বিশ্বকবি কাজী নজরুল ইসলাম স্মৃতি পুরস্কার পেলেন কবি ফারুক আহমেদ

Poem - A Burning House

A Burning House

Lee, Ah Young

As the private gate closes, a half-moon rises above the village.

On the roof overflowing with gourd vines,

White gourd flowers slowly open their eyes.

The day the wind passed through the hole in the wall,

In her heart that searched for stars in the rising sun,

A thatched house is burning.

What can't be put out even when a fire truck comes,

Was it because She liked the mountains more than the sea?

If she walks through the desert, she will find meadows and oases.

Try blowing on a flute without holes.

Take refuge in the burning flames,

She crosses over and over Haneuljae on Wolaksan Mountain.

A path full of deep blue in July,

The smell of pine tickles her nostrils.

That fire has never been extinguished.

Poetess Ms. Ah Young Lee was born in Sangju, Gyeongsangbuk-do, and completed the creative writing course at Chung-Ang University's Graduate School of Arts. She made her debut in the quarterly magazine ‘Free Literature’ in 2001. She has authored three books of poetry and has won two literary awards. Currently, she serves as the Vice President of the Korean World Literature Association.

০৫:২১ পিএম, ৮ আগস্ট ২০২৪ বৃহস্পতিবার

A River, It Is

Geum-Hee Yang

Our memories
Were a river
Sadness passing by
Pain flowing away
Joy streaming along
A river, it is

If our sadness
Our pain
And even our joy
Piled up like fallen leaves in a lake,
The clear water would decay

Water flows
Purifying old emotions
Brushing past fallen leaves and branches
A clear heart following the water’s path

Somewhere, my river
That has flowed like this
And your river will someday
form a great river

To let the upright belief flow clear,
We must open the waterway
So that a pure river can flow

Biography:
Poetess Ms. Yang Geum-Hee was born in 1967 in Jeju, Korea. She has published two poetry collections, "Happiness Account" and "Ieodo, Island of Legend and Existence," as well as one collection of essays titled "Happy Companion." She was the first president of the Ieodo Literature Association, the editor-in-chief of Jejuin News, and worked as a research fellow at the Society of Ieodo Research. She served as a researcher at the Jeju Sea Grant Center at Jeju National University and as a specially appointed professor at Jeju International University.
Currently, she is an editorial writer for the New Jeju Ilbo, a special researcher at the Institute of Social Sciences of Jeju National University, vice-president of the Jeju Regional Committee of the Korean PEN Center, an executive of the Jeju Institute for Korean Unification, and an executive of the Korean Association of Ethics. She is also the president of the Korean Associations of World Literature. She has won eight literary awards.
Her poetry has been translated into various languages and introduced in the United States, China, Japan, Germany, Russia, Italy, Spain, England, Taiwan, Nepal, Egypt, Greece, Pakistan, Vietnam, Albania, Bangladesh, Kosovo, Tajikistan, and more.

০৫:১৯ পিএম, ৮ আগস্ট ২০২৪ বৃহস্পতিবার

Poem - Gloves

Gloves

Valentina Novković, (Serbia)

Mother,

You've been planting violets

And wild strawberries for too long,

But I can't smell them

From spring to spring.

You promised me that

One sunny summer we would go

On a journey to dreams,

We would laugh at the foxes

And wolves who forgot about

The primal hungers.

We will take birch sticks

And use them to make houses

For birds that will not fly south

This year.

Mother, the clouds resemble the donuts

You made for me on those evenings

When the wind would bypass our home,

The clouds also resemble the frequent moments

Of happiness that you were able

To weave into my braids,

Saying how warriors hide weaknesses

In their dreams.

When I stare at the stars long enough,

Mother,

I see a ball of wool

With which you will knit me gloves

For every winter that

Separates me from you.

Biography:

Valentina Novković, (Serbia) graduate philologist, literary translator, poet and prose writer. Editor at the publishing house Liberland Art and Vračar, translator of works by Russian- and English-speaking authors. Her verses have been translated into 22 languages, she is the winner of many prizes for poetry and prose, she is represented in more than 20 world anthologies. Editor and presenter of the Literary Conversations program.

She translated into Serbian 15 books by authors from all over the world: Leo Butnaru, Arslan Bajir, Hosiat Rustamova, Kuchkor Narkabil, Mai Van Fan, Eduard Harents, Rahim Karimov, Ali Aliyev and many others... She interviewed more than 200 authors from of the rural world and they were published in relevant periodicals in Serbia. More than 300 poems and stories by authors from all over the world have been published in Serbian literary magazines, and an anthology in which these authors will be represented is being prepared.

Published books:

Timeless, 2014, poems,

Drop on dry land, 2018. Parthenon,

Riddles of tenderness Liberland Art, 2021,

Heavenly songs, Ace publishing house, 2022,

Unrest, peace, 2023,

Two hours of real life, 2020, stories

Memories, 2024, (Parthnenon) a novel dedicated to her deceased father.

Winner of many prestigious awards in the field of translation and literature. Naji Naman Award for 2023, first prizes at the international festival in Alanya, 2023, winner of the award for International Cooperation of the publishing house from Pennsylvania, winner of the award of the Karim Karimov Foundation for 2022, winner of the award of the Association of Literary Translators of Montenegro for the best translated book for 2019 and many others prize for poetry, prose and translation. Editor of the literary program Literary Conver

sations at the Milutin Bojić Library in Belgrade

০৫:১৬ পিএম, ৮ আগস্ট ২০২৪ বৃহস্পতিবার

Poem - A River

A River

Tanja Ajtic

Serbia/Canada

You who live near the river

You believe in images of little gods of love

In ancient Roman art

And Renaissance as well as a new era.

In a lovely little winged child entertained with

various jobs

You see them and speak like Socrates:

“I know I do not know anything!”

You say that the world is a property without a master

And that it is not known who its creator is?

You as a free thinker, neither good nor bad,

Indifferent, but not powerless.

You see those beautiful children in the glare of the river

Which flows for you into infinity and you enjoy.

You have a safe haven and enough air

To survive everything

In the air that can cause it

Chemical changes and you can calculate them

Only if you want.

You live in your own reflection of an image

And I believe you

That the world can be a nice place

If we look at ourselves.

Then everything is clear.

Biography

Tanja Ajtic was born in Belgrade, Serbia. She lived and studied in Serbia at the Faculty of Philology in Belgrade. Since 2002, she lives and creates in Canada, Vancouver. Moved to Belgrade, Serbia in summer 2023. She is a member of many groups and associations. 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. She won first place, the award of authors from abroad in the Federation of BiH (2020) and the second prize in Great Britain from the Serbian Library in London. Participated in book fairs with collections and anthologies with other authors. Won III World Prize for Excellence "Cesar Vallejo" 2021 in the category of artistic excellence, Peru, by the World Spanish Union of Writers and International Award of Excellence, "Cita Del Galateo" Antonio De Ferrariis, IX edition 2022 – Rome, Italy, prestigious prize for a group of poets in the English language; winners of Foundation Naji Naaman literary prize 2023; winning the 2023 “Zheng Nian Cup” Literary Award – Third Prize by the Beijing Mindfulness Literature Museum. 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. Hers art graphic were published in books and magazines.

০৪:৪২ পিএম, ৬ আগস্ট ২০২৪ মঙ্গলবার

POEM OF MANKIND

POEM OF MANKIND ..

Dr. Ashok Kumar

The whole wonderful world is full of miracles, competition and jealousy

Let's maintain relationships with nature for the purpose of divine ecstasy

She always makes us rich never takes anything from us for its true beauty

She uplift, inspire us for real peace and prosperity

She's true poem of mankind ,treat her the way we would like to be treated in lovely life

She's our faithful friend like a medicine helps to be far away from stress and strife

I'm the poet of nature , you would be the poet of nature, this poetry will be for mankind and their prosperity

I love her and never want to lose her for humanity

Bio of Dr. Ashok Kumar

Dr. Ashok Kumar is an international bilingual poet from India. His philosophical, spiritual and mystical poems are published and translated into various languages like Urdu, Spanish , German, French etc. He has masters in three subjects English literature, Political science , Education. He did his B.Ed from CCS university Meerut with first division. He got his honorary doctorate from Africa, Nigeria and other countries. He's working as a principal in an institution of india ( Bharat). He is an International Peace Activist . He's an environmentalist who loves nature too much .

HE IS AN AMBASSADOR OF IFCH MOROCCO AFRICA POET OF BIRLAND, MEMBER OF INTERNATIONAL HUMAN RIGHTS.

