BLERINA PËLLUMBI

 

Picasso Under the Skin…

 

Time will step upon our skins

Like a thin brush with colors of emotions,

It will paint every joy, every sorrow,

Like a canvas that burns through centuries.

 

There will take life thousands of meadow flowers,

There will be a moon, there will also be a sun,

Breaths will be born like waterfalls of seas,

In skies overfilled with rain.

 

Picasso will be in every written fragment,

A life that is painted even when others forget,

It shines beneath its own lonely shadow,

With the colors of the soul it will always live.

 

 

 

BLERINA PËLLUMBI -ALBANIA

 

Blerina Pëllumbi (Demo) was born in the beautiful city of Korçë, Albania. 

Blerina is one of the promising young voices in Albanian literature. She graduated from "Fan Stilian Noli" University as a teacher, and after her studies, she worked for about 10 years as a teacher in her hometown.

The first publication by the author was a book titled "The Tears of a Woman," a novel based on the true story of an Albanian woman. This book is the winner of the title Author of the Year 2025 by International Impakt Book Awards. She has published several books.

 

_______________________________

 

Marjeta Shatro Rrapaj

 

 

THE MAGIC OF WORDS

 

They wrote something

It implies a lot

You think you are understood

But you are misunderstood more

What you express

Cannot be what they understand

Everything hidden in the depths

Raises doubt about writing on the surface

Everyone understands as much as they know and as much as they can

If not all a part of the thought is revealed

When the whole is covered with the clothing of words

The magic of words is not revealed by everyone

What seems simple

Can be more complicated

The energy of words creates a source of light

For open minds that live with light

Mystery how this magic affects those

Who offer themselves to the art of words

The miracle that awakens love for life

Through the good intention of words

 

 

Marjeta Shatro Rrapaj

Sarande, Albania

She is the writer of 13 books, translator and corrector.

_______________________________

 

 

 

 

 

Gustavo M. Galliano

 

ALGUIEN OBSERVANDO 

 

Te he observado espiar tras las cortinas,

con la mirada perdida en algún horizonte,

devorando a otras gentes  tan indiferentes

que desmenuzan veredas sólo por costumbre.

He notado la inquietud de tus pupilas,

las manos crispadas por tanta impotencia,

y un suspiro profundo empaño los cristales,

sin poder destruirlos como hubieras deseado.

Te he visto observar desde tu fortaleza,

con frente sudorosa y aspecto cansino,

bebiendo la brisa que obsequia la noche,

sin penas ni glorias, solo por destino.

He comprendido de pronto tus dudas y temores,

náufrago del llanto que abraza la impaciencia,

soñando una isla sin tesoros ni puertos,

y miles de gaviotas de incesante vuelo.

Te he visto observar hacia mi ventana,

papel y lápiz en mano, escribiéndome  algo,

y dudé entonces si en verdad existías

o un gigantesco espejo pendía del cielo.—

®

 

Gustavo M. Galliano

 

Breve Biografía  de Gustavo M. Galliano (Rosario, SF, ARGENTINA):

 

Profesor Universitario de UNR (Argentina), Sec. Técnico de REDIM (MERCOSUR y UE). Diplomado en Calidad e Innovación Educativa. Doctor Hc. del IFCH (Marruecos). Especialista en periodismo digital. Escritor, poeta, narrador, colaborador especializado de revistas literarias. Traducido en más de 100 países.

 

__________________________________

 

Nicolás Antonioli 

 

 

ELIANA

 

Otro sueño mío era picar una vena de su cuerpo

y mirar todos los colores de su sangre.

Félix Contreras

En mi levedad onírica
se posa como un pájaro
sobre lo que queda de mi vida terrestre
melodía que tuerce las ramas de los cóndores
el aire entrecortado de mi sueño
fluye afilado de imago
tensa el hilo que da cuerda
a los mundos imposibles que crea
en cada subterfugio de su lengua
se oculta una verdad que trepida
como una bandurria que grazna su carencia
a orillas del lago su palabra es tierna como piedra
y mordaz como un vampiro
sus oídos ven más allá
nadie ose horadarla
con su amor inflamable
hasta despellejar la lluvia de mi mente

 

 

Nicolás Antonioli (Buenos Aires, Argentina, 1985). Profesor en Letras, escritor y editor. Libros en poesía: se necesitan ojos (2005), mano emplumada (2013), las carnes ayunas (2017) y cosmografía marciana o polvo suspendido en un rayo de sol (2022). Premio Binacional de Poesía ArBol 2014 (Argentina-Bolivia). Beca Creación FNA 2021.

_________________________

 

 

 

Denise O’Hagan

 

Street seasons

 

Summer was marked out

In the red curve of watermelon slices,

Dripping water pearls from a tiered rack.

