Wednesday, May 1, 2024

May 2024 V-10 N-2 Issue No. 110













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MAY 2024

NILAVRONILL: Welcome to Our Poetry Archive, dear poet. And congratulations as the poet of this month. I would like to know your personal views on literature or poetry in general.


ALLISON GRAYHURST:   I feel literature and poetry are art forms and also vehicles to express spiritual insight. All the great poets are prophets of the human condition. We’re privileged to take part in God’s creation and announce the spiritual reality behind the things we see and experience every day.


NILAVRONILL: What are the factors that have influenced you immensely in the growing phase of your literary life. When, most probably you were not certain of your future as a poet or writer. Do you think society as a whole is the key factor in shaping up you as a poet, or your poetry altogether?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: Great artists like Rilke, Dostoevsky, Plath, Nietzsche, Rodin, Pablo Neruda and others have influenced me in the shaping of my voice as a poet. I’m greatly inspired by the authenticity of the animal world as well. I’ve learned never to think of the future as a poet.  Society has only been a key factor in my evolution as an artist in that I’ve had to learn some hard lessons in trying to survive as an artist. The struggles society has imposed have certainly informed the content and emotions contained in my poetry, yet these struggles are not unique to me.


NILAVRONILL: Is there anyone in your life, influenced you personally to develop your literary skills? Or inspire you to become a poet?


ALLISON GRAYHURST:  My parents were journalists – a very different type of writing, but still writers. In terms of ongoing inspiration, my husband Kyp Harness is a great writer, both of songs and fiction (he’s published two novels). As for the inspiration to become a poet in the first place, life did that. I didn’t want to become a poet, and in fact I resisted it.  But life, inspiration, my spiritual beliefs, and my natural inclination made me a poet.


NILAVRONILL: Do you consider your literary life as an extension of your self-existence? If so, how it is related with the time around you?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: My literary life is one and the same as my self-existence.  I seek the purity of a poetry that arises naturally from one’s life.  It relates implicitly to the time around me because I am a person of this time – striving for the eternal.


NILAVRONILL: According to you, what are the conditions to develop the creative soul of a poet in general? We would like to know from your personal experiences.


ALLISON GRAYHURST: A poet can create in any conditions. All throughout time poets have created without there being an ideal condition set up for them. All that’s needed is time, a drive that presents as necessity, and perhaps silence.


NILAVRONILL: Do you think in this age of information and technology the dimensions of literature have been largely extended beyond our preconceived ideas about literature in general?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: There are many more places to get published online and the process of submitting has been made a great deal easier than when you had to pay for postage.  Beyond that, not much has changed – time is still the great editor and decides whose work lives on eternally.


NILAVRONILL: As a poet, do socio-economy and politics in general influence your literary visions? If so how, and if not, why?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: Certainly, much pain and spiritual struggle has come about because of politics and society, and that hardship – shared by everyone on the planet – has informed my poetry.  But as for them as subjects in themselves, they have very little interest to me.


NILAVRONILL: Do you consider, your national identity as an important factor to influence your literary creativity? Is your national identity an incentive for you to find your own literary voice?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: I am not a believer in nationalism, and like the subjects above, it only has tangential importance to my work.  My poetry comes from a place where we are all part of the same spiritual existence, the same universe, rather than being part of a place or a country. Saying that, I love feeling enveloped in the starkness, the raw, forgiving beauty that can happen on Canadian winter’s early morning.


NILAVRONILL: In between tradition and modernism, which one influence you most and why?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: They both influence me equally.  I would not be who I am without the writing of the past that I’ve read.  My poetry wouldn’t be what it is without being open to all the influences of modernism any artist of her time must be.  The content of my work is informed by tradition; the style of it by modernism.


NILAVRONILL: Do you think honest literary criticism has much to do with the development of a poet and the true understanding of his or her poetry?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: Ultimately, we aren’t justified or validated by criticism or outward forces.  That can only happen within.


NILAVRONILL: I would like to know, whether your contemporaries inspire your writings in any way.


ALLISON GRAYHURST: No. In fact, I have delved further into the past where I have found my most recent literary inspiration – to Homer’s The Iliad - the first breath and fire of western literature.