০৪:৪১ পিএম, ৬ আগস্ট ২০২৪ মঙ্গলবার

কবিতা - পাগলের ডায়েরি

পাগলের ডায়েরি

আবদুস সালাম

দুখের আজ বড্ড অসুখ

বেজে চলেছে ফুল্লরার বারমাস্যার ক্যাসেট

দুখের ছবি সাঁটানো আছে কপালে

বিজ্ঞ লোকেরা সেই ছবি পড়ে আর মিচকি হাসে

বুঝে আসে না অসুখটা আমার না দুঃখের

পাড়ার লোকেরা অবলীলায় বলে পাগল কেউ কেউ ছুঁড়ে মারে ঢিল--

হি হি করে হাসে

আবার কাঁদি-- মাথা ভর্তি দগদগে অসুখ

পেটের কোণে পড়ে আছে লেড়ো বিস্কুট আর লিকার চা

গাছ তলায় বসে সারা দিন হাওয়া খাই

গোঙানি মার্কা ভবিষ্যৎ উঁকি মারে

অবহেলার উনুনে সিদ্ধ হয় যন্ত্রণা

বাতাসে ভাসে বন্ধুদের মসকরা

মাথা গরম হলে খুলে ফেলি কাপড়

শালার ছেলেদের দেখিরে বলে তেড়ে যায়

স্বেচ্ছায় সাজি পাগল

চনমনে খিদে ,ঘামভেজা অস্থির অ্যালবাম আঁকে

হাভাতে সংসারে লিখি অসুখের ডায়েরি

০৬:২৭ পিএম, ৫ আগস্ট ২০২৪ সোমবার

Poems

POEMS OF MARJETA SHATRO RRAPAJ

ALBANIA

Biblical Journey ...

Everyone feels a vague fear.

I do not know why he feels this way,

I do not know why despair overwhelms him

that no moment is shared.

I only know that winter has exhausted us,

Indeed we count his days

We can't wait for spring,

To bring us joy,

To make our hearts happy.

Will we reach this spring ?!

The great God only he knows,

If we will be saved

Or not by cataclysm

That has occupied us.

We Will Leave ...

We will flee from our bodies,

We will not live here anymore,

Dreams will be extinguished with us.

At the edge of the galaxy we will be waiting

Seeing the stars fade

Sinking into the dust of oblivion

Among the waste of time,

Accumulated by storms ...

Gradient

Shades of bright yarn kiss the earth gently,

And the glistening water reflects the sky.

We bend in front of the color panorama

And in my hands I hold the fragrance of the seasons.

The sun set the crown

They bought it by the sea.

Heart filled with divine will.

At the highest peak of the gods.

The wind plays with the hair,

On the lawn of outdoor sounds.

Waking up at dawn

To himself, always in search.

Otherwise This Spring ...

Spring has long been on the horizon

Of the virus in its substrates,

Sleeps in the warmth of a shaking hand

Or the twig of a mimosa that is always tempting.

People don't know what it takes,

To rush or isolate themselves,

To watch the Sun of Mars from the windows,

To love the vibrant spring air,

That thoughts sink into dreams,

For a rebirth of passion,

Knit it

Like bird nests raised on tree branches.

Void

Sad this evening,

Although a slight spring breeze blows.

Twilight brings with it the last of the shadows.

The roads are abandoned,

Everywhere void.

A song of solitude ringing in the spirit.

People with eyes on screens

Expect a light of hope.

Waiting

The soul burns

From the unspoken words,

The mind is upside down,

Seeks to restore order

Waiting for a muse to show him the way ...

Love you

Fog of sadness

It revolves around me

and haunt me

times gray clouds,

times white clouds.

Your absence is felt

Inside my eyes

that look that touches other heavens.

I miss your sweetness and your voice,

Except the bohemian sea

For many centuries the waves

Sings it to me.

In the mind every word is recorded,

To ring infinitely

I love you, I love you, I love you again and again!

Vision

Dreams of yore

He has forgotten them,

the new ones take me on a flight.

Run after them to get to them

I sigh from the craving

For bird feedings,

For buying groves on the rolling,

For the bright moon arc

Waiting for the sun to meet,

For myriad visions

That scratch the sky of my thought.

Without knocking

It enters my soul without knocking,

it wipes out my sadness and fragile longing,

it makes me smile, strong emotions

Feeling thrives, without shyness or worry.

Suddenly, he removes the winter from his eyes

And spring brings me so close,

You know how to light the sun inside me

To enlighten my soul forever.

Monotony

The days are repeated,

Cross the arc of light

On the horizon the nights too,

The arc of the stars

Similar to those

Crossing the scorpions of time.

The same thing is repeated

In all the languages of the world

In different seasons,

But noisy order,

Except moments happen once

Touch him with a breath

To lose routine life again.

Words

As the sun lifts the veil of darkness,

The soft, soft hands of love

Dispel thoughts of all malice,

Erase the black clouds from the sky of the future,

To be complete, all enlightenment

Of sweet words of the holy spirit

Wasting away the emptiness.

They often become wandering, without address

Burning at night, silent in memory

Of the closed eyelids

To bring clarity to the crystalline dawn

Flowed into our world, always like a waterfall.

Metamorphosis

Silent,

Although we have much to say.

Thanks for the loneliness,

To wash away the mistakes we did not make.

tire,

With the quick judgment of the world.

We plunge into the sea of despair,

That we owe a lot to life.

Then we gather ourselves

That time passes without feeling.

And so we remain,

Innocent life culprits.

Flight

You fly free to heaven

And I follow your pilgrimage.

I'm not afraid of the far shores,

It is enough for me to be with you, my soul.

We both continue the flight

Towards heights without turning,

The fogs and the lightning do not scare us.

We touch life drunk and laugh with joy.

Our thoughts walk freely,

They are not afraid of the black clouds,

Neither empty days nor dark nights.

Happiness buds fill the beautiful dreams.

Come

In the end

The many questions

ever

Of frequent breathing

Don't feel anymore ...

Something will have happened,

And if it does not appear

Isn't silence talking ...

And when the sea

The waves stop them

Crashing on the shore

for hours

Something will happen,

So don't ask

That life speaks for itself ...

But when in the corners of the eyes

you will see it withered

Tear drops

Something will happen,

So come, heal the wounds of the soul

We follow it beyond the spirit ...

Emotions

There is a time that we do not speak

We are haunted by the fog of words

After every meaning and subtext.

With the smile hidden,

The deep waters of tearful eyes,

With desires born again of sinful love,

In excess of invisible circles

Of one's own boundaries,

Covered with the mystery thesis,

Expect the next day otherwise,

With spooky emotions.

You Touch My Silence

The thinnest filament penetrated into the vein...

Even through a single word

Somewhere in the image displayed behind a cloud

Troubled by the coming autumn wind

Painted the colors of the season

Footprint pen

The red feeling crunchy.

Biography

Marjeta Shatro - Rrapaj (Albania) Marjeta Rrapaj was born on 15.12.1974 in Gjirokastra and grew up in a family with traditions. She is one of the contemporary Albanian poets. Rrapaj studied literature at the University of Gjirokastra and defended the French language at the University of Tirana. She is the author of 9 volumes of poetry. 2 poetic volumes published in France in French. 1 poetic volume published in English and Spanish and the latest volume published in 5 languages: Albanian, English, French, Italian, German. Her poems are a mixture of imagination with reality. In 2019 she receives the Alphonso G. Newcomer Poetry Train award U.S.A. and Canada for the poetic volume Vesta and the first price in Festival of Poetry in Bulgaria.

Editions

* In the sea of my eyes, Milosao Publishing 2016

* Migration with twilight, Milosao Publishing 2017

* Flickering seagulls, Milosao Publishing 2017

* To be ever God's smile Lulu.com 24.05.2018

* Nerthus, Geer Publishing 2018

* Nerthus Edilivre Publishing17.07.2019

* Vesta, Lulu.com.18.09.2019

* Hestia, Edilivre Publishing 26.09.2019

* Far from illusions Made in the USA Columbia, SC in 5 languages 26mars 2020

*Marevita 27july 2024 LSHK Kosovo

Translations

* Espalier with the wind, Geer Publishing 2020

* Poems by Abdelghani Rahmani Amazon.com 2020

* Poetic Melodies, Yayati Madan G Gandhi Groupe of Publication 16.06.2020

* Murmure d'un autre monde by Agron Shele AAbs Publishing house 2020

* Murmures fugaces by Muhammad Azram Amazon.com 2021

*Of a meeting to the other by Abdelghani Rahmani Amazon.com 2021

*Lettres de silence by Fernando Alonso Barahona Amazon.com 2021

*The return of Prometheus by Agim Desku Amazon.com 2021

*The indifferent fate by Jernail Anand

Only for love …

All colors sleep inside the eyes,

according to the seasons, according to the days

thoughts and feelings,

except the night awakens colorful dreams,

when the stars bathe in the darkness of insomnia

and sorrow spreads to heaven

over the clouds of nostalgia

who get ready to cry

in overcoming oneself

with the tears of the soul

that the fiery sun may shine by day

inside the blue waters,

only for love …

Aftertime

The past walks with me

silent,

without saying a word

with the torn scarf of recent times

the streets of my city.

Abstract ...

