

Yes, it is really the time of colossal calamity. We don’t know whether it is a man-made pandemic for ulterior sinister motives of few powerful men with immense wealth to control the entire world for their business interests.  We are not even sure if it is really a natural phenomenon. In either case we must say we remain really vulnerable without authentic and proper defence system against such calamity. Then what were we doing during last hundred years of technological evolution? We can send our men to the Moon. We can send our spacecrafts to the other planets. We can drop atomic bombs anytime anywhere to kill millions of people. Yet we cannot save our citizens from a tiny virus. Such are our achievements. I think it is (the) high time to ponder over the number of blunders that we have made during the so-called technological evolutions or revolutions, of which we are still so proud.

We don’t know the feelings of a dying patient breathing through a ventilator. Who, even a fortnight before was roaming healthy around his or her everyday life. Perhaps planning for future after the end of the pandemic. Yet fearing that the end of life is looming large lying inside the ventilator. Can a poet catch up with those dying moments of a person full of life and planning for the upcoming times? When actually those times will never come at all, when even the ventilator will fail to save a precious life. Yes, as a human being we should consider that every life is precious. However insignificant it can be according to  the parameters of success in material life. Yet we have failed to save thousands of such precious lives. And did we think how many peoples around the world have lost their dear ones? How painful it is to lose someone suddenly. This pandemic has brought us face to face with some fundamental questions about life in general.

We all know that death is the final answer of life. Time will put its signature on death any time, yet we remain hopeful that we can keep our death at bay for a much longer time. During this time, it is our dream to enjoy life in full. Now suddenly when death is knocking at our door, pushing us towards those ventilators, wreaking havoc on our souls and mind, we can suddenly realise life is much more precious than our usual conceptions. In our daily life we have become much more complacent about our views and opinions of the world in general. When people were dying every day in Iraq, Afghanistan, Libya, Syria facing those missiles and bombs of the American military and its allies, we never pondered over those uncalled-for inhuman deaths. We have never shown our solidarity with those unfortunate peoples of Middle East. We never recognised their dignity as human souls. We never recognised their fundamental human rights to carry on with their everyday life. We never recognised our fundamental sin, that we never considered their lives as valuable as ours. We have forgotten that each and every life is as precious as others, not much less or much more. We have even forgotten that in order to kill a human being you need to be inhuman yourself. But to save a human being you have to be human first. We have forgotten that it is much easier to kill a person than to save a life. Yet we led a normal life during all those period of mass killings.

With 316,703 deaths, we are shedding bitter tears, considering the world is facing an abnormal situation. But with all those countless dead bodies of unfortunate unarmed defenceless common peoples of the Middle East during the last two decades, we never considered those deaths as war crimes. As most abnormal, inhuman and deadly sins. We didn’t count the dead bodies of those most unfortunate people every day, as we are doing now. We should consider the vital fact that we could have easily avoided those deaths, which we cannot do now against the virus. Let’s accept the hypocrisy of our mindset. When we remain safe from wars, we never bother about the millions of dying people elsewhere facing the deadliest missiles every day. But now when we are facing this dreadful virus right at our own doorsteps, we are crying for human solidarity to save mankind. Such a hypocrite species we are. Unfortunately, our literature germinates from our own hypocrisy… not even our poetry is immune from this sin, hypocrisy.

Let’s consider this vital fact that it is now high time to go through the most important phase of our life, self-criticism. Without self-criticism we can never undo the blunders that this civilisation of material world is repeating on and on throughout the ages. Let’s also hope that post covid 19 era of human civilisation will come out of its devastating blunders. Let’s assume that poets and writers, thinkers and artists all around the world will also come out of their personal lock-ups of hypocrisy only to be more sensitive, compassionate and humbly human. Without achieving humanity, I don’t think our literature will achieve anything substantial. Let’s now pray for us. Not only for our own survival, but also for our human substance, which unfortunately we have lost since long.

From The Editorial Desk



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JUNE 2020

MARIA MIRAGLIA: When did you approach poetry?

HANA SHISHINY: I started at 12 years old in secondary school, I began with narrative essays and many times was awarded showing on the "board of honor" which encouraged me to write more and more and start my first hidden personal book.

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Do you think of anyone to dedicate your words when writing?

HANA SHISHINY:Sometimes...People who passed in my life. And who engraved thoughts memories and feelings.

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Air, water, earth and fire. What element would you like to be in poetic terms?

HANA SHISHINY:I guess I prefer to be “Air”.. Moving freely everywhere.. A breeze when in love. Stormy when revolted.. And powerfully claiming my rights when needed...

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Do you listen to music while writing? If so, what kind?

HANA SHISHINY: Yes I do listen to music. Preferring when writing the soft romantic oldies.. Blues.. And classical..

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  What did you feel when you held your first book  in  the hands?

