Thursday, May 1, 2025
IBRAHIM HONJO INTERVIEW
Poet Of The Month
MAY 2025
NILAVRONILL: Why do literature and poetry in particular interest you so much? Please give us some idea about your own perception of literature or poetry in general.
IBRAHIM HONJO: Literature and poetry as a significant part of it are an inexhaustible mine of knowledge. From it, we draw the necessary knowledge to go through life more easily and become literary creators. Writing is an excellent preventive psychotherapy for humans. Writing helps us run away from problems, but that does not mean that running away from problems creates a writer. The entire literature is characterized by themes about pain, sadness, personal or human misfortunes. By writing about our own problems, we actually label the problems and relieve our pain and sorrow, but we never clear our memory of it. They live in us weakened, in a form that cannot harm our health. It is precisely because of this health effect that I am interested in literature as a whole, and especially in poetry, which requires the reader to understand every word that the poet uses in the poem, so that he can build his own opinion and attitudes from this knowledge and continue to walk more normally through life, because life is a set of numerous activities, and each of them require special knowledge.
NILAVRONILL: How do you relate your own self existence with your literary life in one hand, and the time around you, in the other.
IBRAHIM HONJO: I write and breathe. So, I exist. But a person cannot survive if they’re only engaged in writing. All other activities I practice are related to writing, which has surrounded my entire life. What are the internal connections between these activities do not depend on writing, but writing depends on all of them and how each person manages to organize them individually, and then as a whole that will pull them forward into a better future. Everything takes time and nothing can be done in an instant, and we have as much time as we create for each segment of life, according to priorities.
NILAVRONILL: Do you believe creative souls flourish more in turmoil than in peace?
IBRAHIM HONJO: Troubles are an integral part of every person's life and everyone deals with them as best they know how. Those who do not know, seek help from others. Creative souls struggle alone with their troubles, writing about them and sharing their views and opinions with readers. Writers who write about their peace, and peace in the souls of others are rare. If flourishing is creation, creative souls flourish more in restlessness than others.
NILAVRONILL: As a poet, do socio-economy and politics in general influence your literary visions? If so how, and if not, why?
IBRAHIM HONJO: Of course, socio-economics and politics influence my overall visions of life, including my literary visions. The poet must follow all events and write about them as he experiences them and thinks they should be. What happens in life is his and all people's reality. He must actively participate in it and with his actions indicate the necessity of changes that lead to betterment.
NILAVRONILL: Do you believe that all writers are by and large the product of their nationality? And is this an incentive for or an obstacle against becoming a truly international writer?
IBRAHIM HONJO: All writers are primarily born as writers of their nation. They live and create where they were born. Not all writers become truly international writers. Many good writers remain unknown even within their nation. There are unwritten limits, to who will be a true world writer. First of all, it depends on the written work of each writer, on literary analysts and the media, whether they follow these works or not, whether they are positive or negative reviews. Then it depends on the literary translators from the writer's native language to other languages and finally on the world critics and media whether they will accept someone's works or not. Unfortunately, today in the age of information technology, there is a lot of manipulation about who is a world writer. There are many writers whose works do not deserve to be recognized as international writers due to their quality. This is the result of various groups in which work is done according to the system where you give me, I give you. All writers are not the product of their nation. It is a common phenomenon that a writer becomes a writer thanks to another nation where they recognized the qualities of his work, and very little or nothing is known about him in his own nation. For writers who are a product of their own nation, it is an incentive to become international writers, and for those who are a product of another nation, not their own, that the other nation is an incentive.
NILAVRONILL: Now, if we try to understand the tradition and modernism, do you think literature can play a pivotal role in it? If so, how? Again, how can an individual writer relate himself or herself to the tradition and to modernism?
IBRAHIM HONJO: Tradition is the root of the existence of humanity, and therefore of literature. The first literary works arose from tradition. Every new direction in life and literature developed from tradition. If we follow the development of life activities and the development of literature, we will see all are closely connected and that one cannot exist without the others. Literature is a very important link in the chain of human existence. It encourages a person to think about a better future. Of course, there is no literature without creators. The basis of everything is the writer, who draws material for his work from tradition and the present, incorporating it in a modern way. It is a reaction to romantic poetry and prose, which died out as a literary fashion in the middle of the 19th century. Each new direction brings a new approach to writing, thus keeping pace with time and the development of technique and technology.
NILAVRONILL: Do you think literary criticism has much to do with the development of a poet and the true understanding of his or her poetry?
IBRAHIM HONJO: First of all, every creator should be self-critical of his work, to make that work as good and acceptable as possible for readers and to leave literary critics as little room for negative criticism as possible. Literary criticism plays a big role in the development of poets. The life path of that work also depends on the critics and their perception of the work. The problem today is that there are many writers and few real critics. Because of this, many good works remain unnoticed and do not reach the hands of too many readers. In addition, the media does not deal much with this issue.
NILAVRONILL: Do you think society as a whole is the key factor in shaping you up as a poet, or your poetry altogether?
IBRAHIM HONJO: The key factor in the formation of poet is primarily the poet himself, and the helping factor is social movements and society as a whole.
NILAVRONILL: Do you think people in general actually bother about literature? Do you think this consumerist world is turning the average man away from serious literature?
IBRAHIM HONJO: People don't bother with literature. What bothers many people in literature are works imbued with philosophical thoughts. Today's readers like literature that can be read in one breath. The pace of life we live does not give us much time to think about what we read. Hence the desire to read literature that is sweet to the ear but empty to the spirit.
NILAVRONILL: We would like to know the factors and the peoples who have influenced you immensely in the growing phase of your literary life.
IBRAHIM HONJO: I don't have an idol among writers. I have read many books and I am still reading. I adore world classics and their works, but also many modern and contemporary creators. I cannot single out a single creator who had an immense influence on my literary path and literary life. I built my direction and I'm still building it myself. It is a process that lasts the writer's entire life.
NILAVRONILL: How would you evaluate your contemporaries and what are your aspirations for or expectation from the younger generation?
IBRAHIM HONJO: Judging your contemporaries is not an easy task. Perhaps it is pretentious, just as it is pretentious to talk about opinion. I think that today there is a considerable absence of opinion, which is the basis for evaluation. Nevertheless, my opinion of my contemporaries is positive, although each of them has its negative side. What to expect from the new younger generations? Active participation in all phases of life and to write about everything that concerns modern humanity. I expect that through their writing they will be born for truth, justice, peace in the world and a healthy human environment, to spread love among all people.
NILAVRONILL: Humanity has suffered immensely in the past, and is still suffering around the world. We all know it well. But are you hopeful about our future?
IBRAHIM HONJO: Our future, as well as the future of future generations, is partially in our hands. If we are inert, blind, and deaf to everything happening, and leave it to the ruling class to shape our future, then we cannot hope for a good future. The current situation in the world is not good at all. In addition to bloody wars, there are also cold and economic wars, which will bring betterment to some, and an even more difficult existence to many.