Between the perceptible

and incomprehensible

Plato asserted the third sphere

of the meeting of airy spirits

through sharp gaze, penetrating eyes

penetration inside the rays,

in the invisible depths,

as light within a prism,

which turned him oversaturated

of who gives as much as he receives

to maintain balance,

of the perfect archetype

within the imperfect,

where virtue within the spirit

unifies the One

inside the sky that sees with thousands of eyes ...

Absurdity ...

In this absurd world

we prove the temporary character,

in search of our path

with loss of naivety,

when we reach the end of reason, failure

with the illusion of saving everything,

we preach it to hide nothing,

in the impossibility of recognition,

where emptiness is depressing reality

with the vain temptation of worthless persistence

of the mind tired of failures

of blood mixture of judgment

with self-underestimation e

worship of necessary change

at the final moment of the closing of an exhausting period.

For personal interest ...

In the splendor of the cult of comfort,

we are always seen in the mirror of consciousness

with magnetic gaze like sunlight

with the supremacy of cynicism of thought,

where feelings traverse space

with the force of rare passion organization,

heavenly and meaningless as true love,

pa peripecira, pa dredhira,

with seductive thoughts,

with inherent intentions,

without the proverbial expression

without the sensational greed,

only for personal interest ...

Marjeta Shatro Rrapaj

০৬:২৪ পিএম, ৫ আগস্ট ২০২৪ সোমবার

Poem - Vibrant Life

Vibrant Life

Dr. Kang, Byeong-Cheol

South Korea

The river is wide and narrow and long,

Along its banks, nature's varied song.

Dense forests thrive, where shadows play,

And desolate lands in quiet lay.

Birds soar above, on wings so free,

Fish swim below, where we can't see.

In seen and hidden, life does strive,

Each creature here is so alive.

What a living, this river grand,

A bustling world on water and land.

From dawn to dusk, life does unfold,

A timeless tale forever told.

প্রাণবন্ত জীবন

ড. কাং, বায়ং-চেওল (দক্ষিণ কোরিয়া)

অনুবাদক: মোঃ ইজাজ আহামেদ (ভারত)

নদী প্রশস্ত এবং সংকীর্ণ এবং দীর্ঘ,

তার তীরে প্রকৃতির বৈচিত্র্যময় কাব্য।

ঘন অরণ্য বেড়ে ওঠে, যেখানে ছায়া খেলে,

আর নির্জন ভূমিরা শান্তিতে শুইয়ে ফেলে

পাখিরা উড়ে যায় উপরে, এত মুক্তি ডানাতে,

নীচে মাছ সাঁতার কাটে, যেখানে আমরা পাই না দেখতে,

দেখা এবং গোপনে, জীবন সংগ্রাম করে,

প্রতিটি প্রাণী এত জীবন্ত এখানে।

কী জীবন, বিশাল এই নদী,

জল এবং স্থলে একটি ব্যস্তবাগীশ পৃথিবী।

ভোর থেকে সন্ধ্যা পর্যন্ত জীবন উন্মোচিত হয়,

একটি নিরন্তর গল্প চিরকাল বলা হয়।

*এই কবিতাটি ইংরেজি থেকে বাংলায় অনুবাদ করা হয়েছে মোঃ ইজাজ আহামেদ-এর দ্বারা অরঙ্গাবাদ, মুর্শিদাবাদ, পশ্চিমবঙ্গ, ভারত থেকে।

(This poem has been translated into Bengali from English by Md Ejaj Ahamed from Aurangabad, Murshidabad, West Bengal, India)

০৯:৪১ এএম, ৫ আগস্ট ২০২৪ সোমবার

Poem - Oak Leaf

Oak Leaf

Delo Isufi,

Albania

This old oak brings back memories,

And I longingly look at it again as before,

What trouble has it left in my heart,

What secret does it keeps and never open its mouth!?

Under its shadow, on the golden leaves,

We read verses and knit poems,

Our eyes spoke thousands of fiery words,

That day the whole forest envied us.

Unwittingly I hid a leaf in my chest,

She did not speak and laughed with all her heart,

Five of these I found when I went home,

But I don't know what happened to them, they lost me one day.

Yesterday for my birthday I received a letter,

An oak leaf was inside it,

How longing the old memory stirred me,

And I took the road to find Her.

About the Poet:

Delo Isufi, was born in Vlora on July 15, 1944. He has lived in Tirana since 1953. After graduating from high school, from 1962-1966 he completed his studies at the Higher Aviation Academy, where he graduated as a Fighter Pilot. He was appointed a lecturer at the Academy. He then completed his studies, specializing in the Republic of China for supersonic aircrafts. As a pilot, he flew in all weather conditions, at night and in difficult meteorological conditions for 26 years, with high duties and the rank of Colonel (from 1966 to 1992). Being a pilot, in 1974 he completed his studies at the State University of Tirana, at the Faculty of Political and Legal Sciences, where he graduated as a Lawyer. From 2002 to 2006 he was a Lawyer of the General Advocacy of the State, and finally a General Advocate of the Albanian State.

He has published eleven books of this nine books of poetry, one Novel, one book of translation, Indian Poems

The books

"Magic of the eyes" 1978,

"Flowers of the heart" 2003,

"When the moon gets washed" 2006,

"I feel while leaving" (novel) 2008,

"Torn Dream" 2012,

"Booked Table" 2016,

"The Girl of the Blackberries" 2019.

White Fog, Indian poems, 2021

"Eh, This Muse" 2023

"Moon Play With Me" 2023

"Four Long Poems" 2023

as well as many cycles of poetry, Albanian Translations. Meanwhile also editor of some Poetry books etc. He knows several foreign languages. He has been working as a lawyer since 1992.

১০:১২ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poem - The Greatest Woman

The Greatest Woman

Dr. Aziz Moutassir

In the heart of shadows, where hatred thrived,

A light emerged, so pure and bright.

She taught us love when we despised,

Guiding us through the darkest night.

With tender words and patient grace,

She sowed the seeds of hope and peace.

In every heart, she found a place,

Where love could bloom and hatred cease.

Her wisdom shone like morning's dawn,

Dispelling fear, dissolving spite.

Through her, we learned that we belong

To a world of love, serene and right.

The greatest woman, strong and kind,

Showed us the path to harmony.

In her embrace, we left behind

The chains of hate, and found we're free.

So here's to her, the guiding star,

Who taught us how to rise above.

The greatest woman, near or far,

Who taught us hate is slain by love.

০৯:০৭ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

ESSAY -THE FATE OF BOOKS AND LITERATURE IN THE PRESENT DAY AND TIMES TO COME

MIMOZA AGASTRA - ALBANIA

Mimoza Agastra was born in 1974, in Kruja - Albania. Her childhood has gone through interpretations and commitments in directing children's shows. She has completed his studies at the Faculty of Social Sciences, branch of Social Work. After completing her studies she worked at the special school "The Sun", as a social worker. She then completed two-year postgraduate studies in the Library, to be employed later at the Catholic University "Our Lady of Good Counsel", as head of this library, where she has not resumed with further specializations in this field.

In recent years she has invested her talent as an actress in theatre, but also as a moderator for various children's and adults' shows, on different radio. Through its platform Voice Of Dreams and Voice angels, it promotes on Youtube, Facebook, Instagram and Linkedin, various authors performing poems or fairy tales and offering them in the form of videos and animations, but passion the truth is the art of writing and creation. It has been dealt with literary analysis, reviews, estee, stories, novels and novels. Some of its prefaces adorn books by various Albanian authors. She is also published in literary anthology with various poets, "Trace Penash" No. 1, 2, prepared by Rifat Ismaili.

She is the author of the children's fairy tale book "The Princess and the Caterpillar," published in November 2023, by Fast Print.

She successfully praises the field of small and adult prose, the estee of various studies.

The novel " Air, Sun, Moon" is the author's second book. Soon in her projects are many books for children and adults in the genre of prose and thesis.

THE FATE OF BOOKS AND LITERATURE IN THE PRESENT DAY AND TIMES TO COME

Have you ever tried living in a room without windows, where the sun never turns its cheek, where its warmth does not penetrate dark walls and where oxygen is gradually extinguished? It would be a slow and traumatic death, a death from despair, of loneliness, of fear, of love, of lack of light, of air, of water, of lack of contact with the world.

Such is the life without the Book, without its power.

When we were little, we were told that the book was your best friend. We already understand the importance of this expression that dates back in time, but which takes on uncontrollable value still today.

How could life be without a good friend who is there for you to hear your grievances, your heart's happiness, is there to lift you up when you fall, is there to comfort you or laugh at you just like the feeling the book gives you when you read events? You enter the imagination, you see with your eyes and I think of everything in the book.

It tastes emotion, laughs, cries, hates, loves, personifies, sees itself, parallels, criticizes, controls. Everything happens, turns into an informative or orientative compass. As you lose in it you have pondered the power of imagination, giving yourself the opportunity to enter a gate that opens the doors of dreams where you would not want anyone to take you out.

Don't you have this perception when you're in a peak moment of reading and someone distracts you? Under your voice, you know how much you hate that interruption of such a magical process, of contact with the unreal world, where the rules are set for itself, and lives free, without the shades of society or its prejudices.