NILAVRONILL: Do you believe, literature can eventually help people to uplift human conscience?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: I believe literature can help people to uplift human conscience – whether it will or not is a different matter.  There’s no doubt that inspired literature written in a pure way can, has, and always will uplift humanity.  The question is: to what degree?  So far, not enough – and that’s the human condition.  I also think writing literature that tries to uplift humanity is the quickest way to get literature that doesn’t uplift humanity.


NILAVRONILL: Humanity has suffered immensely in the past, and is still suffering around the world. We all know it well. As a poet or even as a literary person, how do you foresee the future of mankind?


ALLISON GRAYHURST: As I said, a poet doesn’t think about the future – only the present moment.  But I think to see the future you have to study the past. As well, I think it’s far too late in history to be using the term ‘mankind’ to refer to humanity.  ‘Humankind’, as used by Gorbachev, is much more appropriate.


NILAVRONILL: We are almost at the end of the interview. I remain obliged to you for your participation. Now, personally I would like to know your honest opinion about Our Poetry Archive. Since April 2015 we are publishing and archiving contemporary world poetry each and every month. Thank you for sharing your views and spending much time with us.


ALLISON GRAYHURST: I think highly of Our Poetry Archive, and greatly appreciate that all my work submitted has always been published. I am honoured to be chosen as the Poet of the Month. Thank you for this interview and for including my work.


Allison Grayhurst has been nominated for “Best of the Net” five times. She has over 1400 poems published in over 530 international journals, including translations of her work. She has 25 published books of poetry and 6 chapbooks. She is an ethical vegan and lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay;




Bread & Fruit


Under the deed

the golden intention is hidden

willing to conquer

made-up realities,

fantasies drooling into the brain.

I asked for hope and was given

great love. Although exhausted

I can still reply authentic,

even with enthusiasm.

Honour is pronounced as natural integrity.

Feasting on the yolk, a time when

childishness is reduced to non-consideration,

and even gone are aggressive jealousies and

the rules of the perpetually damned.


Now you are in the sun

like in a dream you have dreamt of for so long.

Strong and capable, the power of liberty

blazing through your pours, into

the rivers and into the seas



Cut The Reins

(Romulus over Numa)


Before equality

was a loophole-word

that meant each-to-their-own,

there were possibilities, retaliation,

convictions that gnawed crazed in the gut,

not tended to as complex calculations.

Blood was required for those who walked

bare-footed, in chains. Smiles were overlooked

because every movement forward could be attacked

and the attackers were ruthless,

were the upper-cast-surveyors, pursing their lips

for future indulgences and the grand cutting-down.

Before there was war then there was religion,

rituals to replace the war with locked-in-duty

and unchallengeable hierarchy.

The philosopher king was a king

of masterful manipulation.

With him, peace reigned

as long as the chairs started with

were the chairs stayed with,

each accepting their given seat no matter

its disconnection from dignity or its captivity.


Better the clarity of servitude than

to decorate the death of freedom

with a bribe, false expectation

and regulated civility.

Better the sibling-slayer, bared-tooth ruler

over the priest. Better the glutton

owning his transgressions

over the secret-eater, pretending

compassion with charity, and devotion

with upholding traditions,

basing wisdom on semantics, burying alive

the disobedient sex-alive misfits in a room

with a soft bed, a cup of water and an obedience to shame,

strong enough that they go quietly, underground,

accepted enough that the perpetrators feel justified,

fully at ease, appeased from guilt

by a sanctified brutality.


That End


That end was a sound,

a sharp breeze that cracked

the funeral casket.

What love could happen, happened

then expanded thick and buttery

like a pleasant dream stirring

in the early morning hours.

I held your hand and you glittered

with a beautiful depth fully your own.

That end was employment

into a purposeful labour, meaningfulness

hitting hard and sideways.


Your hands are an intellectual’s, tender

as they have always been.

The concrete blockade is past us.

The foul scent repeating-shame has gone away,

replaced with an uplifting aroma.


We belong to each other, on the edge

of this unexperienced ecstasy, starting to bud,

flesh-out, claim our place on the stem -

fed from the anchored richness below and from

the pure colouring-sun, witnessing.


Zen Walk


Release the washing

and just set sail.


Born from hurt and from frustration,

the dirt upon you will never come clean.