NILAVRONILL: What role can literature in general play to bring a better day for every human being?
IBRAHIM HONJO: Literature today is in the phase of hyperproduction. There are more and more writers and published works and fewer and fewer readers. Many works will remain unread. The question is how much poetry and prose are engaged among them and whether they manage to reach readers, and above all, to those who decide the fate of humanity. In order for literature to play its role in bringing about a better life, writers would have to write more about current life, critics would have to write about these works, publishers would have to publish and present them to the public, and the media would have to write and talk about these works. I believe that such acts would also reach those who rule.
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.
IBRAHIM HONJO: OPA is a specific poetry organization, which nurtures poetry in a way I like. It is open to all creators of the world, and publishes excellent poetry, both in the group and on the WEB site, and anthologies. Archiving everything published creates a huge arsenal of poetry for current and future generations. Because of all this, I am happy to participate in the work of this organization.
Ibrahim Honjo is a Canadian/Bosnian poet-writer, who writes in Bosnian, and English language. He has worked as an economist, journalist, editor, marketing director, and property manager. He is currently retired and resides in Canada. Honjo is author 26 published books in Bosnian Language, (7 books in English, 3 books bilingually (in English and Bosnian language). In addition, 5 joints’ books of poems published with Serbian poets. His poems have been represented in more than 80 world anthologies, and more than 60 literary magazines. Some of Honjo’s poems have been translated into Italian, Spanish, Korean, Polish, Slovenian, Bahasa (Malaysia), Mongolian, Turkmen, Turkish, Russian, Bengali, Portuguese, French, Thai, Arabic, Tajik, Vietnamese, Chinese, Macedonian, Filipino, Persian and German. He received several prizes for his poetry.
IBRAHIM HONJO
Insanity
The beginning of all nonsense is in people
man has nothing to do with it
insanity has no limits
it only has a cradle where it is born and nurtured
from the cradle of insanity
storms and hurricanes are born
earthquakes, rock falls, landslides and wars
insanity is the creator of swords, guns, bombs
and everything that can destroy
insanity is inaugurated in the souls of people
man has nothing to do with it
in vain my poem talks about truth and love
they are on their wobbly feet
and every day they stumble more and more
truth and love are incarcerated
and slowly suppressed
in the way that killers cover their tracks
my poem is alone and powerless to stop it
there is no powerful man to stop the insanity
there is no God almighty
and there's nothing to protect the truth
and love in people
I dread that my poem will become insane
and agree to the eternal darkness of lunatics
I'm scared for man and mankind
I'm dying in disquietude
Shadows In The Vineyard
Autumn-bared vineyards
only a dried-up small cluster of grapes
keeps hanging somewhere
sparrows merrily jump among tree vines
on the red sunset
shadows are intertwined gently
like girls and boys in love
the call of the far West is echoing in my ears
the shadow of my beloved is cuddled
against me
like a vine around a tree
the shadow of my beloved sleep in my veins
and leaves its traces on my sleeping skin
entering me completely
we are drinking homemade red wine
each from their own glass
and we think that is the way to build eternal love
the stone walls in my grandfather’s vineyard
are silent
my grandfather has gone long ago to some planet
we are leaving, each in their own cocoon
no one arranged a new encounter
we have to wait for the day
in which we will drink from the same glass
IBRAHIM HONJO
IBRAHIM HONJO is a Canadian/Bosnian poet-writer, who writes in Bosnian, and English language. He has worked as an economist, journalist, editor, marketing director, and property manager. He is currently retired and resides in Canada. Honjo is author 26 published books in Bosnian Language, (7 books in English, 3 books bilingually (in English and Bosnian language). In addition, 5 joints’ books of poems published with Serbian poets. His poems have been represented in more than 80 world anthologies, and more than 60 literary magazines. Some of Honjo’s poems have been translated into Italian, Spanish, Korean, Polish, Slovenian, Bahasa (Malaysia), Mongolian, Turkmen, Turkish, Russian, Bengali, Portuguese, French, Thai, Arabic, Tajik, Vietnamese, Chinese, Macedonian, Filipino, Persian and German. He received several prizes for his poetry.
ΧRYSOULA FOUFA
Dawn
Voices scattered around
in summer natural scenery
on lakes buried in languish greenery
far away
on lonely paths of beauty
-extraordinary beauty -
that accompany the sun.
The rays of splendid light
burning the hearts of lovers
trembling embraces
of hands searching the touch of flesh
wholeheartedly
purely
unceasingly…
Till eternity becomes
a breath of their universe
a kiss of their lips.
Midnight
Too bad, you said once
while talking overseas
amidst the vastness of the sky.
Too bad, echoed your words
in the darkness of the night
falling as pieces of charcoal
on velvet colours of firewood.
Harshness appealed the solitude
hardness insisted once again
touching the emptiness that prevailed.
Too bad, said the moon
in its glorious reflection
hidden behind scattered clouds.
Irrevocable words
uttered by lips
made for kisses.
Too bad, dearie!
That's life!
ΧRYSOULA FOUFA
ΧRYSOULA FOUFA: She was born in 1971 in Farsala, Greece. She graduated from the Department of English Language and Literature of the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki with honors in 1993 and then worked as a tutoring school owner for 6 years. After that, she successfully passed the ASEP exams and was appointed to the high school in Astakos Messolongi. She has been teaching English in the 1st General Lyceum of Farsala since 2000. She attended various seminars on her subject as well as on psychology and environmental protection issues. She loves literature, poetry, traveling and dancing. Poetry prizes have been awarded to her for her poems in national and global poetry competitions so far. She is an elected vice mayor in her town. She had been the president of a local club concerning Epirus traditions and customs for 6 years (2018-2024). She is a member of the Board of the Academy of Farsala. She has got three children.
TZEMIN ITION TSAI
Soft Waste Of The Mind
When the frost comes, the lake
with a trace of loneliness
As usual, it attracted me and my father
Father loves fishing, but not as much as
My chasing of the little waves
Although the sun
harassing the shallow layers of my coat
Makes me tighten the collar
that stands beside my ear even more
Shore
A touch of cold light
that originally belonged to the reed flower
That floating dead fish
Witness, the pace of industrialization does not stop
It's just that nature didn't ask
Who is hiding behind the tricky forest wind and crying?
Polluted air, next to the trees
Bring a trail of chemical dye
Water churning on a sand bed
Look carefully
These, the soft scraps of the mind
already loyal to climate change
How to stain us again
No one cried this time
No need to cry this time
Abandon panic, leave no sigh
we must refuse
Take our air and play that game
with industrial chimneys
The cruel bet about Climate change
As Far As The Eye Can See
The corner of the south potential,
as far as the eye can see
A little autumn light forgets everything
The red rain on the green land should be the spring,
and the beautiful flowers are like this
Outside the setting sun
The crow crosses back,
and the smoke and water are vast
Dream soul does not reach the river
I still remember the old gulls and herons
Trees by the lake,
recalling the past,
accompanied by wind and dew
Let's talk about eternity
Those fragments of sentences are broken stele,
can you still remember
the vicissitudes of life
several times in a hundred years?