This "Escape" so longed to allow only the book or otherwise the world of literature.

Books are power. They have magical skills to help you see things differently, colorfully, with several perspectives, increasing flexibility in facing the reality around you.

Their diversity makes us understand many of the problems of our daily problems, giving us inspirational models, models of heroes who challenge and many knowledge of different social topics.

A man who reads or has good access to the book has more confidence and confidence, because Knowledge is power, and such a man is easily acceptable in any social circle, as he carries with him not only the intellectual baggage but also the emotional arsenal.

I say this because literature with its presence, with its acceptance in your daily life, is an asset for you, it is like a rare accessory that presents you with a worthiness to any frequenting circle.

In addition to the performance of some intellectual, emotional, social and psychological plans, which a person, friend of the book, he has also invested in his mental health.

One of the benefits of reading is to increase memory through reading.

This has had a strong impact especially on disorders neurologically.

Despite the typology of the book, studies show that the book lowers your stress levels, helps you relax, as it focuses you on distracting yourself from what you've become anxious about.

Have you ever noticed how it invites you to adventures, to action, to passion, to flirts, to strangers?

It inspires you to move to new dimensions, stimulates your creativity.

You have noticed that as you are reading, you can predict the end of the novel, so you fire your imagination and give way to your thoughts.

So many benefits, why do you read so little? What's going on? Why was there more thirst for the book before? Was it the only bridge of communication and secure information?

Did technological developments diminish the beauty of this magic? Did nature get bored with us that many of its trees were cut down for the paper production destination and prompted another form of reading such as that of iPad screens, smartphones, etc.

The smell of the book, however, is characteristic of nostalgics lack, the sense of touch and marking impressive passages, you also lack.

You mean, you can even read the iPad on the iPad, you can even read at night in the room without having to turn on the lamp. Here's a technology advantage in this regard. In fact, scientifically, this is completely harmful. We come back to the assertion that nature protects and the hand of man kills. Nature gives away man. Nature gives us the opportunity to take it and use it carefully, while man gives us the opportunity to live in luxury at health costs. In simple judgment I would choose the paper format book and on a trip I would choose to listen to an audiobook, if I were lucky that the voice that accompanied me would be in sync with my emotional state.

The diversity and varieties today are such that they allow you to access written information in different formats. It's you who chooses. Choose something that will make you feel, or something that it makes you look good, without taking into account any of the above factors mentioned.

I want to go back to the puzzle: Why was there more reading, discussing more, in groups raising opinions about the event of a book X, books were circulated with each other, libraries had more readers? Who had the longest reader's folder in book titles borrowed from the library?

What is the NNCD for today? What do they circulate with each other? What do they discuss when they meet in groups? Which character would they like to be? Don't you think this picture is sad? I am sure that the answers to the above questions if I were to do a survey would be the same and that would be pessimistic about the future of this phenomenon and society as a whole.

I heard a dialogue of teenagers who had nailed one of their peers who was currently reading a book because his mother somehow had been reading a book she had "forced" him to read for his own good and would receive a "reward", which psychology also recognizes as the theory of rewarding positive behavior.

Do you know how he was attacked when he confirmed this fact? Looser, Looser called him. That's the expression today for someone reading today. In the teenage minds, someone who reads is lost. Absurd! This is all but sad and scary, shocking even. If the family finds "rewarding forms" to educate reading, society bullies. What is the fate of this teenager? The same as the literature? Will this fate befall this society? Something must change in the pen of writing of each of us so that we can draw the young people back to us. Isn't it our mission to awareness, educate, to spread knowledge?

Together with simple things without too much philosophy, without too much cliché, we can grab their attention, with the desire to recover once more we give you the place that the fathers of literature gave him with such dignity. It's our time...

Prepared by Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator

০২:২৮ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

ESSAY - WHAT HAPPENED TO PEACE AND HUMANITY?

ANGELA KOSTA - ITALY & ALBANIA

WHAT HAPPENED TO PEACE AND HUMANITY?

The events of recent times present us with and bear clear witness to the catastrophic situation that is occupying our entire planet. Peoples are suffering atrocious suffering at the hands of those who govern badly and greedily, reopening wounds and interminable global misunderstandings. The earth silently sheds tears of blood together with those who would like to change something for the better, often raising their voices, as long as no one listens to them. Many would be ready for the radical change of everything that affects a better world, fighting with all their strength against those who hinder progress and development or against those who make them available for purposes of power, exploiting millions of people including many minors. There are very few who make themselves available to the defenseless. There is also a well-known overriding of situations that should be the main problems to be solved. No one allows or deigns to give space and voice to that worries us every moment. Injustices, relentless wars, conflicts, threats put the future of humanity at great risk and jeopardize it. Let's pause for a moment on the last word. We name mankind even though we know that no trace of human marrow remains on its trunk. Blood no longer flows in the veins of Peace. That word has lost its way. No one loves anyone anymore. Everyone is attentive and happy to run, whoever arrives first to undo what God has created, thus satisfying their sick ego, the consequence of all evils towards those who exonerate and contemplate only the Good. Every individual on this earth is aware that the salvation of nature and the planet depends on each one of Us. Every single living being has the task and must be dutiful to what he would justly and undoubtedly do justice to Him, the Almighty who placed at our disposal His perfection, His creations, His goodness of heart and all the infinite wonders of nature. Let's observe for a moment everything that surrounds us: we will have the confirmation that EVERYTHING is within reach of its creatures. We must also carefully observe our inadequacy, because this is what we have willed and transformed, this is what we have imposed in contrast to what our Creator would have wanted and still wants. No one can remain indifferent to this swarm that involves not only us present today, but also those who will be after us: the new generation. What awaits them from this filth of ours with which we have "colored" and "dressed" the world, causing the eyes to become muddy, so No one sees Anyone anymore. That is why we have become cold, insensitive to others. By now the Earth is sick and you don't need a scientist's thesis to know it. This appears and is evident in the light of day. Since our Earth is no healthier than God created it, we are all infected and not only by many pathological diseases but also by spiritual ones.

Our karma coexists without indulgence, attributing only fame and appearance belonging to today's technology which, although evolving and good in growth, is still a detriment to society. Most people, including many young people, spend their time on social networks, almost no one reads the great poets, contemporary writers, there is little interest in art and culture. We have created a virtual world, where only falsehood and nothingness are viewed. In many groups on different platforms, magazines and online newspapers, "poets", "writers" and "artists" of all kinds appear, without any value, fading and taking away from those who deserve so much. All this leads to an irreparable harm to writing and not only that, as well as denigrating true contemporary literature in general.

©️ Angela Kosta Executive Director by the magazine in paper MIRIADE, Academic writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, journalist

০২:২৫ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

STORY - THE TRAFFICKHER

NDUE DRAGUSHA - ALBANIA

Ndue Dragusha was born on September 29, 1953 in the village of Dragusha, on the outskirts of Lezha (Albania). Ndue finished his secondary education at the "Shejnaze Juka" school in the city of Shkodra and then graduated from the Institute of Education in the branches: Albanian Language - Literature and Lower Cycle, also in Shkodër. In addition to this, Dragusha also graduated in Tirana in Psychology. Ndue has worked as a teacher in all cycles of education in different places in the Lezha district. Since 1998 Ndue has been the Director of the newspaper "LISSABA", a literary-artistic newspaper, which has traveled around and off our continent. Ndue Dragusha started writing when she was in high school, where he was also very active in artistic and cultural activities. Ndue Dragusha is already one of the most accomplished intellectuals in the city and district of Lezha, who, within the scope of the above attributes, has for years formed the profile of a serious creator in the genre of poetry and prose. His poetry is so varied that it can be said to be one of the best in this collection: with realistic variations and motifs, metrical variables in verse, regular linguistic organization, sometimes according to our creative tradition, but also in contemporary forms, with which Ndue Dragusha has outlined what is called "authorial style". Ndue Dragusha has also been successful in the field of scientific prose, with a monograph and two biographies of prominent figures... So far, he has published several books.

THE TRAFFICKHER

I woke up that morning with a strange feeling. Everything seemed to want to talk to me. Inside me I felt an emotion, which I didn't know where it came from. I opened the TV and started watching the daytime press show. When the newspaper came out, to which I had sent some poems, my name was read to the young poets. I loved it. I didn't know I'd have this feeling when I heard my name in one of the newspapers of the day. I got ready and got out. All the passers-by, known and unknown, seemed to me to say, "Here is the girl who had published those beautiful poems in today's newspaper!"

I moved to the place where newspapers were sold. I don't know, but the closer I got to the newsstand, the more my heart pounded. I started to feel worried about myself. I didn't understand anything, but my legs started to feel like they were getting numb. I waited until those in front of me left buying the newspaper and I spoke to Hope, the beautiful bride selling the newspapers, greeting her with a "Good morning!". She looked at me sweetly and said:

How well you wrote those poems. Well done! I really enjoyed reading them. I didn't know you wrote, but you wrote so well. Congratulations! I was handed a newspaper.

