ALL RIGHTS RESERVED - Each individual poem is copyrighted - Tous droits réservés

Հռոմի ավերակների առջև

In Armenian language

Ավերակների առջև շունչդ կտրում է

սրտի զարկերն են աշխարհը խլացնում,

ժամանակի առջև երերում ես մի պահ.

գուցե իրակա՞ն չէ այս պահը…

Գեղեցի՜կ է, լու՜ռ է, կյա՜նք է, ավերա՜կ.

տխրությունն է խեղդում անդառնալի,

լուսանկարվելու չխչխկոցն է բռնել օդը

ու խլացնում է զարկերը սրտի…

Դե ինչ, նկարվեմ ես էլ.

ժպի՞տ՝ խնդրեմ, ահա՛, գուցե նաև ծիծա՞ղ…

ավերակներն ու ես.

ինչ նման ենք իրար...

__

Davanti alle rovine di Roma

Si resta senza fiato di fronte alle rovine,

il battito cardiaco rende il mondo sordo,

si esita un istante di fronte al tempo,

forse questo momento è irreale...

È bellezza, è silenzio, rovine ed è vita:

la tristezza mi soffoca irrevocabilmente

i click della macchina fotografica e degli otturatori riempiono l'aria

assordando il battito del cuore.

Bene, lasciate fotografare anche me:

ecco un sorriso,

può essere anche una risata?....

Le rovine e io...

quanto siamo simili!....

Traduzione di Lidia Chiarelli.

Armenuhi  Sisyan- writer, poet, playright from Armenia. Author of 11 books. Her works are translated into 25 languages. Participant of international literary festivals and programs, winner of various literary prizes. Member of different International Writers’ Associations. 

Ode To Jacarandas

Filling up the sky covering the earth -- everywhere

The flowers on jacarandas are singing & dancing in the wind.

Boasting the blooms & fragrance as if in Neverland .

Sydney’s spring is simply so sweet

Everything & everywhere in the name of Jacaranda’s fair.

Winds with rains & sunset with rainbows are waiting for the dawn

Together with jacarandas.

The flowers so purplish so blue buds so delicate so cute

Curvy petals burst out of twisting twigs

Showing off nothing but exquisite, fashion and poetic metaphors.

They can definitely lead you to lavender lands in Provence.

It's so much like lilac.

Fragrance in the air and petals on the earth

Comfy feelings straight into the heart

If you’re hearing the sweetest bird songs in the morning

That must be the bluebirds on the branches Professing joy and love.

If you’ve smelled a trace of sweet fragrance

That must be busy bees’ overwhelming beaming tenderness.

Jacaranda in spring breeze is truly like a violet idyll, beautiful and nice.

Purple as caught in the eyes is its elegance

The rustlings are their subtle but gut-wrenching sighs

Which can only be read by the white clouds

As the extension or continuation of the blue sky.

Only the spring rain can understand her beautiful blue full of sorrow and tears.

Liao Shijing, Australia

Liao Shijing, from Sydney Australia and also known as Shijing Sydney. English teacher with specialty in College English and bilingual linguistics teaching and research. Head of "Australian Poetry Society", founder of "Global Chinese Art & Poetry Concert".

GOURMANDISES

Quand l'amour mijote

à feu doux

dans le chaudron des jours

on invite la planète entière

à la table de la gourmandise

un toast s'impose

à la santé des poètes

qui par des feux clignotants

ont chassé les ombres

en maraude sur le vivant

au-dessus de la tablée

règne le doux espoir

de revoir tous les sourires

tout en rêvant au dessert

de fin de soirée.

Huguette Bertrand est une poète et éditrice Canadienne. Elle a publié 39 ouvrages de poésie dont plusieurs ouvrages en collaboration avec des artistes. Ses poèmes ont paru dans des revues et des anthologies internationales imprimées et en ligne et traduits en plusieurs langues.

http://www.espacepoetique.com

https://www.facebook.com/huguette.bertrand.9

Poèmes Lus

Plaisir du mot, exaltation de beauté, frénésie de lyrisme

Odes, sonnets, blasons, élégie, calligrammes, épithalames, jaillissements de pâmoison

Ère de pure liberté, d’attente élaborée, de féérie

Mémoire d’apothéose, cristal chantant, envol de libellule

Empreinte de l’avenir, composition aussi délicate que fébrile

Significations évidentes comme multitudes à découvrir, rose du monde

Soupir d’exquisité, souffle de vérité, source de sublimité

Lucie Poirier, Canada

Maître ès arts (U de M), théoricienne et praticienne de la valorisation du choix lexical, Lucie Poirier édite ses livres d’art, expose ses œuvres visuelles, interprète sa poésie sur scène avec ses spectacles incluant chansons, mouvements, accessoires qu’elle termine en soufflant dans sa main pour que des pétales volent vers le public. 