My eyes are infinitely sad,
I don’t see the sails hanging in the evening light
Revisiting a fallen hero
Empty sigh, sad, ecstasy, desolate
Only the end of the world
That's sad than happy
The west wind blows,
and dreams turn to ashes
After a sad farewell,
how can he remember him even more?
Drums are guarded at dusk,
and there are a few traces of crying
in the ruins of wild shops
Weeping poplar bank
The thoughts of sending pedestrians
to autumn gradually fade away,
but the tears are full of sleeves
Rain cloud
The lonely big bird screamed loudly
Several times
The end of the world is full of luxuriant grass,
sad and sad
Regain the Lazy Colored Pen
Write the screen of the mountain,
draw its corners
There are mandarin ducks
and brocade characters in the new makeup
Butterfly light silk
TZEMIN ITION TSAI
Prof. Dr. TZEMIN ITION TSAI (蔡澤民博士) was born in Taiwan (China). He holds a Ph.D. in Chemical Engineering and two Masters of Science in Applied Mathematics and Chemical Engineering. He is a scholar with a wide range of expertise while maintaining a common and positive interest in science, engineering, and literature. Dr. Tsai is not just an accomplished poet, he is an essayist, novelist, columnist, editor, translator, academic, engineer, mathematician, and so many other things. His literary creation specializes and expertise in the description of nature, the anatomy of emotion and humanity, life writing, graphic writing, cross-domain writing, and so on. Dr. Tsai has carried out a number of educational research with the development of teaching materials in his country. He has won many national literary awards. His literary works have been anthologized and published in books, journals, and newspapers in more than 40 countries and translated into more than 20 languages. Tsai is a professor at Asia University (Taiwan), and editor of Reading, Writing and Teaching academic text. He also writes the long-term columns for Chinese Language Monthly in Taiwan. There are many famous poets from different countries in the world through his Chinese translations and introductions were able to be recognized by our people.
TANJA AJTIC
We're Locking Ourselves Up!
We're locking ourselves up!
We may lose ourselves,
someone can steal us.
We're locking ourselves up!
We can discover ourselves,
if we do not say anything,
they will look in our eyes and know.
We're locking ourselves up!
Let's stop every connection.
Someone can hurt us, kill us.
Let's lock in ourselves,
throw the key from the cage into a backward,
in the past ,the whirlpool, the abyss.
Let's lock and stand still.
We are waiting for the darkness.
Let's lock up.
Let's lock the truth about ourselves.
Someone can kidnap us,
blackmail us, beat us, depress us.
Let's lock ourselves up at the precaution.
Let's lock ourselves up
from fear for our own thought, movement, ego.
Let's lock ourselves in, we'll be icy,
unbeatable giants out of time.
Our time has come.
Our steps are responding dully.
We are a Pharaoh's troop.
The Meadow Of Our Love
My boy,
the fragrant flower
of colorful meadows.
You're bringing in the life with air
within the pores of the skin all the way to the heart.
I love you.
Purity,
with beautiful feelings,
the blue of my heaven.
Eyes
Sun
warm, gentle.
Lips
stream, clear, happy.
My nature,
never experienced.
I feel your presence with every sigh.
You will never disappear,
fade in me.
The meadow of our love,
waiting for you.
I'm letting the dew of the womb
wanting to feel sweet juice.
Beauty.
TANJA AJTIC,
TANJA AJTIC was born in Belgrade, Serbia. She lived and studied in Serbia at the Faculty of Philology-Department of Serbian Language and Literature. She is a poet and writer but she is also an artist. She also deals with fine graphics in the linocut technique. Since 2002, she lives and creates in Canada. Moved to Belgrade, Serbia in summer 2023. Tanja Ajtic is a member of many groups and associations. In Serbia, she is a member of the prestigious Society of Writers of Belgrade. Her poems and stories have been published two hundred collections (books), anthologies, electronic books and magazines. Her poems have been published in English, Serbian, Chinese, Croatian, Iraqi, Bengali, Indian, Bulgarian, Tunisian, Arabic and Spanish. In the spring of 2018, at the "Pegasus" competition of the Literary Youth of Serbia, Belgrade, she won the award for printing the first book of poetry "Outlines of Love". Her book was exhibited at the Book Fair in 2018 in Belgrade, as well as at the Book Salon in Toronto in 2019. - She is represented in the Anthology among the 30 best writers for 2020 by the Association of Writers of Australia (USUA). She won first place, the award of authors from abroad in the Federation of Bosnia and Herzegovina (2020), Canton of Tuzla. She won second prize in Great Britain from the Serbian Library in London (2019). The winner's book was published and was exhibited at the Mini Book Fair in London (2020). She participated with books and anthologies at many fairs in the world with other authors.- She won III World Prize for Excellence "Cesar Vallejo" 2021 in the category of artistic excellence Lima, Peru, by the World Spanish Union of Writers and International Award of Excellence; from the World Spanish Union of Writers, UHE Mexico. - Received the prestigious UHE Platinum Eagle Award, PLATINUM EAGLE AWARD, invitation to Mexico, Oaxaca, to present the award; I premio mundial a la excelencia "El aguila platino 2022" Union hispanomundial de escritores (UHE), Mil mentes por Mexico internacioanl (MMMEX), Academia Mundial de literatura, historia, arte y cultura; November 30, 2022.- She won the I International Award of Excellence "Cita Del Glateo" Antonio De Ferrariis, IX edition 2022 – Rome, Italy, a prestigious award in the group of poets for the English language (IX edition of the award for foreign poetry in English) in 2022, Rome, Italy. - Winners of Foundation Naji Naaman literary prize iz 2023; (21st Edition), from the Republic of Lebanon, Honor Prize (for complete work) for Literary prizes 2023. Poetry for the competition was submitted in three languages: English, French and Arabic.- Winning the 2023 “Zheng Nian Cup” Literary Award – Third Prize by the Beijing Mindfulness Literature Museum, China. - She is the winner of many awards, diplomas and certificate. She is currently writing poetry, short stories, haiku, gogyoshi poetry as well as graphics artist as a freelance artist.
TAJALLA QURESHI
Eclipsed In Love
Praising and embracing the holy gestures,
I glitter in the moonlight with many textures
Holding and molding the holy wears
I murmur the eclipses of night in tears
Whispers!