I couldn't believe my ears. I reached out to the newspaper and took it trembling. I said "Thank you for the lovely words you said!" and walked away with the newspaper in hand, having paid the money. After I left a few feet, I couldn't stand and opened it. It was my portrait, poems and a note from the editorial about the values of poetry. I was very impressed by the comment. Did I really write so well? I had started it as a game with my emotions and now I am being surrounded by praise.

I immediately opened my computer at home, printed the newspaper and put it on Facebook. First likes and comments began. My whole school companionship commented along with their pleasant "hiccups." The number of clicks was growing stormy. I was one by one person, who I didn't know, but who was the result of my friends on my page. His words were very kind, thoughtful and very professional. He was apologetic, because his social status at this time was very limited. He was in prison. "But thanks to new technology and understanding with the prison management, we own a mobile phone with which we connect to the beautiful world where she lives and such a wonderful poet! I greet you and wish you a great deal of success."

It got a lot of attention and emotion. I didn't know how to react. I kept quiet and continued to follow the other comments.

Every day I started to throw new poems. Every day I feel more appreciated. Then the comments of the prison's friend continued. One day he sent me a request for friendship. I looked at his status intently, but everything was normal. There were pictures of prison life, from civil life outside prison, with family, with society, with regular people in their appearance. I accepted it. I was thankful for the moment and thank you for your friendship. I wish you a lot of success!"

Every day I had very reserved and accurate comments on the part of the new friend. He appreciated my appearance in photos I had posted on facebook and one day sent me a message in my inbox: "Thanking you so much for your kindness, your appreciation and expression of respect for a prisoner for whom you don't know why he was put in prison, I would like to explain the reason for my imprisonment. It was ..... year when I accidentally happened to be at a very nice event. Two young men were trying to put a young girl in their car, a high school student from my hometown. I knew neither the aggressors nor the girl, but I felt it a civic duty to help that poor girl, who resisted with all her might. And I intervened, sulking at these two aggressors. They pulled out the knives and poured into me. At this point the girl ran and left. We fightd wildly until I managed to snatch the knife from one and stab him. He was lying on the asphalt.

The other man immediately entered the car and left shooting the tyres over the asphalt. At this time the police arrived and found me next to the man I had stabbed with his knife. I was arrested. It turned out that the slaughterer was the child of a state personality and the trial charged me with guilt. I was sentenced to 25 years in prison. The girl did not come alive to testify. I had no other witnesses. The knife had my fingerprints. I appealed to all degrees of the judiciary but never managed to unblock the situation. He won, the strongest, the father of the aggressor. So I continue to suffer an unfair sentence. My family is abroad. I have a son who I would like to see a beautiful and kind bride, like you. But my conditions today are limited to enjoy such a thing. Sorry for the inconveniency I gave you. I hope you are happy in your life."

I was so excited by this stingy story. A life casually lost for a good deed, rewarded with prison. Too bad! I comforted him with words that seem appropriate to me. So we continued to communicate with each other somewhat closer and almost became two friends, as if we had long known each other in civilian life. We exchanged chat chats and started trusting each other a lot.

One day he tells me that his son had come to my town and that, after talking to him a lot about me, he wanted to meet. "You see it," he said, "see it. He's a good guy, but be careful, because I've been here for years and I don't know if he has my maturity in behavior. I'll tell you that as your parent. I wish you all the best!" He sent me his son's photo, his address and phone number.

I saw his photo. He was a charming boy. He looked mature. His age, according to his father, was 25, blond and smiling. I really liked it in the photo. The next day, when I was driving home from school, I see the picture boy in front of me. I recognized him immediately, but I gave him no indication to realise that I recognised him.

He approached my rib and said:

- You're Mirsida?

I turned around and looked at him as if I had not understood anything.

- Who are you? I asked you a question, maybe even as a security guard.

"Oh, I'm Roland, the son of your friend the Prisoners" he said with a laugh.

- Aaaa! I was surprised. I'm Mirsida. And I put out my hand.

His hand was very warm. His eyes laughed.

He was a special boy, very gentlemanly. He asked me to have a drink together. We went to the second floor of a new bar in our town, where they made very delicious melted chocolate. The bar was packed. There was a place in the north corner of it and that's where we sat.

"First, I want to bring greetings from my father, who has advised me to behave well because he values you extremely highly as a man and as a wonderful poet. He took out his cell phone and opened a video of his father talking. He greeted us from the vidio. At the end, he advised his son to respect the girl, otherwise you'd feel what you've never experienced from your father.

It was a really wonderful situation. We talked as if we had known each other for years. We finished the chocolates and we got out. We scattered each in his direction, but within me there remained a desire not to lose this man.

I get a message on my cell phone. "It was one of the best days of my life with you today. I wish I had many more days, if you wanted to. "Greetings, Roland."

My heart was beating. My brain was like it was blocked and I couldn't see anything clearly. I blurted out. I didn't think the joy would come like an invading army. I sat in my room, in my bed, and reread it a few times. I tried to write a reply, but I deleted it several times. I wasn't daring. I started to be scared. Who exactly was this man? I said to myself, "He was a good man. There could not be such noble people to have a bad spirit. Impossible. I didn't answer it anyway. I was waiting for the next reaction. There was no reaction that night.

His father asked me in the inbox about the meeting. I thanked him for his greeting and advice. I didn't give him the sense that I had begun to worry within my sensations.

The next day, at the same hour, I get the next message: "A man is more afraid of happiness than a dog being let out on the street. I understand you, because our knowledge is not complete and I thank you for the time you have given me and for the feelings that I am aroused. I can stop here and I won't bother you if I've been worried about you so far. I wish the best for you! Roland."

I answered you immediately. From that moment on our relationship became strong. He came to my town a few times, I met him with my parents, who liked him very much as a boy. But Dad was suspicious. He didn't believe anything easily because he had been a border officer and had doubted everything his life. And in this case he wanted to know more about it.

"Daughter," he said, "don't believe everything you see, because salt is white and looks like sugar.

During this period, facebook connections with his father were severed. Roland told us that they had removed all communications in prison and that he could not connect, that he was very worried about it, etc.

One day, Roland came with his uncle to our house. There was a man in his 45s, silent, little words. He had a penetrating look. He listened more than he spoke and was very attentive in everything. He said he lived abroad but had come for the grandson, in the absence of his father, to ask for the girl's hand for the bride for the grandson.

We had, indeed, agreed with Roland. When my father objected, I told him we could leave without my father's permission, but Roland wouldn't let me. We have to respect the parents. I love and respect my father. I ask you for your parents. I gave up!

After talking to Roland's uncle, my family agreed to get engaged. It was the best days of my life. We decided to get married and had a great wedding. It was the miracle itself. We both shone. We radiate light, beauty, love. After the wedding we went on honeymoon to Turkey. And that's where we had a great time. Real paradise!

"This is how it will be all our lives," my father said. It's so sad we miss our father! It's a shame we lost our facebook communication. At least he would be happy with our happiness. He'd be glad. And he cried.

After we had finished our honeymoon, we returned to my house and the next day we were going abroad, to Germany. We had a very warm evening, but my parents had a lot of concern. My mother was very upset that she wouldn't be near me.

When we arrived in Germany I saw a fabulous place. I felt like a queen. I had a beautiful husband by my side, we were just married, we were in a place I had never even dreamed of. What did I want more of life?

He press my hand and smiled constantly. I just enjoyed it. We were greeted by his uncle at the airport with two beautiful girls, but in a somewhat unsightly outfit for me. I thought, germany, I said to myself.

We all went to our villa together. We were a little tired and didn't stay much that night. The place we lived was special. Between greenery and flowers. There is also a special story.

The days flowed like pure water on the shining crafts. Little rainbows were digestive on me every day. Germany oozed in harmonious perfection. Roland was still very fond of me.

One night he didn't come home. I was starting to get sad about his delay. A few hours later his uncle came and told me that Roland had a problem with the police because of a mess and they are looking for him to arrest him. He left Germany for Russia. It's not about the problem, but it happened to him like his father, my brother. Don't worry, you have us here. I asked for any contact to have the opportunity to communicate with him, but he told me that neither uncle himself had contacts because he is hidden and should not be revealed.

Every day I anxiously waited for what would happen. I was waiting for a tip, but I wasn't getting anything. His uncle wasn't looking either. I was alone and alone as ever. I didn't know where to knock.

One night I got home to the two girls who had been waiting for us at the airport. They were so unstable and didn't have that first day of the meeting. I was waiting to be given some news about my Roland. They came near, and in a voice more fierce than kind, they said:

- Roland's gone. It is not known where it might be. He's very confused with a gang, who are looking for him to kill him. The police are looking for him. His uncle is also missing and is not coming alive, because he may be suffered by the gang instead of Land. We are here to work because you have to live. We have no income that we can help you. Tomorrow you have to start work. You're not going out, but we're going to bring your customers here home. And they started teaching me how I had to act. They wanted to make me want to get a prostitute! Impossible! I refused and almost broke. They came out, warning me that this is the only path I had to choose.