If I were

If I were a star

Waiting for your window at night.

If I were a cloud, summer

Block out the sun above you.

If I were the sun

I wish you a warm winter.

If I were the wind,

Wish to gently blow your face when you sweat.

Suppose I were a bird

Singing for you day and night

But I, just an ant,

I long to fly like an eagle,

Flying in the sky, staring at you, close to you

If I were...

Anna Keiko, China

Anna Keiko (Anna 惠子; Anna Huizi, pseudonym of Anna Wang)^[is a Chinese poet born in Wuyuan, Jiangxi Province, China, in 1974. Formerly, she studied Law at East China University of Political Science and Law.

Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anna_Keiko

Flare Of Life

Time will be engraved in your mind,
Count your memories,
You'll never find regret.

The mark of youth will be misty,
Everything is in progress,
Invisible mood is the dominator always.

The future is an eternal topic,
Yes you’re telling me.
If foresight can be regarded as a good way,
To save all the beauty that is about to miss,
I need it yesterday.

though deformity is also a kind of baby blue,
Easy come,easy go,
Even if you lose more,
There’ll be excuses to continue,
C'est la vie !

James Tian  - China

Bagliori di vita

Il tempo rimarrà impresso nella vostra mente,
Contate  i vostri ricordi,
Non troverete mai rimpianti.

Il segno della giovinezza  resterà nebbioso,
Tutto è in divenire,
Uno stato d’animo invisibile domina sempre.

Il futuro è un tema eterno,
Sì, me lo state dicendo.
Se la lungimiranza può essere considerata un buon modo
Per salvare tutta la bellezza che sta per mancare,
Allora ho bisogno di tornare a ieri.

Anche se questa anormalità è come una sorta di depressione
Facile a venire, facile ad andare,
Anche se si perde di più,
Ci saranno scuse per continuare,
C'est la vie!

 
James Tian - Traduzione di Lidia Chiarelli 

JAMES TIAN（田宇）, China.His works have been published in more than 50 newspapers and magazines in China and abroad and have been translated into many languages. He is the Representative of the art-literary Movement IMMAGINE&POESIA in China.

JAMES TIAN ( 田宇）,  Cina. Le sue opere sono state pubblicate in più di 50 giornali e riviste in Cina e all'estero e sono state tradotte in molte lingue. È Rappresentante del Movimento artistico-letterario IMMAGINE&POESIA in Cina.

Lucy ist tot

stürtzte zwólf Meter tief von einem Baum

am Anfang unserer Geschichte

wir reckten uns auf

überzeugt besondere Wesen zu sein

zwischen Tieren und Engeln

doch unsere Herzen sind ein

lӓrmiger Wochenmarkt

unsere Kinder haben die Hӓnder voller Grass

zertreten Spinnen und Ameisen

belauern sich mit Stöcken und Steinen

und als starke Mӓnner

überspringen sie diplomatische Protokolle

ihre Grammatik des Konflikts:

agiere, bevor der Gegner es tut

und kӓmpfe bis zum Sieg

L’empatia un percorso di apprendimento

Lucy è morta

caduta da un albero di dodici metri

all’inizio della nostra storia

e noi ci siamo raddrizzati                                  

credendoci esseri razionali, spirituali

con un posto speciale tra gli angeli e gli animali

eppure, i nostri cuori sono agitati

come un mercato rionale                                   

i bambini hanno le mani piene di erbette strappate

schiacciano ragni e formiche

si rincorrono con sassi e bastoni

e da uomini forti

saltano le procedure diplomatiche

la grammatica dello scontro:

agire prima dell’avversario

e combattere fino alla vittoria

Antje Stehn , Germania

Antje Stehn, Germania, poeta, traduttrice, membro PEN Tedesco, parte del direttivo del Piccolo Museo della Poesia, Piacenza, co-editrice di TamTamBumBum, los Ablucionistas e Teerandaz .Le sue poesie sono state tradotte in diece lingue diverse. Ideatrice del progetto artistico-poetico internazionale “Rucksack a Global Poetry Patchwork“.