HANA SHISHINY:A book is a new born baby to writers... As I am preparing my first book I already do that with lots of worries.. Love.. Hopes and heartbeats.. All in once.

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Where does poetry come from?

HANA SHISHINY:Poetry comes from every special lived moment.. From the excitement of childhood when discovering the world.. From each feeling.. Each surrounding aspect rippling on the soul.. Poetry is the dive deep into the core of life behind the masks of fake realities...

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Is there a time of the day when you prefer writing?

HANA SHISHINY:I love to write early morning with my first coffee.. But I could be also whenever doors are open to go through labyrinths of my soul.

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Does writing come from the heart or from the mind?

HANA SHISHINY:Writing is the product of amalgamation between heart and mind.. Depending on the subject. Most of times my heart romancing me but never far from the mind guidance.

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  What do you think of poetry and poets on the web?

HANA SHISHINY:I see poetry is  in its best.. Lots of poets lots of very interesting writes (getting more in humanity and creativity). Lots of precious pens filling the web with real soulful verses...

MARIA MIRAGLIA:  Who are your favourite contemporary poets and why?

HANA SHISHINY:For the last few years I was reading mostly on FB.. Brilliant contemporary poets. My favorite is "Ajit Sripad Rao Nalkur “Reading his books is always a journey between forests, mountains and mother earth's treasures. He has a golden pen, enchanting me with his wisdom in a great flowing heartfelt simplicity...

HANA SHISHINY: Lebanese poet writer and translator Having poems in many anthologies Preparing my first poetry book to publish...Had art studies in American university In Beirut Lebanon Painter had many exhibitions. Interior designer and decorator in the real life Egyptian. Living in Cairo Egypt by marriage...

MARIA MIRAGLIA: Educationist, poet, translator, peace activist, Maria A. Miraglia was born and lives in Italy. For a long time, an active member of Amnesty International, she herself founder and chairwoman of World Foundation for Peace. Member of Ican, of the International Observatory for Information and Human Rights. Founding member and literary director of the Italian cultural association P. Neruda, honorary member of Nationes Unidas de las Letras, advisory member of the editor board of Galaktika Poetike Autunis, member of the editorial board of Our poetry Archive, member of the editorial advisory board of Sahitya Anand. Presidente de la organization Mundial de los Trovatores, Italy and Deputy President – Coordination, at a child rights global organization, the United World Movement for Children (UWMC). She collaborates for poetry with numerous national and international newspapers and magazines. Her poems have been translated into several foreign languages and are collected in numberless anthologies all over the world.  Dr Maria Miraglia is often a welcome guest of international events for poetry. Beauty and profundity are the most important characteristic of Maria Miraglia’s works and although these elements are found in some of the exceptional works by modern writers, blending them together seems a challenge for many, where Maria is found to be successful applying them into her poems. Author of anthologies in Italian, English or both languages She is recipient of numerous national and international awards and recognition.



A New Beginning

On silent night
Where darkness screams loud
Fear and memories
No stars... No moonlight

Winds howling around
Your face is hidden
the clouds, running pretty fast
Taking with them,
Time and loving bounds

A glass window, transparent and wild
I stayed caged, in blind thoughts
Are all lovers, do the same
Loosing dreams into unknown side...

Awaiting the dawn.. The spring of hopes
When birds come back.. Chirping in charm
Smiling sky.. Opening its arms
A new beginning.. A dew rain drops

The Refugees In The Cold...

I will wait for you tonight
As I did for countless years
Waiting for a dawn   to show in sight
Dissipating the darkness of endless fears..

I kept on wandering in every street
Searching for flickering hope's light..
For doors to open, for welcoming seats
For hearts offering, warmth and friendly beats...

The frozen weather, the icy winds
Blowing around children, bare feet..
Gathered in empty rooms.. refugees left behind
Around a table. .with offered food and meat..

A gripping fear,
Tightens my heart and soul
How far can we help,
How long can they sustain..
Calling humanity from this bottomless hole..
Waiting for a dawn to extricate them from pain...

Peace And Brighter Days

Sliding in the valley of silence
Echoing my mute inner screams
Praying for a coming peace intense
When humans enjoy hopes and dreams...

Pleading the end of sadness plight
Of blinded eyes, on life opportunity
On broken hearts of loss and atrocity
With killing and Hatred in every sight...

What are we, what could I be
But drops of water, in human sea
With all of you.. We create motions
And waves will flow in peaceful emotions..

How could hearts mislead the way
To a global peace.. To brighter days....

September Of Every Year

The leaves are falling one by one
Still wearing the colors of sun
Red yellow, the fiery kaleidoscope
Gorgeous painting, covering the ground...

Trees keep dancing with timid wind
Exhibiting their bare shoulders
Letting go leaves and sacred wine..
Remaining naked with no reminders...