The battle within the game

will pay out the same - body parts

will deplete then start to pile.


Make an impression outside the circle,

foiling the laws that hold you in place,

declaring your place on the mound.


None of it is real

if you don’t want it to be.

Even death will not free you from

the heavy grip, not from the debt accumulating.

Only an angel’s vision, the one Jesus revealed,

only setting sail, releasing your assignment

will release you.


Simply love and let go

of expectation. Master

waiting, listening, waiting.


The animals know this -

taking, giving,


void of gratitude

immune to resentment.




Tear apart tomorrows’ boundaries

and be identical to water,

taking your cue for movement from the wind.

The same way self-respect is chiselled at

by compromise, poverty seduces the mind into despair.

Let it heat up. purify and find a harmony

unusual in its longing and continuance.

I loved you but now I have no urgency or desire.

You are yes and also no.

I can’t say why I can’t hear your music or live

advancing a future beneficial to the eternal stream

and to myself personally.

I don’t know why futility clings

to me like a barnacle, latching on, lingering

one day to the next, crusting my skin


I have no solution to eradicate this quagmire

or wash myself of this fiction and allow your reality

to take hold.

The same way life has lost all its questions,

colours get frayed, braided as one into

a dull flat grey.

I see only flaws and the inevitable fate

of those flaws.

I cannot lift myself or script

a worthy chapter.


Tear this apart and take me under,

to witness life bulbous, translucent and

so far removed from my bony heavy mass.

I cannot labour here another day,

brooding in defeat.

I cannot love you and I need help

to love you again, feel my dismemberment

dwarfed, unequalled

by your mercy.




ALLISON GRAYHURST has been nominated for “Best of the Net” five times. She has over 1400 poems published in over 530 international journals, including translations of her work. She has 25 published books of poetry and 6 chapbooks. She is an ethical vegan and lives in Toronto with her family. She also sculpts, working with clay; Collaborating with Allison Grayhurst on the lyrics, Vancouver-based singer/songwriter/musician Diane Barbarash has transformed eight of Allison Grayhurst’s poems into songs, creating a full album entitled River – Songs from the poetry of Allison Grayhurst, released 2017. Some of the places her work has appeared in include Parabola (Alone & Together print issue summer 2012); SUFI Journal (Featured Poet in Issue #95, Sacred Space); Elephant Journal; Literary Orphans; Blue Fifth Review; The American Aesthetic; The Brooklyn Voice; Five2One; Agave Magazine; JuxtaProse Literary Magazine, Drunk Monkeys; Now Then Manchester; South Florida Arts Journal; Gris-Gris; Buddhist Poetry Review; The Muse – An International Journal of Poetry, Storm Cellar, morphrog (sister publication of Frogmore Papers); New Binary Press Anthology; Straylight Literary Magazine (print); Chicago Record Magazine, The Milo Review; Foliate Oak Literary Magazine; The Antigonish Review; Dalhousie Review; The New Quarterly; Wascana Review; Poetry Nottingham International; The Cape Rock; Ayris; Journal of Contemporary Anglo-Scandinavian Poetry (now called The Journal); The Toronto Quarterly; Existere; Fogged Clarity, Boston Poetry Magazine; Decanto; White Wall Review. 



Burning Darkness Into The Lamp


Stepping on the ice

With my rubber heel shoes,

I come into the house...

I shake off the memories that

Rain down on my head,

I hang someone who is ME

From the wardrobe

And nearby several of Me...

Turning on the lamps in the room,

I burn the darknesses...

Mom used to say “may you step into the light”

When she couldn’t find her Glasses at night...

For many years, my mom found her glasses in the irradiance

And I’m still looking for the light in the dark valleys of the future...



He cannot light his room with a lamp son of who was turning on the world with her glasses.


ALI CHAGHLA, was born in 2002 in the city of Tabriz, South Azerbaijan.  He is also known as a translator, journalist, and writer.  Two of his novels and a poetry book have been published in Baku and Turkey.  He is the translator of more than 48 books.