◾THE BANTER ◾

Lavender smell is washed away,

The floor stench seems to have been

more prominent, more cogent!

The heaps of food thrown for rotting,

The sun still wakes up in the morning

But the alpen glow takes no home

in sheer effulgence.

What's in this void these days?

Who takes charge of this strange paleness?

Eyes still meet but no trust in them,

People still hug but the knife in their hands,

Countrymen still gossip but more with the edge of toxic debating,

News still is read but on a point of igniting hatred,

Races are still there but with the amalgamation of marauding competency, miss-composition of misplaced ethics,

The mother-tongue is still spoken but no grace in it,

The language of love is still in the air but

None properly interprets the words with the oratory expertise or the tendency of tenderness!

What future holds is not the work of clairvoyants

But the sheer hope of the right people attempting the right steps towards a risky cliff.

On this very moment, this particular poem

might create a turbulence of renaissance

But it won't be viral on the air amongst the foul, craziest, crispiest trends!

  Suchismita Ghoshal, India

Author and Poet, Suchismita Ghoshal hails from the motherland of 'Biswakabi'

Rabindranath Tagore, Bengal. She fosters her creative skills in the grandeur arena of art, culture, creativity, literature, history, archaeology and many more things. Being widely published, she has effectuated a plethora of knowledge, recognitions, publications, awards which outshined her immense struggle and pain

After the Storm

Wounded tree, you lie at my feet

the same feet that climbed

all over you plucking fruit

Cradled in your branches

I bit mangoes above rooftops

Spitting sucked seeds to sprout new trees

The day the storm hit

you defied howling winds,

thunder, limbs swishing wildly

roots holding fast to our ground

till lightening split your solid trunk

leaving you blackened and bleeding

tangled arms reaching for the sky

I wept. Morning came.

Squirrels scampering

among green-gold leaves

showed me a large part of you

still standing tall

hurt but alive

unbent.

Meher Pestonji

Meher Pestonji (india) is a veteran journalist writing on street-kids, housing rights, communalism  while covering theatre, art and interviewing creative people.

She has written two novels, Pervez and Sadak Chhaap, three plays, ‘Piano for Sale’, ‘Feeding Crows’ ‘Turning Point’ and short stories.

She is active on various international poetry groups.

Tea

Amidst the freezing wintry wind,
like a reliable shiver-shield,
you smile in my life.

Metamorphosing hopelessness into hope,
a supporter of poetry-writing,
you gaze at my life.

Settled in the cup,
when you call out to
the little world
sprints to you hot water,
Sacred milk also blesses you.

O Tea!
You’re magical.
Like the mesmerizing swan,
you melt into
each of my free breath.

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Vatsala Radhakeesoon was born in Mauritius in 1977. She is a poet/writer and an artist. Her deep connection to God, Nature and inner blissful solitude has a great impact on her poetry. She currently works as a literary translator and is also an interview editor of Asian Signature journal.

Kiss

Summer is here again.

Lazy like sequences from an old movie

my feet are moving towards the sea,

forever enchanted by what your lips,

-         sea shales hidden under a rock - 

could do to me.

They could speak of distant oceans,

and their bottom, dark bottom

full of surprises,

or they could kiss my hands, leaving pearls

on my palms,

or even kiss the sun,

when - lazy like me - it rises.

Summer is here again

and your lips have kissed me

so many times, burning my skin,

the shell of your life is holding

my heart, like a long lost twin.

Aleksandra Vujisić

Podgorica, Montenegro

Aleksandra Lekić Vujisić  (Podgorica, Montenegro) is a professor of English language and literature, and an award wining  writer of prose and poetry for children and grownups.

AMITA SANGHAVI

‘Alzheimer’s.’

On my cerebral,

How many pathways

Did I erase?

On my cerebral,

How many maps

No longer resurface?

As each link snaps

Between my neurons,

I have a memory lapse,

My forgettery is stronger,

My lapses are much longer.