Her lips murmur the melodious song
His eyes glimmer to see the way she belongs
Moon and stars are revolving around
And the lushness of love rushes and surround
Souls swing together in the garden of Eve
Heap of delights glimpses at their holy believe
And the robe of loyalty crushes the crunching clips
Sensations grip and grace the holy flips
Love rejoices Love and cuddles
Lushness lives in their blood
Flourish and nourish the stream
Air the fire of every dream.
Ode To The Absence
Since the thread leaves my hand,
I grip down in a senseless land,
Where your visage dwells in undefined sand,
I reckon, the fate, the mate, and the unhidden band
Still, I am not quick, I am all frozen,
unable to dance with a heavy dozen
All are a cage for the fluttering phase
Yet, the stream, heart dreams, and wrenching gaze
My nights are empty yet the terrible,
my days are as relinquished as fumble
Yet lips are under the heavy seal
I often awkwardly dazzle and deal
Believe the knock on the window again
And fainted autumn is welcoming with drain
You vanished away, slowly leaving your place alone
The eyes desires to embrace your glory as a rigid bone
Come, the spring waits for your feet,
The sky waits for the starlight heat
And the listener waits to your utterances
Your songs, your dance, your appearances.
TAJALLA QURESHI
TAJALLA QURESHI - A literary enchantress who intertwines embroideries of introspections and devotions with the delicacy in the realm of words. She is a skillful poet, essayist, fiction writer, columnist, interviewer, illustrator and an incredible editor from Pakistan. In addition, she is the visionary Co-Founder and Co-Editor of “The Wordsmith E-Magazine, Pakistan,” where words are woven into magic. She is also an International Interviewer and Associate Editor at Insight Magazine, United States, and a member of the Humanist of the World Organization and the Editor-in-Chief and Co-founder at Calypso Magazine, Greece Pakistan. Besides that, her writings; comprising Poetry, Flash Fictions, Mirco Fictions, Essays, Creative Columns and Research papers have been published globally in diverse International Journals, beyond that her writings are featured in more than 50 International and National anthologies, her Poetry, Flash Fictions, Essays and Columns are glinted phantasmagorical in global magazines, multiple international e-papers, and Online websites from Pakistan, United States of America, France, Germany, Canada, Africa, the United Kingdom(UK), Greece, Albian, S.t Vincent, Bangladesh, and India. Her poem “Your smile is a metaphor” has been translated by Yongbo Ma, a Chinese poet in Chinese. Her poem “My Phoniex” has settled in the exam of English Honors, 7semester at the University of Chenab, Pakistan.
TAGHRID BOU MERHI
Searching For Truth
O traveler on the paths of truth,
do you realize that time is nothing
but a shattered mirror?
In it, faces overlap,
and dreams scatter like dust in the wind.
What is time?
A riddle in which we craft our own chains,
only to beg them to set us free?
Or a delusion we live within,
fleeing the fear of extinction
to the illusion of permanence?
O seeker of meaning,
have you ever wondered:
Where does the path begin,
and where does it end?
Is it a circle we redraw
with every step we take?
Or a straight line
stretching into the unknown
until it vanishes?
Perhaps
truth is not in the arrival,
but in the wandering that reshapes us.
Perhaps the purpose is not in the answers,
but in the questions that grow
like wildflowers on the edges of the mind.
So be like the wind,
free from the chains of time,
and like the sea,
vast enough to embrace every wave
without drowning in them.
There, in the depth of wandering,
you may find yourself.
A Helpless Cry
I used to love imagining your death as flecks of clay
where delirium drowns me in the throat of wakefulness.
And as it happens in novels,
I saw you between the borders of memory
and the mountains of salt a cave
where deferred rituals sleep in its thoughts!
And in the middle of the vision,
I drew my pains with a wound
I longed for my voice's cords
to gnaw at the interpretation and the nightmares.
On the banks of a cloud,
the question bled in the shirt of time
and a crooked cane untangles
the beads of your spinal column...
Your voice turned into shadows
and I, helpless in the imagination of poets
dye my veins with the henna of the sky...
I think about the number of beads of sweat
that clench on the chests of suicidal women
A helpless scream!!
TAGHRID BOU MERHI
TAGHRID BOU MERHI: She is a Lebanese multilingual poet, writer, author, essayist, editor, journalist and translator living in Brazil. She has authored 24 books and translated 43 books to date, 112 article to date and some of her literary works have been translated into 48 languages. She is an active member of various literary and creative platforms. Her writings are part of several national and international magazines, newspapers, journals and anthologies. She was chosen among the 50 women from Asia who had a significant impact on the history of modern literature. She was selected as among the top 20 international journalist's From LEGACY CROWN. She is a global advisor for poetry on CCTV Chinese TV and editor and head of the translation department at various literary newspapers and magazine. She has won many awards for her write-ups. She speek 5 language.
SUJATA DASH
I Love The Doing
Be it morning, evening
Or, anytime in between
I keep on whistling away worries
Like a kettle on stove brewing elixir
I love making aubade memories
Shoving off negative kicks
Expunging din of the world
With absolute ease
I witness the battle of snow and thaw smilingly
Honing the spirit of romance and ecstasy
Taking a cue from the quintessential spring
Be it a buoyant day
Or, pleats and folds of a hazy evening
I remain stoic every bit
Flaunting iridescent energy
In the face of
Gall and rude breeze
Eternal love blossoms in my heart's garden
Sheathing vibrant shades of immortal dreams
I love chasing those incandescent flames of eternity
With absolute devotion and humility.
Mediocre
Being perched at a quiet corner
Of the universe
Embossing my presence
On the stillness of Time's course
When I say " I am just average"
Do I sound like a hypocrite
Or behave too modest?
To most of my acquaintances...
I proclaim to be ordinary
As I embrace the middle order
Find no pleasure whatsoever
In Glorifications of extremes
Keep a safe distance from
Chasing paeans and eulogy
Many adduce me to be insane
When I value the flip side of things...
Find joy in meagerness
And slender chunks of life
But, I feel this is authentic living
Without needing constant adulation
Praise, fawn or limelight
Astounding success
Has never smooched me
Nor have I been pinched by
Repeated foundering
I am okay with feeling fulfilled
Wielding mediocre subtleties
Cherishing each nugget of daily grind.
SUJATA DASH
SUJATA DASH is a poet from Bhubaneswar, Odisha. She is a retired banker. She has four published poetry anthologies (More than Mere-a bunch of poems, Riot of hues, Eternal Rhythm and Humming Serenades -all by Authorspress, New Delhi) to her credit. She is a singer, avid lover of nature. She regularly contributes to anthologies worldwide.
SUAD AL-KUWAR
The Ship
No one will get out this moment,
Nor the white mice, neither the hungry worms
No one will get out
Only the wind will race itself.
Only the wind will withdraw from this dreary courtyard
Pet cats will play with a ball of wool.
Grandma is going to throw the bucket into the well
And she will fill blind years,
That accidentally fell into the well
My good grandmother will water her sheep
And she will put her palms over my head
My father will go out of his grave
My dead father is always going out
To take a look on the clothes hanging on the branches
Perhaps a dress has been missed
Or a dress has been increased.