The Stone Bridge


that evening we crossed the Vardar river

I was talking to the thousands of statues in Skopje

I had become drunk with their ancient language

they say they sleep near the heart of the city



I was an uninhibited scholar

who made clothes from their own books

and he did not know the triumphant thirst of the streets

I watched from the bridge the flat unrest

hot air military costume parade

what entered my lungs crippled


I crossed over the stone bridge

like a soldier with wooden legs

and I lived for a second in the body of a statue

it was snowing red




I knew you like you know maple and maybe

sky line

yet I was thirsty and searching

to squeeze the last lemon

in the bridge of the palm


endless flowers clung to the porthole of life

as if I had rolled

my last nerves

in cheap tobacco


back then we were smoking illusions

I draw you with red nails

directly on the stand

musical notes flowed

and I was crushing them with the tip of my shoe


you were aphonic and depressed in color

I had only seen the sunrise at Struga

my passion to devour skeletal words

and here I a m a poet 7 times

in the country with artists per square millimeter


Ebonite Stars


I have memories of our lives together.

then I was waiting at the passage.

I dreamed of cars and colorful neon signs.

I didn't feel the teeth of the cold.

no matter how much thistles shake

ebonite stars will scatter

over the summer air.



you take a selfie with the moon.

you are born for triple wins.

history is not written. you have wounds in your palms

and fire circles in shoes.

in the center of the city, pigeons are humming

nurtured by young people.


how many times they didn't spin

galaxies of loneliness

in the heart of man-city?




ANGI CRISTEA MELANIA: Born in the city of Craiova, the poetess Angi Cristea Melania teaches Romanian language and literature at the "Marin Sorescu" School of Arts. She has published several volumes of poetry: (Diz) harmony, More / Less feelings, The stones of the sun. of Pokemon, 777 of appeals, Flori de iris / Giaggiol,Poems on DN1, Ventriloquist City. She has obtained numerous awards both nationally and internationally. European Poetry Award stand obtained in 2017 at the "Europoezia" International Festival (Braila) "Alfredo Pirrole" Award awarded to Trriugio, Italy at the Trriugio International Festival (2018), received Grand Prix at the Corona Internazionale Award festival (2018). She is a member of the Romanian Writers' Union. She has published in numerous prestigious literary magazines and is appreciated by writers and literary critics in Romania and Italy. She received a diploma from the Romanian Embassy in Milan for special cultural merits in promoting Romanian culture in Italy and Romanian culture in Romania





Time Is A Curse


Time always play a game with me

It holds my heart and mind tightly

Struggling to move I can’t feel free


Time pushes me down when I try

To climb up of the hills of success

Making my efforts vain, throat dry


Time has never done me any good

It has given me pains and inflicted

Deep cuts to bleed since childhood


The Sound Of Tear Falling


The sound of tear falling

From the deep pools of the eyes

Makes the clouds cry in sadness

While pacing the blueness of the skies


The sound of tear falling

Makes the birds fly away afar

Above the stoic mountain chains

Their wings shinning in the sun’s glare


The sound of tear falling

From your beautiful eyes breaks

The silence in my heart and sadness

Flows like a river through its many cracks


The sound of tear falling

Can be heard from far and near

I gather the broken pieces of heart

Pain of separation I can’t no more bear


You Are The Flower


You are the flower in my heart

I groom you with the potion of love

You are the prayer in my lips

I have you as a blessing from above


You are like the rain in my life

That was lying dry since many years

You are the warmth of kindness

When in sadness I drop copious tears


You are the fresh flower I seek

To feel glad when my life seems dull

You are the music of the stream

I hear when in the morn I take a stroll






Tears Of Pain


My heart aches, my soul cries

For a friend who is no longer by my side

She was a kind and caring soul

Always there to make others whole


She dedicated her life to serving others

With love and kindness, she was like a mother

Her passion for humanity knew no bounds

In her presence, peace and love abound


But now she's gone, taken by a sudden homicide

Leaving behind a world that's now colder

The one who spread love has now met hate

Leaving us all in a state of fate


Tears of pain and anger fill my eyes

For a life so selfless, now unjustly dies

Her loss is felt by all who knew her

A friend, a mentor, a humanitarian hero


The world may have taken her away

But her legacy will forever live

In the hearts of those she touched

Her memory will never be brushed


Her kindness, her compassion, and her smile

Will continue to live on, mile after mile

A light extinguished too quickly

Leaving our hearts in constant gloom


I'll miss her laughter, her warm embrace

Her words of wisdom and her grace

But I'll hold on to the memories we shared

And know that she'll always be there


Though she may not be by my side

Her spirit and love will always reside

In the depths of my heart, she'll always be

My friend, my sister, my humanitarian,


Thirsty Mother


Thirsty Mother, yearning for a toddler,

Her heart aches, her tears run wild.