Every night, night after night,

Why and how did I forget

What we did repeat:

All of us once having dinner

Laughing more,

Sharing the cooking chore,

Sometimes frowning

As the kids,

Refused to have

Some broccoli 

Some blackberries.

My womb-birthed daughters,

I loved to comb their curls,

You wonder how,

Can’t I recall now?

Yet I’m unaware

You face these tortures:

Helpless you,

Helpless they,

Helpless me-

All strangers made

Out of our family tree.

All these jumbled maps,

Memories lapse,

Our past together,

On the verge of collapse.

Our ‘love forever’ promise,

My memory in eternal eclipse.

AMITA SANGHAVI

Amita Sanghavi is a lecturer at Sultan Qaboos University, and a poet, blogger, writer who muses over life's questions.

"Nature's Gift"

Don't spoil 

The valued drop 

The cause of existence on the soil, 

We can't be here forever

Let save it for our future generations,

If we waste it 

Due to this nature's gift,

The nations will fight

I'm to say 

Let's sit,

To save the earth

From the massive conflict.

Oh, wise human,

Show some wisdom

And make the effort

To save the beauty,

And heal your souls.

It's not just a tiny drop,

This is the core of our human race 

To live alive there

Be gentle, oh dear,

And take good care

Of the symbol

Of a long existence.

The precious gift from above

Quenches a thirsty soul

Soothes an aching heart

Tired from all those strife.

Mother Nature chose us to be the protectors

Let us not neglect every drop

For it can save many lives

And not just a few.

Shahid Abbas, Pakistan

Shahid Abbas is a poet and writer from karapla Tandlianwala Faisalabad Pakistan. He is the author of "Words from Nature" and also the co-author of "We Speak In Syllables".

 Shahid's works were already translated into different languages.

Liminal

need folds night's veil of distance: 

eye contact, lamp of touch 

- Man Born Blind by Jonel Abellanosa 

Walls everywhere met, arm in arm – sunken vibrations; 

the idea was to find an ailment in gravity – one decade 

and some years over, I swallowed an unbroken prayer –  

angular peaks of shadows – and watched my father's

temples concave like a skull put under a mountain. 

I kiss the bed of a spiritual man, and wait by his door 

the night his soul is taken by the skies; queues grace

the janazahs of healers – take longer to be buried.  

I have been learning of veils covering shoulders in protest.

The light of a bright sun is a piceous beast on a raw night. 

Teach your tongue to subside like cadaverous sand

in malignant water – what falling from space is unequal

waiting at the doorway of neither here nor there.

Sheikha A., Pakistan and United Arab Emirates 

 Sheikha A. is from Pakistan and United Arab Emirates. Her works appear in a variety of literary venues, both print and online, including several anthologies by different presses. More about her can be found at sheikha82.wordpress.com

КАК НИКТО НИКОГДА

Пусть кружит звездопад, невпопад покидая Вселенную,

Пусть обрушится вмиг на планету сиреневый зной!

Я пленён навсегда добровольными, сладкими пленами,

Об одном лишь мечтая: "Когда-то я буду с тобой!"

Нет прекраснее чувств! Успокой мою душу мятежную!

Если грех так любить - я давно болен этим грехОм!

Лишь в надежде на взгляд и улыбку твою белоснежную,

Я зализывал раны до одури грешным вином.

Чистотою души я влюблён в твою душу красивую!

Ах, за что же мой Бог в жизни грешной меня наградил?

Подарил мне твой образ с глазами невинно-игривыми,

Я люблю тебя так, как никто никогда не любил!

Отмолю все грехи, я сполна  нагрешил на планете ceй!

Будут вёсны кружить... Я с надеждою тайною жил...

Изумлённо поведаю звёздам о новом сюжете я,

Что тебя так люблю, как никто никогда не любил!

ПРИПЕВ:

Обожаю тебя чистотой моей грешной души!

Не сравнимо ни с чем волшебство и твой голос, твой смех,

Я достиг уж давно самых высших блаженства вершин.

Ты мой свет! Ты мой Бог! Моя жизнь, мой причал и мой грех!

COME MAI NESSUNO

Fa che le stelle cadano in cerchio, che l'universo sia lasciato al caso

che vampa di lavanda cada all'istante sul pianeta e lo pervada!

Il mio Io per sempre catturato da volontaria e dolce prigionia

Sono qui e sogno: "Un giorno sarò con te!"