That night I didn't sleep in my eyes. I didn't know what to do, where to go. I had no knowledge of where I was. The next day, the two girls come again with a man all fur, ed. I was expecting some bad news when I saw them so rough and irritated on their faces.

- You have to go out with us, because you have no other option, - one of the girls told me.

- I'm better off going out on the road! - I answered and turned my back and started to go inside, when they pinned the three of me together, put me down and began to hit me relentlessly all over my body. I didn't understand this behavior. I called loudly enough, but there was no way to stop the blows. I did not know what was done except when I mentioned it, I had my whole body in pieces. I didn't move my hands or feet. I was throwing up. There was no one near me. I dragged instead and tried to get inside the house. There was a large blood trail behind me. I don't know how long that drag lasted, but I managed to get home. Again I lost my feelings and I don't know how long I had stayed, when I opened my eyes, I was in complete darkness. My body burned like I had put it in the th. I didn't know what to do. Also if I knew, I didn't know who to turn to. The door opened and some people were in. I couldn't see them, because I couldn't even open my eyes except the complete darkness.

The lights came on, which hit me right in the lids of my eyes. I felt pain again. I heard the voice of my husband's uncle, Roland, say to me:

Who killed you like that, my sister? He took me into his arms and carried me into the bathtub just as I was completely bloody. He called one of the girls he had with him, I didn't see them, but I could tell them off from the voices, and said:

- Come on, move, why are you standing so hands-on? Don't you see how it's been made?

Some light laughter was heard, then I felt the hands of two females taking my clothes off. They stripped me and started rubbing me with lukewarm water. At first I felt a slight revival, then I had lost my feelings again...

* * *

After I had stood, I don't know for how long, just without feeling, next to me I felt I had a soft hand rubbing my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw a real angel. There was a beautiful girl, crying and rubbing me lightly - easily my forehead, burning like an oven.

When I opened my eyes, she smiled lightly, then said:

- Shut up, the doctor will be here in a while. Everything's going to be fine.

I looked at him as suspiciously, because I didn't believe it would really be the doctor, but some collaborator of these people who were destroying my life. I was powerless to object. So I closed my eyes again and subsumed my wild fate, which had hit me in this terrible hell.

I heard a door opened and that some people came inside. I don't know how many they could have been. I opened my eyes slowly and saw that one of them was a civilian, while the other three were military, they were policemen. This made me happy for a moment, but again I was afraid of endless tricks that might be devised.

The doctor approached me, touched my forehead and felt the intense temperature that had stuck to me. He stood up immediately and spoke in his language, which I didn't understand, but immediately two beautiful girls in white shirts and a stretcher in hand, pulled me carefully and put me on the stretcher. Then two powerful men, of those police officers, stood me up and took me outside, where an ambulance awaited me. After the two white girls came up, I was a nurse, and the doctor came, who made me a needle. The ambulance had already set off sirens and continued to move rapidly through the busy streets of this city. I soon found myself in a hospital room, full of comfort and much care from a wonderful staff.

* * *

It seems that the days of hell had passed, and I was improving every day under the great care of an extremely caring and kind-hearted staff.

One day, a police woman and her colleague came into my room, along with an interpreter. After they introduced themselves, they asked permission to talk to me and I agreed. I was feeling something had moved for good. I was told I was a victim of a criminal gang of traffickers. I was also told that Roland, "my kind husband," was one of the most dangerous traffickers in all of Europe. Then they told me he was already arrested and his judgment was expected. That's what they were asking for my help. For a moment I felt a huge squeeze in my chest. It was the person I had the greatest trust and he was already my misery. I told them my whole story point by point, not forgetting anything since FB with Roland's "dad."

"He," said this woman, "very politely, is the head of this mafia. Since prison, exploiting the corruption of prison leaders, he has done such tricks, through a gentleman in communication and organized this gang to make money through women who were blacked out as prostitutes and invested it to get him out of prison. He has married his "son" Roland, who is not his son.

Tears flowed down my pale cheeks. I had no power to speak. They noticed this and, after thanking me for the time they talked to me, they politely left.

Now I understood my father's metaphor when he said to me: "Daughter, don't believe everything you see, because salt is white and looks like sugar...

©️ Copyright Ndue Dragusha

Prepared by Angela Kosta Executive Director of MIRIADE Magazine, Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator

০২:২৪ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poems

RIFAT ISMAILI - ITALY

The poet, prose writer and essayist Rifat Ismaili was born on March 24, 1968 in Durres. After finishing high school, he did the mandatory military service for two years in Berat. From 1991 until today he lives in Italy, currently in Savona. Passionate about art and literature, he started writing and painting since school. Since 1986, he started publishing in the newspapers and magazines of the time and continues today. At the same time, in addition to working as an author, he was and still is engaged in translations. It was also published in: Italian, English, Russian, Uzbek, Arabian, etc., in some of the literary bodies of those countries. His inclusion in dozens of different publications as an editor or reviewer should be highlighted.

Rifat Ismaili is the author of 24 books, and 3 books as a translator.

ONCE...

Sometimes I feel like I'm living

On Robinson's Island,

Going back to the past

Only when i need her...

The breasts of the waves wake up my wife,

Leaves of trees like books I read,

And I'm not alone.

Sometimes the shadow of Medusa

It turns me into a memory cave

Where I keep the bones of poets...

Old man odyssey always leads me

In thousands of journeys,

That I would like to do

How did i ever...

Sometimes the shadow of Macbeth

Wash my feet

With the blood of the innocent,

Wipes me with the towel of oblivion.

Sometimes...

Inside everyone I am, sometimes..

TRACE AND NOISE

Traces that appear to me in my sleep

Endless trail...

In the white desert of poetry,

Where tears like palm trees have sprouted,

And feelings like oases extinguish human pains,

Every pawn lies within them,

Longing and covered sky...

Oblivion knows how eternal travelers can.

Each track has a name.

Tracks and noises...

Delayed travelers coming and going on trains,

They carry poets' dreams in their suitcases,

But inside they have only a pile of leaves...

Noise, a lot of noise and fuss...

Self-exalted people, with the scepter of leaders,

In the funeral procession of Poetry,

Throw a shovelful of dirt into the grand grave,

Waiting for the night again to exhume the Muse,

With the holy relics of the proud roads...

And they consider themselves saints.

Tracks and noises...

Traces, which are lost and extinguished every day...

Depression noises,

With the steel thread of the last hope,

Stifle and hang the rays of the poetry of life!

Track and noise, hyenas!...

ETYD

Sounds and smells...

The birds invite the golden morning,

With screams of pleasure and orgies...

In the field of life someone sows seed,

Other stupid spikes...

Prepared by Angela Kosta Executive Director by the magazine in paper MIRIADE, Academic writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator, journalist

০২:২১ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poem - My Dear Heart

My Dear Heart

Dr. Frieda Norma Dela Cruz

Philippines

I love this feeling, it's deep within.

It makes me shake down my knees, I wish I could freeze.

My love for you keeps going strong.

And when I'm with you, I know nothing can go wrong

My love for you is like an open book.

My dear heart, you sincerely took.

A very special day we did meet

And our love makes us complete.

I thank the One Up High

for this happiness is so wide.

He is our God dwelling inside.

He gave you me, and He gave me you.

My Utmost Gratitude, He is so true.

At last, time will come to see the newer cosmos,

With all maturity to explore, we will see

As long as we bind our hearts together

I'm sure we will live happily, ever after.

Dr. Frieda Norma Dela Cruz

Philippines ©©

August 02, 2024

০১:২২ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poem - Summer`s Invitation

Summer's Invitation Dr. Kang, Byeong-Cheol

Summer world, you invite me in your world,

Hot world of colors, fabulous season.

Pale green plant will be a strong green plant,

Under the vast blue sky, where green dreams unfurl.

Big, big clouds drift in the azure sea,

Early summer festival, joy in the air.

River breeze whispers, as it leads me,

Through a splendid day, so bright and fair.

Your world, it calls me with a gentle hand,

Invoking senses, a symphony grand.

Sun's warm embrace, a tender caress,

Scents of blossoms, in nature's dress.

All greens destined to brown wither.

Birds serenade, their melodies pure,

Taste of sweet fruits, a summer allure.

Through touch, sight, sound, scent, and taste,

You make me feel your world, a vibrant place.

Summer world, in your embrace, I find

Precious time and joy, a peace of mind.

Strive to make fruit, fabulous summer, summer.

০১:১২ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poem - Who Am I

Who Am I

Dr. Omatee Ann Marie Hansraj

In the mirror's silent gaze, I see,

A stranger staring back at me.

Eyes that hold a thousand dreams,

Yet nothing is quite as it seems.

Born of stardust, earth, and air,

With hopes and burdens I must bear.

A soul that seeks, a heart that yearns,

In life's vast ocean, I discern.