My father knew very well
How he could bind us to his rock.
Without complaining or rejecting.
***
I don't remember my father's features.
I only remember his heavy fingerprints on my skin
I also remember the walls,
All the walls that he hangs me on
And left me hanged.
I also remember his giggle every time the wind stopped
No one is going out at this moment
Space closed its doors in my face and withdrew
My mother stuck her dagger in my chest
Mom threw off her dress
Poisonous snakes fell on the ground.
***
Is this the cuddle?
I look from behind the mirrors
My mother was vast as nothingness
I was suckling her wrath
My mother used to wrap me in a scarf of obedience.
And I was tearing my cocoon
With my little palm.
I am tearing the darkness
Of swaddle and getting out
O Wind, give me your kindness,
O Mother, give me your tenderness
Maybe, I get rest for a moment.
Quicksand
kneeling on his knees
This moody night
As if he's wallowing in quicksand
As if the moon spreads its sash over huge shadows
As if half-awake is scattered in a crazy game
As if the end wears new forms
And goes back to the first point
*** Maybe a star shines in the sky
An old tree dances over the ground
Ah it's the end
Without flowers, without dark-coloured phrases
Without the sound of an explosion
It's the beautiful ending
*** The red rose became more red
Teardrops petrified and flew on her cheeks
What feelings will explode inside me now?
While life goes on as it is
Greeting to the huge cloud
For shades of high buildings
For branches of thick trees
For reflections of light
For hanging around between different alleys
Greeting to death
***
A huge willow will remain in mind,
Wooden chair,
Cigarette butts, Pigeon feathers,
And stressful jokes will remain in mind,
But it's the end
A dove with plucked feathers residing in a dream
Perfume of planets
Perfume of pain
The inevitable end of the sun's going out,
And stagnating storms.
For birds to return to their nests
For the sea to be covered in a burning carpet
The inevitable end
To break out of the circle of silence
Before the circle explodes.
***
While life goes on as it is
Greeting to the huge cloud
For shades of high buildings
For branches of thick trees
For reflections of light
For hanging around between different alleys
Greeting to death
***
A huge willow will remain in mind,
Wooden chair,
Cigarette butts, Pigeon feathers,
And stressful jokes will remain in mind,
But it's the end
A dove with plucked feathers residing in a dream
Perfume of planets
Perfume of pain
The inevitable end of the sun's going out,
And stagnating storms.
For birds to return to their nests
For the sea to be covered in a burning carpet
The inevitable end
To break out of the circle of silence
Before the circle explodes.
SUAD AL-KUWARI
SUAD AL-KUWARI: Qatari poet. Her works are characterized by their artistic depth and deal with humanitarian and cultural topics that reflect their environment and heritage, and her works have been translated into several languages. Suad Al-Kuwari participated in many cultural and literary events inside and outside Qatar. Poetry Publications: A new door to enter. Arabic version: first edition (2001), second edition (2024). First edition in English, French, and Spanish (2024). “In search of age". Arabic version: first edition (2001), second edition (2024). First edition in English, French, and Spanish (2024). It wasn't my soul" Arabic Edition: First Edition (2000), Second Edition (2025). First edition in English, French, and Spanish (2025). "The heir of the desert" Arabic version: first edition (2001), second edition (2025). First edition in English, French, and Spanish (2025). Queen of Mountains". Arabic version: first edition (2004), second edition (2025). First edition in English, French, and Spanish (2025). The Complete Poetic Works". Arabic version (2022). Suad Al-Kuwari for Publishing and Distribution" was established. In the year 2024.
STOIANKA BOIANOVA
Pastoral
I dream of the oak forest, where we go -
with orange charming flowers of love,
with unforgettable blue forget-me-nots.
Golden blackbirds
and buttercups glow yellow,
speckled fishes are chased in the creek.
A spectrum of colors blooms
among the meadows
and the feelings from the words pour out.
A celestial rainbow shines above the planet.
Bodies and souls embrace each other
in happiness.
Tears of joy from the eyes are swinging -
rainbows flicker in everything visible.
To The Loved Ones On The Other Side
I returned to the lands where you and I lived.
Blooming oleanders dance along the road -
But ... they don't ask about you. I'm asking.
The island opposite is basking in the sun,
happy birds with wings raise the brilliant sky.
But ... they don't ask about you. I'm asking.
People pass quickly, go far, return.
The moon leaves silently, the cool evening comes ...
The words begin to flow in unexpected verses,
as song of lonely bird, screams of sapient owl.
My soul is seeking you beyond the distant worlds.
Nobody asks about you. I'm asking, asking, asking...
STOIANKA BOIANOVA
STOIANKA BOIANOVA, (Bulgaria) Physicist. Included in Know Her Words, PEN International Women Writers Committee Initiative to celebrate the best women's writing from around the world. She is the author of eleven books in the genres of poetry and fiction in Bulgaria. Co-author with Minko Tanev (her husband and partner in literature) of four bilingual books in English and Bulgarian published upon the invitation of Cyberwit.net, India and a book of poetry from Independently published, India. She has participated in more than 120 international anthologies of poetry, gogyoshi and haiku, has publications in 30 countries, including Manseerah – the Great Poetic Epic of Modern Man, United Arab Emirates, 2024 and "HYPERPOEM, Collection of Authors on a World Record", Ukyoto, India, 2023. Awards: “Best Author European Community”, the International Poetry Competition “Ossi Di Seppia” 2024, Italy; Grand Premio International Poetry Prize “Ossi di Seppia” Italy, 2023; Chinese International Zhengxin Poet Award, China, 2022; Silver Award for World Gogyoshi, 2022; “First World Poetry Competition of Newspapers and Televisions” 2020, China; Prize Suryodaya Literary Excellence Award, India; LIBRE Global Poetry Prize and PREMIO PACIFISTA GLOBAL, POETAS INTERGALACTICOS, Ecuador; Silver Award for World Gogyoshi, 2022; In the list of the top 100 European most creative haiku authors. Haiku awards and honors in Poland, Japan, India, Croatia, France, and Bulgaria. Certificate of honor for contribution to modern Bulgarian literature, 2019. Honorary Poet of Birland State, Africa, depicted on a special postage stamp. International Peace Ambassador, The Daily Global Nation, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Ambassadors of Kindness and Happiness from Royal Kutai Mulawarman Peace International Institute, Philippines. Member of many international organizations in Japan, USA, UK and of the Global Honorary Council, the Federation of WORLD CULTURAL & ART SOCIETY, Singapore.
SNIGDHA AGRAWAL
Filtration
Two minds, one moment, a story unfolds
Yet each recalls what the other withholds
A sunlit day, a breeze that swayed
Was it laughter, or silence that stayed?