                             

That russet-tinted after-season, autumn,

Blew in with the leaves, moist and cool:

By late afternoon, the pavements blushed.

 

Coiled in the sweet Christmas smell

Of ember-warm, shell-cracking chestnuts,

Lay winter, in rough newspaper cones.

 

As the air quickened and buds thickened

Spring slipped in, like a half-smile,

And the watermelons grew plump.

 

First published in Vox Galvia, Galway Advertiser, 20 November 2020

 

 

Denise O’Hagan is a Sydney-based poet, born in Rome. She has a background in publishing and is co-editor on The Marrow. Her recent awards include the Monica Taylor Poetry Prize and the NSW Poetry Prize. Her third poetry collection, What the Mirror Tells, is forthcoming with 5 Islands Press (2026). https://denise-ohagan.com

 

______________________________________________

 

 

 

Kabita Costa

 

 

 Life of hardship, how many people know to build!

 

 

From the pain of failure to success

Collecting and extracting stories, as simple as that.

The cries of people in distress

Wipe the chest courage to build,

It is quite challenging!

Everyone can give a hug.

How many people are carefully prepared?

 

Get ready stuff easily

Everyone is hesitant to create it,

What kind of vow is this of social service?

O, Bowed in Silence, You!

 

Bravo! Well done. Full of sound.

You want to be praised all the time.

If someone cries in deep sorrow

Tell him to stay away from the front.

The weary traveler reached the end of the road.

"Save me," he roared, running away.

Absorbed in your love and you despise him.

 

Where is the humanity here?

Always seek the respect of the world!

 

 

 

 

Kabita Costa is Writer, Poet, Reciter, Teachers, Story and Drama Writer, Song Builder. More than 800 of poems composed. Journalist of the local newspaper, social worker. From Dhaka city of Bangladesh.

 

__________________________

 

 

Nonvithy David Roland SOGLO

 

La culture en couleurs

 

Ô Culture!

Toi qui es notre histoire,

Reflet de notre héritage,

Au Bénin, le Mantindjan un plat d’Abomey,

Faisant saliver nos glandes buccales,

Au Sénégal, où le Tchèp ou en Wollof « Ceebu Jën » succulent soit-il?

Fait saliver tout dégustateur,

En Côte d’Ivoire où l’Attiéké attire du monde,

Et qui éveille les papilles gustatives,

Le Mexique exhibe sa boisson  tonifiante et énergique Tequila ,

En Italie où  les pâtes alimentaires (spaghetti) donnent des envies dégustatives,

Les haciendas qui transforment des raisins et vignes en vins,

Le Feijoada plat typique du Brésil,

Qui fait mordre la langue,

La salsa, la bachata et la Rumba qui voyagent de l’Amérique, en Afrique et dans le monde,

Identité africaine,

Identité latino-américaine,

Fierté afro-latino-américaine.

 

 

 

 

Nonvithy David Roland SOGLO alias Sonodav le Poète Multi-Plume est un écrivain et poète béninois né le 13 mai 2003 à Ouidah. Étudiant en Master 1 en Management culturel et touristique à l’UAC, il est formé en patrimoine culturel et civilisations afro-hispano-américaines. Il est lauréat du Concours Littéraire International de Poésie “OSSI DI SEPPIA” (catégorie B Recueil de poèmes) 2026, distingué au Concours Littéraire International Amilcare Solferini 2025 et ambassadeur médaillé des Trophées Cudjo Lewis 2024. Son écriture explore la mémoire et les héritages afro-diasporiques.

 

________________________________

 

 

Dr. Haji Mohd Ali bin Haji Radin (H.MAR)

 

SONG IN THE CITY OF LIGHT

 

 

We were born
from shanty houses
and from sweat that never entered
the pages of this city’s history.

.

Our ancestors spoke its name
as though uttering something sacred,
softly,
afraid it might be wounded by a discordant voice.

.

In this city
freedom did not arrive as a gift;
we unearthed it
from the depths of a long and patient history.

.

On certain nights, when the city overflows with light,
voices still whisper from beneath the soil:
“Do not forget—
freedom is not an event,
it is a journey that never ends.”

.

 

So we write its meaning within ourselves,
standing uncolonised, unenslaved,
a long song in the city of light.

 

 

Dr. Haji Mohd Ali bin Haji Radin (H.MAR) is a Bruneian writer and Senior Language Officer at the Language and Literature Bureau, Ministry of Culture, Youth and Sports, Brunei Darussalam. His works are published and translated internationally. Recipient of important national and international awards.