Am I the sum of all my past,

Or moments fleeting, never to last?

A whisper in the winds of time,

A fleeting verse, a subtle rhyme.

In laughter, tears, and silent nights,

I search for meaning, for the light.

A journey walked on paths unknown,

In every step, a seed is sown.

Who am I, this question deep,

In waking hours and in sleep.

A seeker, dreamer, in disguise,

A glimpse of truth within these eyes.

Annmariewrites.com

১২:০৮ পিএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

মরুতে জোয়ার

দীপ্ত হৃদ মতিন

ঐ নীলিমার ওপারে দৃষ্টি সাঁতার কাটে

ভীষণ বৃষ্টি ঝরে দু'নয়ন জুড়ে!

স্মৃতির বরফ গলে নিভৃত হিমালয়ে!

ভেতরের কবি কথা বলে একাকী!

হিমালয়ের মতো দৃঢ় সর্বংসহা কবি!

কষ্টের নীল দংশনে বিলুপ্ত চৈতন্যের

জীবন্ত এক লাশ এই আমি!

কতো কথা তবুও শেষ হয়না আকুতি

কথার ভেতরে লুকিয়ে থাকা ব্যাকুলতা

যেনো সুরভিত গোলাপের পাপড়ি!

হৃদয় কাননে উড়ে বেড়ায় অলি

কুসুমের কানে সুর তোলে ভৈরবী

মরু হৃদয়ের দিগন্ত জুড়ে সোনালী

আলোর ঝলকানি!পুলকিত পৃথিবী!

আকাশে উড়ে বেড়ায় সাদা পালকি

মন চায় সোয়ার হয়ে উড়ে বেড়াই

চলে যাই নীলিমার ওপারে ছায়াপথের

তারাদের মাঝে অনন্ত এক অভিসারে!

অলীক কল্পনার ঘোরে লীন এই কবি

এ জীবনে পূর্ণ হবে কি তোমার দুরাশা!

পৃথিবীর বনানীর সবুজ আবাহনে

জীবনের নতুন স্বপ্ন আশা জাগে ,

প্রচন্ড ঝড়ে বিধ্বস্ত বনানীর বৃক্ষ

শাখা প্রশাখায় হয়ে ওঠে পল্লবিত

প্রসারিত হয় গাড় সবুজের গালিচা!

ফুলে ফুলে ভরে সুশোভিত হয়ে ওঠে!

আমিতো প্রকৃতির সন্তান

আলোড়িত হৈই প্রকৃতির সান্নিধ্যে

জেগে ওঠে নতুন প্রাণ! বিধ্বস্ত জীবন

আলোড়িত হয় নতুনের আবাহনে!

আজ মরা নদীতে এলো বুঝি জোয়ার

আমি একেলা কে হবে সঙ্গী আমার।

জীবন মরুতে সৃজিব সবুজের সমাহার !

রচিত:১৭.০৭.২০২৪ সকাল:০৯.০৮মি

১১:৫০ এএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

POEM -IN THE PLACE CREATED BY TRUTH

IN THE PLACE CREATED BY TRUTH

Yousuf Aslan

Why can't you see the ignorant one

In the place created by truth

You can't follow the path of truth

With the hearts of those who follow

Never make fun of those who know the way on the path

Don't be wise and talk

Never take note of beautiful people

Of course there is a miracle in one

Brother holds on tightly to brother

Pearl purple has a beautiful scent

Look at these stars, the moon, the sun

Understand when you look at the sky

Those who escape from knowledge remain on the path

All calamities are based on it

Love and believe without seeing God

Other than you, the wise are blind

The one who provides unity with beautiful words

The scholar is the one who does not stay away from knowledge

The one who sets his heart on the path of truth

By God, the servant Yusuf is very deep

১১:৪৩ এএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poems

DREAM WITH YOUR CHARM !

Dr Prasana Kumar Dalai

India

As a humming bee brings smile to bunch of white lilies

Why don't you beam in the huge garden of my heart

The spring from heaven drops with dream with your charm

Near the horizon where the clouds drift away out of sight

The way we used to soar in the deep blue sky

Why don't you glide in my dream with your charm

The glittering moon shines in the dark night

But you are not shining this gloomy day in my life

I am like a lonely bird without companion

Come down to the desolation of my barren earth.

THE DUST OF GRIEF !

At times I think of my uneventful life

Just a garland of thorns sans peace

What I have found is the dust of grief

When I did desire for the cold touch

Out of nothing only cold sigh in my lot Sorrows made my heart more sombre

You left leaving a couple of moments

None has time to hold my numb hands

Even my shadow is very often apathetic

This is my life and why should I be afraid Of sorrow for it's mine, my companion.

YOU BECAME MY PRAYER !

I 'll give away my life , even lose all my wins

Whatever be the cost, you're my everything

Beyond all my limits and boundaries

Now I'm broken after giving everything

I'm no one ; you 've become my destination

Great things God has given without asking

Otherwise atheists like me won't get God

My desires 've met you as you became my prayer.

MUSE IN THE DARKNESS !

The morning star you are in my life

Beaming brightly in the darkest world

You often arouse the bizarre stir in me

Of flustered fog in the face of rising sun

You venture out with your daring glint

Like a musky muse in face of darkness

As if mystifying mind of a blushing lotus

Set a swarm of bees ablaze in horizon

With your effervescent amorous prayer

Your radiance melts away all afflictions

With the glistening glow amid dimness

You do shower light into my empty eyes.

১১:৪০ এএম, ৪ আগস্ট ২০২৪ রোববার

Poem - The Bewitching Hour

"The Bewitching Hour"

Shahid Abbas

Deep in the dark of night

Lying awake

Your image burned into my imagination

Eyes closed as dreams of you descend like warmth deep in the cold of winter

As the bewitching hour approaches thoughts flash back to our first meeting

When universes collided that fateful day

Recalling the mysteriousness of it all

I smile

Then hearing a whisper

Urging me to write a poem

Honoring the great gift of generosity given to me

A gratuitous offering made by the heavens

Let a million twinkling stars bear witness to our joy

Our gratitude to a kind universe

As sunlight rises over the horizon

Thoughts turn to love's enigmatic nature

Suddenly I experience a compelling urge to dance

With my back to the wind

Serenade clouds

Hiding smiling angels

Listening closely hearing their joyful sound

Harmonizing the last note of your name

Then I pray my urgent prayer that angels sing my name to you

Sweet melodious music lifting you to the mountain top

Where I impatiently wait your coming

My beating heart speaks only to your eyes

Your love is my buoy

Let my name be yours

I am the poet who lives in you

And you

My love

The constant inspiration alive in me..

Shahid Abbas is a distinguished international author and poet hailing from Kirapla 421 G.B, Tandlianwala Faisalabad, Pakistan. His literary prowess has garnered numerous awards and accolades. He is the esteemed author of "Words from Nature" and the co-author of "We Speak in Syllables". His works have been featured in various prestigious international anthologies and diverse literary platforms, both in print and online. Notably, his writings have been translated into ten different languages, further solidifying his global literary presence.

০৮:২৮ এএম, ২ আগস্ট ২০২৪ শুক্রবার

Poem - A Cuckoo

A Cuckoo

Dr. Muhammad Ishaq Abbasi

Pakistan

Wind blew from North, South East, West,

Dusk enveloped the entire forest,

I was lost in whispers by the fountain,

There, I saw a cuckoo on top of mountain,

Aha! I tried to touch him cooly cooly,

But, he flew away slowly slowly.

Eyes were round and body was inky black,

He did not look woeful,worry and slack.

Always remained himself neat and clean,

Drank fresh water,

Ate fruit and bean.

Mind was full of lovely imagination,

He was his example in new Creation.

Flew slow and fast on his strong wings,

Very skillfully and beautifully he sings.

There was Such a melodiness in his sound,

The listeners were stunned all around.

Supported the oppressed and hated oppression,

In case of unintentional mistake,make a concession.

Did not suffer in any misconception

Against dishonesty,disorder and corruption.

Built his nest on tree near the stream,

Used to see peaceful and sweet dream.

He lived his life with purity and piety,

Savior of peace and tranquility in society.

Short bio:

Dr.Muhammad Ishaq Abbasi (Islamabad, KAHUTA,Pakistan)

He is a world recognized poet and writer. He was born on Monday November 16,1975 in village Khuian tehsil kahuta Pakistan. He writes in English languages. He has written most of the poems on the subject of Nature and peace. He is working as a teacher by profession. He has won prominent position many times in poetry competitions.He is an active member of various literary and creative platforms. His writings are part of several international and national magazines, journals, anthologies and newspapers. He has won many awards in his write ups and ,When he was three years old,his mother fell into a ravine and was hospitalized for six months before dying.

The journey from childhood to adolescence was spent without the wings of a mother, which is difficult to describe in words. And also raise his voice through pen for peace in the world..

The following is a list of the international organizations he is part of

Oxygen Pen.Genesis World writers Community.