Non c'è emozione più bella! Quieta la mia anima ribelle!

Se è un peccato amare così tanto - è da tempo che sono malata!

Sognando il tuo sguardo e il tuo sorriso niveo,

ho lambito le mie ferite col vino del peccato, fino alla follia

Con anima pura amo te, anima bella!

Oh, per cosa mi ha ricompensato il mio Signore se la vita è caduta proibita?

Mi ha donato la tua immagine perfetta, i tuoi occhi giocosi e innocenti

Ti amo come mai nessuno ha amato - qualcuno o tutti!

Farò ammenda di tutti i miei peccati; e ho peccato molto!

Saranno in cerchio le sorgenti... in me speranza segreta ...

Con stupore racconterò alle stelle questa nuova trama,

Che ti amo così tanto come nessuno ha mai amato!

CORO:

Ti adoro con la purezza della mia anima peccatrice!

Incomparabile magia la tua voce e la tua risata,

Da tempo ho raggiunto le più alte vette di beatitudine.

Tu la mia luce! Tu il mio Dio! La mia vita, il mio nido e il mio peccato!

Natalie Bisso, Russia - Germany

NATALIE BISSO (Vive in Germania, scrive in russo) è  poeta, romanziere, saggista, cantautore. Pubblicazioni in oltre 100 raccolte in 29 lingue in 30 paesi. Figura onoraria della letteratura e delle arti mondiali. Accademico di 3 accademie e diverse associazioni di scrittori, il titolo di Maestro e penna D'Oro . Vincitore multiplo e vincitore di premi speciali.

Лицо поэта (его стихотворение)

Лицо поэта -  его стихотворение,

Пожалуй, в этом и везение,

Не важно, кем родился ты тогда,

А только как однажды выстроил слова.

Что жизнь поэта? Есть ли смысл в ней?

Ответом будет тьма среди огней,

То, что писал поэт, окажется важнее,

Чем был злым он или чуть добрее.

Не важно: пил, курил – об этом все забудут,

Однако пару строчек с рифмой помнить будут.

Простят измены, грубость, хамство, блуд,

И вознесут лишь стихотворный труд.

Не знаю, хорошо ли это или нет,

Великие молчат и не дают ответ,

Толпа шумит точно пчелиный улей,

Вот почему поэт расстался с жизнью пулей.

Facepoet (his poem)

The poet's face is his poem,

Perhaps this is the luck,

It doesn't matter who you were born then,

But only once I built the words.

What is the life of a poet? Does it make sense?

The answer will be darkness among the lights,

What the poet wrote will be more important,

Than he was evil or a little kinder.

It doesn't matter: drank, smoked – everyone will forget about it,

However, a couple of lines with a rhyme will be remembered.

They will forgive treason, rudeness, rudeness, fornication,

And will exalt only poetic labor.

I don't know if it's good or not,

The Great Ones are silent and don't give an answer,

The crowd is making noise like a beehive,

That's why the poet lost his life with a bullet.

Kabishev A.K.

Kabishev Alexander Konstantinovich (K.A.K.) - poet and writer, volunteer journalist of the POET magazine, active participant and director of the magazine at the "LIFE LINE OF EVERY CHILD" foundation, founder and head of the international creative and cultural project "DEMO GOG", editor-in-chief of the HUMANITY magazine, author of the collection of short stories "NIGHTMARE", the collection of poems "DANCE OF POETRY", the novel "RED CORAL" . Curator and organizer of collections of modern prose and poetry "SILICON AGE" (2 volumes), the Russian-Vietnamese collection "DAWN" and the collection "WHISPER IN THE WIND". Director of the ECLF documentary. Member of the Russian Union of Writers. Member of the Writers' Union of North America. Co-author of many collections and publications in magazines and online media. A number of his author's works have been translated and published in Spanish, Arabic, Italian, Vietnamese, English and Tagalog (Russia, Saint Petersburg)

"La vita metterà tutto al suo posto»

I pensieri sono la creazione dell'uomo saggio,

E la parola giusta

Nella materia sottile del creatore prende vita.

Trasformare questa luce

Con pensieri di luce

Ci teniamo al riparo dal male.          

Alcuni peccano senza lamentarsi,

E alcuni si pentono,

Riempiendo così il mondo di vanità.