One sees the sky painted crimson and gold
The other swears it was grey and cold
A song that played, a word that was said,
It’s hard to tell whose memory holds truth.
Whispers of time, like shifting sands
Slip through the grasp of our trembling hands
Are we creators, or prisoners of thought,
Lost in the web, our minds have wrought?
No victor emerges, no right nor wrong
Just echoes of a once-heard song
For in the heart of each memory’s fight,
Lie fragments of shadows, neither dark nor light
And so, our stories are differently told
Laced with humour, happiness or sorrow
One presents the brightness of life
The other’s canvas appears potholed
Letting Go
She shut the door without warning,
Her journey from life to death, a secret
Resolute, she chose her time
Leaving no room for goodbyes
I kissed her still-warm forehead
Touched her feet, seeking forgiveness,
But cracks of guilt widened within me
As plans to serve her remained incomplete
For years, I clung to her belongings
Her sarees, her favourite batik print
Relics of a life now past
Refusing to let go of her shadow
Last night, she appeared in my dream,
Chiding me, "Move on, let go.
Guilt serves no purpose now;
You did enough, and I am at peace."
Her smile—etched in my heart
A final image from the pyre—
It taught me the beauty she carried,
Unseen by her, others cherished
Like butterflies unaware of their wings
She left an indelible mark on others.
The moral? Love fully, forgive freely,
And carry forward their light when they're gone
SNIGDHA AGRAWAL
SNIGDHA AGRAWAL (nee Banerjee) has over two decades of corporate work experience. She enjoys writing all genres of poetry, prose, short stories, and travel diaries. Brought up in a cosmopolitan environment, and educated in Convent School/College run by Irish Nuns, she has imbibed the best from Eastern and Western cultures. She has published four books of poems and short stories. The latest titled TRAIL MIX is a book of short stories, available on Amazon. in. She has also been widely published in domestic and international anthologies and poetry journals and has recently been nominated for the Pushcart Prize 2024 for poetry. A septuagenarian, her passion for writing and travelling continues unabated.
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA
The Train
It's spring. We are sitting on the train,
one man, one woman and one child.
We are all looking through the same window.
The woman looks at the tree.
She admires his greatness,
imagines the centuries through which it has endured,
she can almost feel it
how deep his roots are.
She sees his growth.
It's spring. He is a little seed asleep in darkness.
Solar and lunar cycles pass.
The earth rotates on its axis.
Now he is a house in which it rests
all born and unborn history.
It is now the heavenly home of the birds.
The man looks at the sky,
admires his greatness.
It imagines the birth of the stars.
He can almost see the power,
the light needed by darkness
for the day to be born.
It's spring. It is the womb of thunder and wind,
fruitful rain gently caressing the fields.
It is a house where it rests
all born and unborn history.
The child sees the bird.
And admires the greatness.
He can imagine her being born from the egg,
and then conquers the heavens mightily,
He sees her making a nest in which she keeps
all born and unborn love.
Then, it proudly rises towards the sun.
It's spring. She carries them in her beak
the seeds of all trees and all flowers.
All born and unborn history.
Suddenly the train horn
it deafens their ears loudly and piercingly,
on the man, on the woman, on the child.
Excited and panting, through the door
the old woman rushes in, happy
that she caught the last train.
The Sad Women
The sad women.
The Beautiful Sad Women.
They walk naked and barefoot
(Because the truth is naked)
The prophets
(which don't actually exist)
they dress them
in shirts of silence.
One by one
they fasten the buttons.
But the sad women.
The Beautiful Sad Women,
the morning knows them
by their smile.
Like a frayed thread
hanging on their waists
the umbilical cord.
The world refuses to cut her,
for the earth to have
a place where always
he will lay his seed.
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA
SILVANA DIMITRIEVSKA was born in 1981. in Skopje. She graduated from the Faculty of Philology 'Blaze Koneski' - Skopje at the Department of General and Comparative Literature in the Macedonian language, and later she also completed the One-Year School for Journalists at MIM (Macedonian Media Institute). She was the coordinator of the literary circle 'Mugri' and the editor of the poetry almanac of the same name. She is the organizer of several poetry readings and promotions. Silvana writes poetry, short prose, essays and haiku verses published in the first Macedonian haiku magazine Mravka. She is the author of the anthology Angels with five wings, published as part of Struga evenings of poetry. He appears as a reviewer of several collections of poetry by young, but also by already renowned authors. She is the winner of the second and third 'Blaze Koneski' prize for a scientific essay. For her first collection of poetry, “You, who came out of a song”, she won the prestigious national award 'Atso Karamanov'. For her short story 'Butterfly Skirt' she won the first prize at the national competition 'I tell a photo 2021'. She is the winner of the third prize at the international poetry festival 'Vigil of Kokinski Mugri 2022' and the second prize at the same poetry festival for 2023. In 2023, she won the second prize at the international poetry festival for children's poetry 'Stihuvalki'. In 2023, at the international poetry festival 'Literary Sparks 2023', she was also the winner of the second prize, and at the same poetry festival in 2024, she was again the winner of the second prize. In 2023, she was declared one of the laureates of the prestigious 'Naji Naaman' world prize for poetry and was awarded the title of honorary member of the Academy of Culture of the same name in Lebanon. In 2023, she won the third prize for poetry at the international poetry festival 'Tafil Kelmendi' in Kosovo. In 2024, she was also the winner of the third prize at the international poetry festival 'Antevo slovo'. Few months ago, she was announced as one of the winners of the prestigue International Academic Award of Contemporay Literature “Lucius Anaeus Seneca” from Academy of Philosophical Arts and Science, Italy.
SIAMIR MARULAFAU
How Can I Reject My Love
How can I reject my love
No wonder if I don't say to delay
In the year of 2024 is not fine
But in the year of 2025 is really changed
How can I reject my love
It looks like the previous thing be strengthen
Years by years is impossible
How can I reject my love
If the year is not coming to change
Since thy life is also different from time to time
Those who know will be witness
How can I reject my love
To the year of my favourite
All the trees have agreed
That it will be a good fortune of us
Untrue Love
I am not in the corner of your love
There is something behind
Which strikes my heart
I know your love is only a game
Which makes my feeling be up set
How beautiful your voice to seduce
But there is no real in lives
I am not in the corner of your love
Since the worm is in your dream
Has found a secret dark
Does thy life spoils from now and then
Let me alone in the world of mine
SIAMIR MARULAFAU
SIAMIR MARULAFAU is a teaching staff employed as Assoc. Prof. at the Vocational Faculty at University of Sumatera Utara, Medan - Indonesia. He is a bilingual poet and a writer of 9 poem anthologies published. He is also a presenter and speaker of National and International seminar in many countries.In July 7, 2024 he was awarded Honorary Doctorate ,DR HC, PhD by The Thames International University, France.