Leaves swirling playfully around
Memories with them..  under feet
Like tree, we let go, faces and sounds
And stay barren of loving heat..

Every year, September comes trailing its agitated sea
Let's keep dancing, with winds of life
Memories, as beautiful as they could be
Will flow, with rivers in the divine drive...

The Floating Flower

Like a flower, floating on the river of time
Like a breeze caressing a field of Lys
Love is that enchanting murmur of mirthful clime
A lullaby soothing aching hearts with peace...

How many nights we spent in that miracle of God
Hidden in our shell on our shore of bliss
Silent but for the tunes of ocean Ode
Forgetting yesterday, tomorrow in a stolen kiss

But the flower got to the ocean of silence
Petals defeated parted one by one
Love faded with the Autumn of absence
Summer nights of golden grace. Are gone...


HANA SHISHINY: Lebanese poet writer and translator Having poems in many anthologies Preparing my first poetry book to publish...Had art studies in American university In Beirut Lebanon Painter had many exhibitions. Interior designer and decorator in the real life Egyptian. Living in Cairo Egypt by marriage...



Longing ... That Loses With Me

I miss my mother a lot
For her, my heart is crying
She made me happy  mornings, through dawn.
Like the full moon, nights in forehead kissed me.
I feel so small, lost in years
I miss every word, every single necking
I miss her aroma when she was near
I miss any sound, I miss everything.
I'm so empty mother,
For you I am in pain
I want to see your eyes, every wrinkle on your forehead.
To rest tired, my head over your lap
From your lullaby, let the world sleep.
I missed your voice, I don't want to forget
From my mind never leave, that terrible moment...
Something you want to say but you couldn't talk
Your life flew way
Torn us apart...
Longing for your sweet words.
For the tear on your eye
When at the front door
Always, love you my son, bye...
Even for your step
When come down the stairs
And the open arms, waiting for me, at gate
I will come and talk with you
Like we did, when you were here
I'll look you the eye, in your grave on my knees
To touch the soil and in years we walk...
Oh mother how much I want to talk...
© Adriatik Jaçe
All copyrights are reserved
Dated: 25/07/2019

You Rip Off My Summer.

Eh, the winter, tore this July in the middle...
With cold tears that flowing without stopping..
Got wet all the leaves, that had kissed the sun
It pulled out the outfits again, from the boxes
On the streets people are running their fate ...
They run under umbrellas...
And the plants happily drinking
Evry winters sip, coming from above...
A cold wind that loses nakedness ...
I don't know where the sun was confused.
Probably with winter they had some cause.
For some summer days, barrowed…
© Adriatik Jaçe
All copyrights are reserved
Dated: 16/07/2019

Mother-Lymph Of The World
(For Mother's Day)

Today, the moon promised me ..
I know, that keeps its word.
When to get through that plateau
With my mother's to stay close.

Talkk to her,with some words
And to say how much i love her
I can tell her myself
But i don't know,if she can hear me.

In that world, where she went
Angel is for us, her soul
Her eye, like the eyes of eagle’s
Up there in the moon, drawn.

My mother's heart is gone,
Since her soul to the stars, went
But I feel and I hear her
When i sleep, she's over my head.

Moon don't go, wait a bit
Talk to mother, send me a word
Today with my head up, in the sky
I look forward to see her alive.

If the world, would not have mothers
It would be, dried chump...
The mother is the lymph and the blood
Blossom the earth side by side.
© Adriatik Jaçe
All copyrights are reserved
Date: 11/05/2019


ADRIATIK JAÇE: He was born on 21.05.1971 in Përmet. After graduating from high school, he continued his studies in Tirana University. The passion for literature started when he was very young, passion which it grows throw years, as well as numerous reading, was transformed into poetry and creative spirit. Poetic dimension touches the highest peaks, has beautiful colors, deep meanings and furthermore express the idea that goes beyond limits of himself. His purpose is to represent world's peace and human integrity. Occupation: Military and Business Administration.



To Win A Fight

for many years
I cleared
black clouds
for breakfast

a pill
washed down with hope
that it may work

I start the day
with a smile
I live in the moment
offered to me by God

Who Are You

if not the man
with whom I slept

maybe a dream
with the smell of lily of the valley
given on the first meeting

if you are a ghost
then why do I feel your breath
and your smell on my bedsheets

I Miss

your voice
it feels so warm around my heart
when I hear

I miss
the walks
when the sun goes with us

I miss
the evenings
when from the steaming tea
arises the aroma of love

I miss
what I have not yet touched
and I already love



ALINA ANNA KUBERSKA, a poet from Łódź, is the author of six volumes of verse, two novels and various stories. Her poetry forms part of several dozen collections of poems and numerous almanacs. She has presented her works not only in Poland, but also abroad. For five years she owned an international poetry website. Currently, she is the vice president of Association of Polish Authors (SAP) in Warsaw.