Alcuni sono viziati dalla fortuna

# E alcuni sono tormentati #

Alla ricerca della santa verità.

 La vita metterà ogni cosa al suo posto 

 E questa è la verità.

 L'eternità è ordinata dagli dei, non da noi.

 Il mondo gira in tondo

 Questa è la verità,

 Così vicino a te e a me.

                      «Жизнь всё расставит по местам»

Мысли - создание мудреца,

А слово верное

В тонкой материи творца оживёт.

Преображая этот свет

Мыслями светлыми,

Мы оградим себя от бед.          

Кто-то безропотно грешит,

А кто-то кается,

Так наполняя этот мир суетой.

Кто-то избалован судьбой,

А кто-то мается

В поисках истины святой.

 Жизнь всё расставит по местам,

 И это истина.

 Вечность предписана Богам, а не нам.

 Мчится по кругу шар земной,

 И это истина,

 Так приближая нас с тобой.

Ирина Шульгина -  Irina Shulgina

   Irina Shulgina:  poet, composer, singer and vocal teacher. Honored Worker of Culture. Soloist of the Krasnoyarsk State Philharmonic Ensemble "KrasA". Head of the family ensemble "Sisters". Honorary Worker of Literature and Art of the International Academy of Literature and Art LIK (Germany). Academician of the Petrovsky Academy of Sciences and Arts. Academician of the International Academy for the Development of Literature and Art. Member of the International Union of Writers. Member of the Writers' Union of North America and MARLEY. Member of the Union of Songwriters of the Krasnoyarsk Territory. Author of more than 300 poems, songs in different genres and hymns! Representative of the Federation of the world community of culture and art of Singapore. I will be glad to creative friendship and cooperation and participation in your poetry projects!

NEK BUDE PESMA                                                         SIA UNA CANZONE

Pucaj pesmo                                                              Spara canzone,

u grudi, u grlo, u mozak, udri,                                    spara al petto, alla gola, al cervello, batti,

podigni ruke, otvori oči, sve probudi                          alza le mani, apri gli occhi, sveglia tutti;

i razveseli, rasplači, samo ne ćuti.                              fagli stare in pianto, gioia, soggezione.

Pucaj u srce, napravi mesto                                       Spara al cuore, lascia il posto

za ljubav, decu, za budućnost                                    per amore, bambini, futuro;

ciljaj u meso, u dušu, u kosti,                                    mira a carne, anima, osso,

neka zaboli, pevaj o radosti.                                      lascia che faccia male, canta di gioia.

U pupak zavuci prste                                                 Metti nell'ombelico le dita

i grči, gnječi, miluj i voli.                                          amalgama, accarezza e ama.

Nemirna, rađaj se pesmo                                           Inquieta, nasci canzone

i plači, život budi.                                                      e piangi, sii la vita.

Vesna V. Maksimović, Kragujevac, Serbia

Translator: Marijana Šuković, Kragujevac, Serbia

Vesna V. Maksimović, painter, poet (1972, Kragujevac, Serbia). She is the author of four collections of poetry. She is painting on silk. She was a participant in art colonies, solo and collective exhibitions of paintings in the country and abroad.

Last Time

Sun, how beautiful you are

Do you remember me?

Your bright rays 

Warmed my heart before.

Star, how far are you

I wish I could catch you

I wish I could put you in my pocket

But in vain, you are untouchable.

Soil, black as night, as heavy as a sin

You are very near; I can even touch you

I can feel your voice

You call the lost souls, last time.

Lʼ Ultima volta

Sole, quanto sei bella

Ti ricordi di me?

I tuoi raggi luminosi

Hai scaldato il mio cuore già.

Stella, quanto sei lontano?

Vorrei poterti prendere

Vorrei poterti mettere in tasca

Ma invano sei intoccabile.

Terra, nera come la notte, pesante come il peccato

Sei molto vicino, posso anche toccarti

Riesco a sentire la tua voce

Chiami le anime perse lʼultima volta.

 Ana Stjelja, Serbia

Ana Stjelja (1982) is an award-winning Serbian poet, writer, translator, journalist, independent scientific researcher and editor. She published more than 30 books of different literary genres. In 2018 she established the Association “Alia Mundi” for promoting cultural diversity. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Serbia, the Association of Literary Translators of Serbia, the Association of Journalists of Serbia and the International Federation of Journalists (IFJ). She lives in Belgrade.