SELMA KOPIĆ
My Father Planted Roses
While he was building our house
with his own hands,
my father planted roses
next to every stone and railing.
In the evening,
he sits by the window to take a break
and happily looks down the flower path,
takes a puff of smoke
and proudly waves to people passing by.
There is no one
to whom he did not give a bouquet,
and who he did and who he didn't know.
And the more bouquets he picked,
the more richly the flower bloomed.
Even when the construction of the house stops
due to lack of money or illness,
the branches and fragrance of red roses
spread everywhere.
He never envies anyone on high cold walls,
he finds happiness
in a small garden and flowers.
The house remained unfinished
and is now in hands that do not like to work.
Through the wild branches of the fruit trees,
the dilapidated roof can barely be seen,
but still the flowers of red roses peek out
from among the dense vegetation.
Even though it belongs to someone else,
that house that he built brick by brick
and those roses that he planted with so much love
are still mine.
He liked to give more than he had,
and more than anyone
he taught us that happiness is in small things.
And if I ever forget that
in the years that don't caress me,
but fly by,
his roses are there to remind me.
I often pass by and stop by our old house,
in my thoughts
I wave to my father at the window
while I look sadly at the overgrown plot,
And I say to him:
- You are not to blame
for the wrong choices in my life,
when I had you,
I had a home.
Love Letters Our Way
I’ve been writing love letters
since he left,
but those letters were never sent.
I'm waiting for a love letter
that may never arrive,
but I will wait as long as I live.
When love is forbidden,
letters are forbidden, too.
That we mustn't love each other
and that it will hurt,
we knew.
But the love we once had is still in us.
He composes songs in which
I can hear his longing voice.
While playing ballads, his guitar cries.
In my poems he can read
the love from each verse
and feel that each poem
is soaked with tears.
It is our way of writing love letters
so that our threads of love
are invisible to the eyes of others.
We correspond secretly
in rhythm and rhyme,
and our love remains recorded
for all time.
SELMA KOPIĆ
SELMA KOPIĆ b. Šehanović is a professor of Bosnian language and literature, born on April 13, 1962 in Tuzla. Author of school textbooks, reviewer, trainer at seminars, lecturer…Many awards for poems and stories that are represented in anthologies and magazines in BiH and abroad. Most significant awards 3rd THIRD PRIZE '' Mak Dizdar '' for unpublished collection of poems '' Puzzle '', Stolac, BiH, 2008 and 1st prize for foreign poem, Italy 2020 poem '' I'm not ready to go yet ''. Selma Kopić is author published poems collection ‘’Sign’’, Tuzla 2020. ‘’The Monument of Love’’, Philippines 2020., ‘’Puzzle’’, Bulgaria/Germany and joint collection ‘’Cosmic Rainbow’’, 2021. India.
ROCCO GIUSEPPE TASSONE
To Mother Teresa
The sad eyes in the pain,
the cold smile in the hope,
the firm hand in the Faith,
a sold limousine
for the hunger of his people.
Barefoot for don’t disturb
the poverty of him humiliates,
with dignity and respect
you have faced the death
begging a last breath
for your people.
Sunset
And, with last
caress,
the sun blinded
the sea!
ROCCO GIUSEPPE TASSONE
ROCCO GIUSEPPE TASSONE, Knight of the Italian Republic and Segni di Pace Award, enjoys various honors worldwide and is part of an H.C. member of cultural organizations and associations. He is a Leopardiano senator for life, academic senator Pope Clement XI, Vesuvius Academician, Costantina Academician, Knight of the Grand Cross J. De Molay, Segni di Pace Award 2024. Etc. He has published 79 books including poetry, history, essays, glottology and religious ethnography, a dictionary of the Calabrian dialect, scientific texts, etc. His books have been translated into various languages such as Spanish and English. He is present in international Italian and foreign magazines and in over 500 anthologies. He has received over 500 awards. He lives in Gioia Tauro (Calabria – Italy)
RAJASHREE MOHAPATRA
Last Letter
At times under a peculiar circumstance
One may hesitate to smile with a loved one
Might not opt to write the life a second
Or cry for consolations or compassion
When torture exceeds the limit of tolerance.
The words would be lost
In the mists of thoughts amidst the deserts of caravan nights.
And manipulate slowly the appearing dreams.
Thoughts scatter like pearls of a broken strings,
Difficult to collect as because disappear I
In the bed of granules of sand.
Conscience forces then
To forget the loved benevolences
That echoed once in grace
Yet not repeat now.
Voice gets choked as if lost forever.
A Sleeping City
Silence rules
Here, there and everywhere
As if the city is sleeping.
Now even wind doesn't whistle
And the singer in it appears missing
Dreading shadows
marching with silent steps
Stop over the scattered fields,
Where death descends
Wherever you look
A fierce face gazes at you
Hiding behind the horizon
All magical faces
With the piteous look.
A city of silence as if resonate death
Nowhere a life is traced
Nowhere you find children clamouring
Absolute confusion swells up
If any one will ever try to
wake up the sleeping city.
A strange silence is echoing the songs of death.
The bright flowers with stains of blood
Almost covers the faith
The glory is lost behind the vail,
Leaving behind the sleeping city to trail.
RAJASHREE MOHAPATRA
RAJASHREE MOHAPATRA: Born in Odisha in India has received her master’s degree in ' History ‘and 'Journalism and Mass Communication' from Utkal University, Odisha. She is a teacher by profession. Being a post graduate in ' Environmental Education and Industrial Waste Management ' from Sambalpur University Odisha, she has devoted herself as a Social Activist for the cause of social justice, Environmental issues and human rights in remote areas through non-governmental organizations. Poetry, Painting and Journalism are her passions.
PETROS K VELOUDAS
Her Invisible Form
It sits on the
calm soil
and hears the aftershocks
vibrations of the lyrics
as it pulsates
the pen before swimming
in the ink
Then he drinks bitterly
water from
soul of the trees
and at that time
a drop of woe'
wet his drunk
coat…
The cloud was moved
which calmed down today
nature, calm down
the cataclysmic floods
from the breasts of the mountains...
He then sits on a stool
and paints her form
above the portrait of loneliness…
He stands speechless nearby
in the quiet heart
of a sea
which each
so much
she slaps him
with her wave
to remember her form again! –
Broken Glass
He hurled one
glass beaker
to the sleeper
helium
the glass like
shell tore it in two
the skull of the sun
and yellow blood
started to flow
to become one
small railway
with no rails
the yellow blood has arrived
until the pot
with the little flower
without a name
The pot was watered
and filled bright
yellow color it
face of the day...
Then the little flower
came out of the pot
and piece by piece
he began urgently
to assemble
the broken glass
only now o
sun held it
glass and drank with passion
the ..agony of the silent glass!
PETROS K VELOUDAS
NITA B GEORGE
I, A Woman...