She dreams of tiny feet and sweet laughter,

But sadly, her hands remain empty, incomplete.


She prays to the heavens, with all her might,

For a toddler to hold tight.

But fate has not been kind, her womb remains barren,

Her dreams of motherhood always unfulfilled, untold.


She weeps in silence, in the dark of night,

Her longing for a baby, an endless fight.

She sees other mothers, with their precious ones,

And wonders what she did wrong, what she has not done.


She feels the pain, deep in her soul,

As the years pass by, her heart takes a toll.

She longs to feel a life growing inside,

But her body betrays her, and her desire slowly dies.


She tries to be strong, to put on a brave face,

But inside she's crumbling, in this infinite race.

She longs to hold a child, to hear it cry,

But it feels like a distant dream, a distant sky.


Thirsty Mother, with a heart full of love,

But never given the chance, to hold her own dove.

She weeps day and night, in solitude,

For the child she never had, for the motherhood she never knew.


But even in her pain, she finds a way,

To spread her love, every single day.

She may not have a child, to call her very own,

But in her heart, a mother she has grown.


Thirsty Mother, though her arms may be empty,

Her love knows no bounds, it is pure and plenty.

She may have never been able to give birth,

But in her heart, she's a mother, for all it's worth.


National Hero


The feeling of losing a leader

A compassionate young man.

My heart wrenches, my soul shattered,

As I watch our country's pride disintegrate.


I can't find the words to express,

The pain that cuts me deep.

I am alive, but inside I died,

A true humanitarian, we no longer keep.


Your bravery and dedication,

For our beloved country, we will never forget.

The last conversation we had,

A treasure, one I will forever hold as a bet.


I wanted to bid you goodbye,

As you took your final rest.

But being a Girl, I was denied,

Only boys could attend, I was left bereft.


If only I could change my gender,

To be able to say my final goodbye.

But my tears speak the words,

My heart is too heavy, I can't even try.


You may not be a blood relative,

But you were always a brother to me.

Losing you, our country's heart aches,

Your death, a great national tragedy.


I wish we had worked together,

To bring peace and make a change.

But destiny had a different plan,

And your life was cut short, a cruel exchange.


My soul weeps for you,

As I lay flowers on your grave.

Respect and peace, I offer,

For the brave soul, we couldn't save.


Your smile and strength,

Will forever be etched in our hearts.

No one can ever forget,

The impression you left, in every part.


I have so much to say to you,

But now, you're not here.

How can I speak to you,

When your absence fills me with fear?


My heart feels empty,

My body numb with grief.

Your murder, a painful truth,

An act that defies all belief.


Why do people kill,

A national hero, so kind?

Why do humanitarian ideals,

Get buried with a heinous mind?


I wish we could talk about peace,

And praise you for all you have done.

But now, all I can do,

Is watch the setting of the sun.


Your sudden death,

Has left us all in dismay.

Every drop of blood you shed,

On my soul, it stains, a deep crimson array.


I don't want to live in a world,

Where such tragedies take place.

But I know, you would want me to fight,

For a better tomorrow, with grace.


I may not have the right words,

To write about you, my dear friend.

But as a writer, I promise,

Your legacy, I will continue to defend.


I don't know what lies ahead,

But I won't give up, I'll try.

To fulfill your mission,

And empower the youth, to thrive.


Oh my leader, Rehan,

Please guide me from above.

As I continue to share your vision,

And fill the world with love.


The world may have lost you,

But your legacy will forever live on.

In our hearts, in our actions,

As we strive to make the world a better one.




ANILA BUKHARI: With passion and determination, Anila Bukhari shines as a guiding light in Pakistan, fighting for the rights of children, empowering women, and promoting peace. She has left an unforgettable imprint in the literary world, with six books and five international anthologies published, her poetry transcending borders and captivating readers in 16 different languages across 50 countries. Anila's journey as a writer started at a young age of 16 and she has since then used her gift to educate over 1000 orphaned children through online platforms. Her words not only shed light on the issues faced by humanity but also offer solutions, spreading hope and positivity to all who read them. Through her project "Hopeful Hugs," Anila has brought joy to the lives of over a thousand homeless individuals, offering them comfort and love through simple acts of kindness.