Трисуття Вишні

За кожною стеблинкою стоїть листочок,

На кожнім вимірі у сні – бринить дзвіночок.

У сонячнім сплетінні видно

Три позолоти- жили…

То наші предки,

Наші пройдені блавати,

Наші віри.

У кожного стоїть своя свіча,

На кожнім вітрі алича

Планує вицвітати,

Допоки ніжиться весна,

Допоки син, допоки мати –

А потім всі прийдешні шати

Злітатимуть у світло тіні,

Носитимуть краплинами води,

У роті виплекають мову,

Три сутності в Обнову –

Вкраїни суть,

В обнову знову –

Праотче, Українську Мову.

Three hundred cherries

Behind each stalk is a leaf,

On each dimension in a dream - a bell rings.

In the solar plexus is visible

Three gilded veins…

Then our ancestors,

our past blah,

Our faiths.

Everyone has their own candle,

In every wind there is a cherry tree

Plans to fade

As long as spring is tender,

As long as the son, as long as the mother -

And then all the coming clothes

It will rise in the light of the shadows,

Wear drops of water,

The tongue is nurtured in the mouth,

Three Essences in Update -

Ukraine is the essence,

Update again -

Father,  Ukrainian language.

TETYANA HRYTSAN-CHONKA

TETYANA HRYTSAN-CHONKA

Ukrainian writer,   lives  in Transcarpathia.  Author of 11 collections of poetry and the novel-essay "Living Doors, or I - the blind Apple of the ages. I am a Woman .. In particular: Laureate of the Panteleimon Kulish International Literary and Artistic Prize (2020) - for the book of prose "Living Doors, or I am a ripe apple of the ages, I am a Woman", Laureate of the international competition "Pushkin and Gogol in Italy", Laureate of the International Prize. Franz Kafka, Laureate of the International Golden Feather Award in Azerbaijan and others.

waltz of the damned

diamonds worn on the skin,

diamonds worn in the morning star's brightness:

we are love to loved ones

and together we bark the soul's demolition.

this is together the end of nemesis

where sunflowers reach in torpor

for the Sunday Times.

we are turning to crime on streets of passion—

we are breaking bread with the foreigners.

the crystal ball shadowed black with an angel's wing.

 Dustin Pickering, U.S.A.

Dustin Pickering is founder of Transcendent Zero Press. His poetry collections include Salt and Sorrow, Knows No End, The Stone and the Square, Frenetic/No Contest: Ekphrastics, Only and Again, and several others. He is published at Colorado Review, The Statesman (India), and World Literature Today. 

Memory For a Day

Every day has a highlight,

Like a sparkle in a painting.

Just as the moon floats between clouds hidden from view

A breath of fullness

 Remains in memories.

A phrase dipped in gold,

A bite of gladness,

Truth revealed,

Brushworks of infinity,

A tomato pulled from the sky,

As a blue jay appears.

A spray of light

Fixed in a smile.

 Marsha Solomon, U.S.A.

Marsha Solomon has been living and working as a painter and a poet in New York. Her work has been presented in museums and galleries in the US and Europe, and has been the subject of eight solo exhibitions.

www.marshasolomon.com

Ho Attraversata Tutta la Città

[first line of “Trieste” by Umberto Saba]

My long-distance friend, Cara Lidia,

tells me that Italians use the phrase,

un viaggiatore in poltrona for what I am,

which in English we call “an armchair traveler.”

My wife prepares a favorite dinner,

scampi alla busara. Ah, now you’ve guessed!

Settled in my armchair, after dinner

my imaginary destination: Trieste!

Who better to guide me? Umberto Saba!

On Via San Nicolò we enter

La Libreria Antica e Moderna,

the bookshop he bought 1914.

Saba’s poems let tradition speak

to and though modernity.

He lives today! Yes, he lives

so long as we read his poems.

My journey ends.

And, it is now I “return”

to my armchair and open

my copy of Saba’s Poesie.

Neal Whitman, U.S.A.

Neal Whitman lives in Pacific Grove, California, with his wife Elaine, where they spend many evenings after dinner reading prose and poetry. In 2021 Neal won Best Foreign poem, I Colori Dell’Anima.

PEACE

May there always be peace,

Let there be no war.

May our country be beautiful,

Rejoice, our people.