The
Fragrance
Of
My womanhood,
The
Opium
That
Soothes
And
Exits
At the same
Time,
Is
My
Only
Weapon
That
Makes its kill
So
Faithfully
For
Me...
The Hermit's Home
Time
Is
Taking a turn
What
Seemed
So good
Is
Losing
Sheen.
Thoughts,
Waves
That arose
In
A Thinking mind
Now
Are
Taking their flight
To
A
No man's land.
Feelings
That
Broke
Their banks,
Now
Restricted
Lie.
I,
Who
Found
Joy in you
Find
Midnight
Approach
Too soon...
Midnight,
When
Spells
Break,
Midnight,
When
The
Sheen
Disappears,
And
I,
The hermit
Retreat,
Retreat
To
My own
Self
My home,
My
Forever home!
NITA B GEORGE
Ms NITA B GEORGE is a published poet and a short story writer. She has a long span of 37 years, teaching English at the college level. She is a much-grounded poet, whose springs of Fantasy Spring from common mundane incidents climbing to a level of abstract thoughts...simplicity in language and short lengths of poems helps her to retain her readers' attention thereby increasing the element of readability.
NEHA BHANDARKAR
Stormy Inner Spectrum
I cannot comprehend
even this world of mine
Then, how can I
understand your divinity?
Oh, crazy mine!
When a stony heart
starts to seep
It is then that
Love attains immortality
And love grows deep
In this thorny world
Why should flowers of love
not bloom around?
Intimate are our two hearts
But still, I grope in the dark
for you, overtired
Panacea couldn't
be uncovered anywhere
Far off in the sky
far away from Earth
In the shelter of clouds
Is an exceptional world of ours
Where gentle is the flame
Of our love, and I
levigate sandalwood
where your memories
makes a stormy inner spectrum
Virgin Forest
In the virgin forest of life
She proceeds through her youthfulness
She wants to travel freely
and avoid gender ambiguity
For her, the distance between
Life and death is one big opportunity
She is warning the people, "Not to torture'
Her womanly spirit is posed to set an order
With a sense of confidence and grace
She moves without hesitation
She endures, set to seize the world
As she walks with her head held high
To fulfill her precious golden dreams
She confines
She tries to overcome adversity
Like Phoenixes
NEHA BHANDARKAR
NEHA BHANDARKAR is hailed from India. She is widely published Iconic trilingual author in Marathi, Hindi and English languages. She is published author of 16 books in 3 languages. She is also a genuine translator. Her poems have been translated into more than 15 international languages and published in many countries. She embellished with numerous national and international awards for her consummate literary skill. She has bagged Hindi State Sahithya Academy Award twice, from Government of India. Her many articles and poems are included in syllabus in Amravati University and other universities of India. Her poems have been broadcast on Quichotte Radio, FRANCE and Hindi Radio, CHICAGO (USA). She is an International Peace Ambassador of Global Nation, Bangladesh and Cultural, Peace and Humanity Ambassador appointed by (IFCH) International Forum of Creativity and Humanity, Morocco country.
NAILA HINA
First Blood!
What is eternal fame
It comes by killing one
So first blood was yours
And now it's my turn
Achilles had killed Hector
Long time ago already
Destined to his own death
Means his beloved is dead!
Ember Hearts!
Behind the closed doors
There's life, there's love!
There are people
Sensitive and loyal!
There are hearts that beat
Only for you, waiting for you!
There's a third car black one
On my other garage
But you cannot see it
Behind closed doors
As it's in third dimension
On the main street
As I live at the start
Three sides open!
Marriage a gamble
Love a vicious cycle
Achilles never wanted Troy
That's why he hides in Scyros
Even has a fake marriage
With Deidamia and Diomeda
He was gay and was
happy with Patroclus!
He led the Myrmidons
The ant-men created by Zeus
Warriors of the sea, the Argives!
Everyone's saw your power
With one word you create havoc
Just like me and still they trust you
They thought everything was a lie
Until you came and made it true!
NAILA HINA
Dr NAILA HINA: Pakistan. Former Engineering University Instructor, an international award-winning author of hundreds of multilingual books, a poet from Karachi, Pakistan. Best Writer of the Decade, editor, translator. Literary Colonel at StoryMirror. Recommend for Nobel Prize for Literature.
MÓNIKA TÓTH
Look Into My Eyes
Look into my eyes...
Gently.
Look into my eyes.
Make yourself welcome.
Beautifully.
Uncover yourself.
Merging into one.
The Universe Is With Me..
I never feel alone, I know
The Universe is with me.
I smile
I laugh
I never feel alone, I know
The Universe is with me
It fills my life
With warmth and care
with love and hope.
It is comforting to know this.
I smile happily
MÓNIKA TÓTH
MINKO TANEV
Spectrum
Variegated peaks – the contours melt into snow clouds.
Azure fingers - light dandelions in a single whole.
Pearly splashes – in the mirrored drops pieces of sky.
Blue rain, green rain -
cathedrals of the spirit in sacrifice.
Colors explode - glimmer hang gliders over the mountain.
Sacraments of spring -
almonds and peaches in colorful kisses.
Cherry branches bloom above clouds - a lift to infinity.
Silver spider –
a sunlight ray flickers along a silken thread.
A bridge of light -
visions come true between two worlds.
The Highest fills us with aromas of coriander.
Sundial - Great Barrier Reef moves hands.
Dragonflies in solar spectrums fly over the abyss.
Bright Insight
I am alone with the Word.
I am alone with the exclamation.
The miracle to recreate
like an earthquake.
Volcanic peaks
in me erupt
and the infinite calls me
in a stellar cycle.
Inspired by the love
I kneel.
And God shines brightly
in everything.
MINKO TANEV
MINKO TANEV, Bulgaria. Philologist. Author of 6 books of poetry in Bulgaria. Co-author with Stoianka Boianova (his wife and partner in literature) of four bilingual books in English and Bulgarian published upon the invitation of Cyberwit.net, India and a book of poetry from Independently published, India. He has participated in more than 120 world anthologies with poetry, gogyoshi and haiku, and has publications in 30 countries, including "HYPERPOEM, Collection of Authors on a World Record", Ukyoto, India, 2023. Awards: “First World Poetry Competition of Newspapers and Televisions”, 2020, China; Chinese International Zhengxin Poet Award, China, 2022; Grand premio International Poetry Prize "Ossi di Seppia" Italy, 2023. In the list of the top 100 European most creative haiku authors. Certificate of honor for contribution to modern Bulgarian literature, 2019. Honorary Poet of Birland State, Africa, depicted on a special postage stamp. International Peace Ambassador, The Daily Global Nation, Dhaka, Bangladesh. Ambassadors of Kindness and Happiness from Royal Kutai Mulawarman Peace International Institute, Philippines. Member of many international organizations in Japan, USA, UK and of the Global Honorary Council, the Federation of WORLD CULTURAL & ART SOCIETY, Singapore.
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