Shine In The World


You are a diamond, shine in the world,

in every corner, in every time,

look for those who feed your light

and wash yourself of your sweat.


Help others like a good shepherd,

follow a path and you will find your shine.


Don't cry for what you lose,

everything will return to you in another form.


From your wounds the light of blessing will enter,

your pain will be the best ally of wisdom.


You were conceived for love and you were made to love,

Don't live without love or you will die from it.

If you die for love,

you will stay alive forever!


You will be a bright and good star in the sky,

but first shine as your own in this world.


Brilla nel mondo


Sei un diamante, brilla nel mondo,

in ogni angolo, in ogni tempo,

cerca chi alimenta la tua luce

e lavati del tuo sudore.


Aiuta gli altri come un buon pastore,

segui un sentiero e troverai il tuo splendore.


Non piangere per ciò che perdi,

tutto ti ritornerà sotto altra forma.


Dalle tue ferite entrerà la luce di benedizione,

il tuo dolore sarà il migliore alleato di saggezza.


Sei stato concepito per amore e sei fatto per amare,

non vivere senza amore o ne morirai.

Se muori per amore,

rimarrai in vita per sempre!


Sarai una stella luminosa e buona in cielo,

ma prima brilla di tuo in questo mondo.




This fiery ardor that warms my heart,

I cradle in your sweet thoughts for hours,

in thrilling days kisses of love,

a happiness that makes me die.


Your way of speaking reassures me,

your hands, your skin, don't make me suffer.


A rainbow of colors, an engaging embrace,

background music, clouds my mind,

I taste your essence normally,

it seems like a dream to live in you.


I want to enjoy your whispers fully,

for life and always eternally.


You have lit a volcano in me,

desire to have you and hold you, just for me,

delirious feeling, engaging passion,

I close my eyes, think of you and fall asleep.


I have no other thoughts right now,

an unreal oblivion to have you next to me without torment.




Questo ardore infuocato che mi riscalda il cuore,

mi cullo nel tuo dolce pensiero per ore,

in giorni frementi baci d’amore,

una felicità che mi fa morire.


Mi rasserena il tuo modo di dire,

le tue mani, la tua pelle, non mi fare soffrire.


Un arcobaleno di colori, un abbraccio coinvolgente,

musica di sottofondo, offusca la mia mente,

gusto la tua essenza normalmente,

mi sembra un sogno vivere in te.


Voglio godere dei tuoi sussurri pienamente,

per la vita e sempre eternamente.


Un vulcano hai acceso in me,

desiderio di averti e stringerti, solo per me,

delirante sentimento, passione coinvolgente,

chiudo gli occhi , penso a te e mi addormento.


Non ho altri pensieri in questo momento,

un oblio irreale averti accanto senza tormento.


The Soul


The silent soul wanders in infinite worlds,

it touches you, searches for you, whispers in your mind!

With a thread of love it travels through every heart,

it stops, refreshes itself and then starts again.

Suddenly he dies and is reborn,

invisible, tangible if you give it.

 The soul pure light of love!




L’anima silente vaga in mondi infiniti,

ti sfiora, ti cerca, ti sussurra nella mente!

Con un filo d’amore viaggia in ogni cuore,

si ferma, si ristora e poi riparte.

All’improvviso muore e rinasce,

invisibile, tangibile se la doni.

 L’anima pura luce d’amore!



ANTONELLA CAUSA: Our author focuses on the life of every individual. In her global thought "everyone is unique and important" and in life you don't move forward alone. Uplift with good feelings: human soul, mind and heart. Antonella Causa often finds herself talking to intelligent souls and spirits. It reports prophetic words of current times, using simple language understandable to all. She predicts times that have turned into reality. In her the words flow like pure spring water, sometimes dictated by lights already experienced, eager to leave a further imprint of their existence. For her, the universe of the world dwells within us, with its own individuality and essence of spirit. In the verses we discover intimate thoughts and hidden passions, fantasies and dreams, desires that intertwine in intense and profound verses.