Wherever you go, always,

Do good to you.

They say that even the ancestors,

The near future is you.

Always in our country,

It's a wedding, it's a spectacle.

Tulips on the hill,

Come on guys.

We celebrate,

Now you guys.

In our independent hands

When we live happily

PACE

Che ci sia sempre la pace,

che non ci siano guerre.

Che il nostro Paese sia bello,

Rallegratevi, popolo nostro.

Ovunque andiate, sempre,

fate del bene a voi stessi.

Si dice che anche gli antenati,

Il futuro prossimo siete voi.

Sempre nel nostro Paese,

È un matrimonio, è uno spettacolo.

Tulipani sulla collina,

Andiamo, ragazzi.

Noi festeggiamo,

Ora voi ragazzi.

Nelle nostre mani indipendenti

Quando viviamo felici

Abdumominov Abdulloh - Uzbekistan

La primera.

Soy la primera

estoy en el inicio

del tiempo

en la mitad de la penumbra

en la partícula

de este ocaso

y al filo

del derrumbe.

Soy todas

y ninguna.

The first.

I am the first

I'm at the beginning

Of time

In the middle of the gloom

In the particle

Of this sunset

And to the edge

Of the collapse.

I am all

And none.

Mariela Cordero, Venezuela

Mariela Cordero, (Valencia, Venezuela) (1985). Poet, writer,translator and visual artist. Third Poetry Prize Pizarnik Argentina (2014). First Prize in the II Iberoamerican Poetry Contest Euler Granda, Ecuador (2015). Second Prize for Poetry Concorso Letterario Internazionale Bilingual Tracceperlameta Edizioni, Italy (2015) First Prize in Castilian micropoems Transpalabrarte (2015)

THE ASPIRATION

If I were a velvet rose able to say my romance

All my lifetime, I would spread the fragrance

I only have such a simple will as ever

To dedicate to the man who is my true lover

My sweet fragrance wafts to space all over

The desire is submerged the passionate color

For every lively trust in life needed

It harmonies to make our love complete

The true, the good, the beautiful are my desires

Living for people, I respect this value as ever

Originally literature helps me sublimate my soul

And music, painting with glittering feature halo

I send you my fresh sweetness for our love ties

The poet's life is flowing like a gentle river, you see

Flowing to the immense blue sea like a wave in motion

Longing for a salty taste brightens my heart's emotions

The pulse of life, our warm love cannot be exhausted

Though our life vicissitudes in this worldly life, indeed

Kindness and truth reflect my poet soul, insight

To burn to the endless with my heart and mind.

KHÁT VỌNG

Tác giả HỒNG NGỌC CHÂU

Quốc gia: VIỆT NAM

Nếu em là một đóa hồng nhung

Em tỏa hương thơm đến tận cùng

Chỉ với ước mong đơn giản thế.

Tặng người em nghĩ bạn tình chung.

Ngọt ngào phảng phất hương lay động

Khát vọng ươm màu sắc thiết tha

Cho mọi niềm tin yêu sống động

Hài hòa mãn nguyện trọn tình ta.

Chân, thiện, mỹ là điều em ao ước

Sống vì người, giá trị em thượng tôn

Vốn văn chương giúp em thăng hoa hồn

Và nhạc họa bao nét riêng lấp lánh

Em gửi đến anh ý ngọt lành

Đời thơ tuôn chảy một dòng sông

Vận hành ra biển như con sóng

Khát vị mặn trùng khơi sáng lòng

Mạch sống, tình yêu chẳng thể cạn

Bổng trầm cung bậc kiếp nhân sinh

Thiện chân phản chiếu hồn thi sĩ

Cháy đến kiệt cùng tim óc mình.

HONG NGOC CHAU, Vietnam

HNC@All Rights Reserved

Her true name is NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH. Her Pen name is HONG NGOC CHAU, her Facebook name is NGUYEN CHINH. She is a Master Education Management. She is a member of the Association of Writers of Ho Chi Minh City (Vietnam; the member Admin of W.U. P (World Union of Poets), the level of GENERAL COUNCILOR of the World Union of Poets with COORDINATORS SILVER MEDAL ( 14th medal of the World Union of Poets), International Ambassador of the Cercle of the International Chamber of Writers & Artists, Administrator, moderator, group expert of many literary forums around the world...