Iqra Foundation. Literary Creations .World literary forum for peace and Human Rights.Pen wonder International.The Dream Of Equality Pakistan.Literature Archive Bangladesh.The passion Of Poetry.Poetry for Humanity & Nature.World peace of poets.World Of Poets.

Peace and Love Inkers Society.The International Poetry.Taifas Literary Magazine.

Poetry and literature world vision.DEMO GOG.

Words:A Renaissance.The Poetry center.Realms of poems.Poems and stories.

ILA Magazine.Motivational strips.World kids book poetic.United Poets and heart.Flladi poetic.Sparking Quil.world spiritual love and peace Humanity literary Foundation.The Temple of impeccable writers.The Dream Of Equality Nigeria.Elite Arab Creative Union.

Ever Child lifeline Foundation.Al Fayad academy Egypt.The international Academy of culture and Literature Cosmos of poetry..Global writers Academy.Lido dell anima.people of poetry parliament.

His poems have been published in various anthologies and Newspaper of the world, for example.Women the society backbone. The Poetic Soul.Peace and Love Inkers Around the World.Midnight in the Garden of Peace.The Mask,You,Mari maa,Alone,Chucerberrirs Garden,A Bouquet of Triple colours.Awskener of hidden potential, Amazing Gardener,The Global Nation Newspaper ,LISSALBA Newspaper,World Record book Hyperpoem.A True Love Adicates.Rape,The world contemporary Poets vol 2. Twinkling of Star.

Summer Night.Al Fayad academy Egypt.Reven Cage magazine.

০৮:২৭ এএম, ২ আগস্ট ২০২৪ শুক্রবার

Poem - Full of the Smell of Sunshine

Full of the Smell of Sunshine

Sophy Chen

On the first floor, the balcony

Covered by a few clusters of banana trees all year round

It’s hard to see the sun

It’s his little trick again

The underpants that can’t be exposed to the sun

Rows of colorful flowers

Flower butterflies

Are flying on the window bars!

At my fingertips, dry and cool

Full of the smell of sunshine...

About Sophy Chen:

Sophy Chen, Lihua Chen, born in Lueyang, Hanzhong, Shannxi Province, China, is the Chinese contemporary poet, translator, publisher and world poetry manager. She graduated from English Institute of Xi'an International Studies University in English Literature. She is the founder of Sophy Chen World Poetry Awards, the President of Sophy International Translation Publishing House, Sophy Chen World Poetry Museum, the Chief Editor and Translator of Sophy Chen's Translation World Poetry Yearbook (C-E Bilingual), Sophy Poetry & Translation(C-E) World Poetry Paper Magazine, and Sophy Poetry & World Translation Websites. Sophy Chen is Admin Of PENTASI B World Friendship Poetry, a Member of the Translators Association of China, and a Member of the World Nations Writers Union, Kazakhstan. Sophy Chen is appointed as a Honorary Membership of PABLO NERUDA ASSOCIAZIONE CULTURALE and Jury Of “Il Parnaso - Angelo La Vecchia Award” of Italy. SOPHY CHEN is appointed as AMBASSADOR TO CHINA by THE ACADEMIC SENATE, ACADEMY OF ARTS AND PHILOSOPHICAL SUAENCES of LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA. SOPHY CHEN is appointed as AMBASSADOR TO CHINA by “Il Parnaso - Angelo La Vecchia Award” of Italy. She began to write Chinese poetry in 1989 and English poetry in 2004, and translate Chinese Poetry into English poetry and English poetry into Chinese poetry in 2005.

Her Main World Awards：

The annual International Best Translator Award（2012）; the Legendary Poet Awards（2012）;the Chinese Contemporary Poetry Translation Award (2013-2014); Pentasi B World Featured Poet and Pentasi B World Inspirational Poet（2018）; the International Icon of Literature of Mewadev Laurel Award of India（2018）; Neruda Award of Italy（2019）; the Wrangal's Golden Peacock Award of India（2019）; Culture & Friendship Award of India（2019）; Poet’s Golden Shawl of India（2019）; Pentasi B Pentasian Award（2019）; Pentasi B World Poet Laureate Award（2019）; Pentasi B World Golden Voice Poetry（2019）; “Il Parnaso - Angelo La Vecchia Award”of Italy（2019）；AMBASSADOR TO CHINA by THE ACADEMIC SENATE, ACADEMY OF ARTS AND PHILOSOPHICAL SUAENCES of LUCIUS ANNAEUS SENECA(2023) in Hall of the Stables, Norman-Swabian Castle Sannicandro di Bari,Italy 2023-10-14; AMBASSADOR TO CHINA by “Il Parnaso - Angelo La Vecchia Award” of Italy(2023) in Canicatti Theater, Sicilia, Italy in 2023 2023-10-21, etc.

Her Main Translated, Edited and Published Poetry Collections:

Sophy Poetry & Translation (C-E) World Poetry Paper Magazine.

The Flower Swaying(C-E) (2014); Tibetan Incense (C-E) (2014); The Outlook of Life (C-E)(2014); Different Tunes (C-E) (2014); The Body Forward (C-E) (2015); A Poetry Biography for White Snake (C-E) (2015); I Find Your Beauty In The Taste Of Your Eyes (C-E) (2019); Poetry Selection Of PENTASI B 2019 China World Poetry Festival & Sophy Chen World Poetry Awards(C-E) (2019); The Complete Poems Collection Of PENTASI B 2019 China World Poetry Festival & Sophy Chen World Poetry Awards (C-E) (2019); Sophy Chen's Translation World Poetry Yearbook 2021 (C-E Bilingual) ; Sophy Chen’s Translation World Poetry Yearbook 2022 (C-E Bilingual) ; The Complete Poems Collection Of PENTASI B 2019 China World Poetry Festival & Sophy Chen World Poetry Awards (C-E) (2023), A Collection Of Birds Singing by Yi Sha（2023）；A Collection Of Chinese Sonnets The Elegy Of The Lyre by Dazang Chen Translated by Sophy Chen（2023）; The Song of The Dynasty by FU SHANG（2023）; Dust Poetry Collection by Qingdao Cheng Yin（2023）; LOVE SONGS ON THE BORDER by Asparagus Cochinchinensis（2023）, etc.

Her Written Poetry Collections:

Sophy Chen's English Sonnets, Tuberose (E-E) (2018); Sophy Chen's First Original E-C Poetry Collection, A Wizened Rose（2023）.

Organizing and Planning of Major World Poetry Activities:

Sophy Chen is the Host-Organizer & Sponsor of CHINA WORLD POETRY FESTIVAL and PENTASI B World Fellowship of China 2019 and 2023. She has successfully organized, sponsored and held 2019 PENTASI B China World Poetry Festival & Sophy Chen World Poetry Awards in China. She has successfully organized, sponsored and held the book launching of Sophy Chen's Translation World Poetry Yearbook 2021 (C-E Bilingual),etc.

০২:৩২ পিএম, ৩১ জুলাই ২০২৪ বুধবার

POEM - FEELINGS OF LOVE

FEELINGS OF LOVE

Dr. Frieda Norma Dela Cruz

Philippines

Love is a wonderful thing one can feel

It is sweet even with pain, nothing can heal

Love is the deep blue sea full of tears

It helps you to conquer fears.

Love is like a mountain tree of pine

It has that sweet scent like that of vine

Love is like a precious gemstone

It produces hardships as it is grown.

Love is a kind of sickness which has no cure

The one who experience it is pure

Love teaches human the way to live

A lot of sacrifices and happiness

He survives.

Love is the garden of death

It is a debt one pays for every breath

Love is a wild storm full of destruction

The one who is involved can't follow any instruction.

Love is a sweet and wild passion

It has become today’s world fashion

The true lover’s soul seems to be dead

It is counterfeited and taken over the lover's head.

Love is a feeling of affection and possession

Lover’s heart keeps its impression

Love is a fire that burns the heart

It is sincerely felt when a beloved goes apart.

Dr. Frieda Norma Dela Cruz

Philippines ©®

July 29, 2024

BIOGRAPHY:

FRIEDA NORMA DIVINA-DELA CRUZ

■A Published Author

Comfort for All Seasons - Vol. 1

■An Entrepreneur

Resident of Tarlac City, Philippines

Frieda is an Accountant by profession with the Degree of Bachelor of Science in Commerce, Accounting major at Far Eastern University, Manila Philippines.

She studied Management Development Program at the Ateneo de Manila University.

She's an Admin and Founding Member of the Self Published x Movement.

She's an Admin of the Filipino Poets in Blossoms

Managing Editor of the Blossoms Journal International Magazine.

Admin of the United Poets @ Heart.

Admin of the Writers Waves

Further, she is Co-Author of different Book Anthologies.

And an Advisor of the Glory Future Foundation.

Membership Organizations:

*PGBI - Philippine Guardians Brotherhood Inc.(Spider group

*ERSRT - Eagle Riders Shooting and Rescue Team (Philippines)

*Kiwanis International Club (Philippines)