____________________________

 

 Huguette Bertrand 

 

UN AUTRE JOUR

 

À cause d'une lente noirceur

imprégnée sur vos corps assoupis

j'ai dû veiller au bord de la page

surveillant un peuple d'images

qui tournoyaient autour des mots

 

quel étrange bonheur lorsque hier

une pluie de paroles déferlait

sur vos silences d'autrefois

pourchassant les jours

jusqu'aux frontières de vos souvenirs

 

imaginez demain

quand il faudra balayer les feuilles mortes

les vieilles pierres crachées par la nuit

et les cendres des promeneurs en allés

 

vous chercherez ensuite

les mots fragiles

à peindre sur la liberté de l'autre

incitant la flamme de vos bras nus

à reprendre le poème entamé la veille

 

 

 

Poète et éditrice, Huguette Bertrand (Canada) a publié 39 ouvrages de poésie dont plusieurs en collaboration avec des artistes en art visuel et photographie. De nombreux textes ont paru dans diverses revues et anthologies internationales imprimées et en ligne. Certains de ses poèmes ont été traduits en plusieurs langues.

 

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

____________________________

 

John Peter Portelli

 

 

DEPARTURE

 

A dream followed by a dream

a word followed by a word,

it is now time to depart

and I had to wake up,

bare myself naked like clothes

after hanging in a balcony for an entire night

hoping they will be removed before the scorching sun arrives,

and promptly I departed

abandoning all the memories,

not even the echo of the hissing of the swallows

roving over the cliffs of misery

where every summer I basked in the blazing sun,

lost in the narrowness of a country that placed

a noose around my neck,

I could no longer bear it,

and the endless drops of sweat washed away

the sorrow of the pointed cliffs,

but all was in vain

I had to depart,

and so I departed

nothing could hold me back,

not even the sweetnes of the watermellons

nor my mother’s sobbing

nor the fully charged sea

nor the hugs of friends

nor the chiming of the village bells;

how could I not have departed?

And I flew in the corridors of migrant birds

who taught me the meaning of departure:

heaviness

heaviness

heaviness.

 

 

It-tluq  (in Maltese)

 

Kelma wara kelma, ħolma wara ħolma

sar il-ħin tat-tluq

u kelli nqum biex nitlaq

nitperreċ bħal ħwejjeġ wara lejl imdendla fil-gallarija

jittamaw li jaqlgħuhom qabel toħroġ ix-xemx;

u bilġri tlaqt

xejn aktar memorji

lanqas l-eku tat-tpespis tal-ħuttaf fl-irdum tal-miżerji

fejn tbaskajt sewwa kull sajf nehwden bid-djuq

ta’ pajjiż li rabatli ngassa m’għonqi

ma flaħtx inġerrħu aktar

taqtira taqtira l-għaraq ħasel il-ponot kollha tal-irdum

kollox kien għalxejn

kelli nitlaq

u tlaqt;

xejn ma seta’ jwaqqafni

la l-ħlewwa tad-dulliegħ

la l-biki t’ommi

la l-baħar ikkargat

la t-tgħanniq tal-ħbieb

la d-daqq tal-qniepen tar-raħal;

kif stajt ma nitlaqx?

U tirt għall-kuruturi tal-għasafar

li għallmuni xi jfisser sewwa t-tluq:

toqol

toqol

toqol

 

 

John Peter Portelli (born 21 March 1954) is a professor emeritus, poet and fiction writer from Malta who resides in Toronto, Canada, and Malta. His published works include several academic books and collections of poems.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Peter_Portelli

 

______________________

 

 

 

Luis Cruz-Billalobos

 

MUDDY PONDS

 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you 

for never reading my eyes. 

There was always time for other reasons, 

other causes, weighty, compelling.

Please, never tell me again 

that I am someone who disguises himself 

as a fragile shipwreck. 

Because I truly tell you: 

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to forgive you 

for never having read my eyes, 

the ones I left in silence 

 

on the murky ponds of my words.

 

 

 

Luis Cruz-Billalobos (born in Santiago, Chile in 1976) is a writer, publisher and psychotherapist. His literary works include poetry and academic papers, and he has published over sixty books.. He is a member of the Chilean Writers' Association, the World Poets' Academy, and the international poetry network "Poets on Earth". In 2025, he was awarded the highest prize of the Konstanz International Poetry Forum - the Le Cocq de Brancusi Prize.

 

__________________________________

 

 

Jin Tso

 

 

At Nightfall

 

The purple sunset slid to the horizon

Reflecting the black mountains

The water of the lake is dyed a lonely red

 

Darkness suddenly enveloped the earth

There is no moon and no stars

And the dark clouds clearly visible in the darkness of the night

 

You can't see the world clearly

Thankfully, this world

Cannot see you clearly either

 

 

 

Jin Tso is a young Tibetan poet living in Guizhou, China. She is writing poetry and prose with Chinese. Jin Tso's poetry has been translated into English and published both domestically and internationally. And her work appeared in the renowned World Poetry Almanac. In 2025, she has received an award for excellent poetry in her country. 

 

______________________________

 

Cao Shui

 

Mermaid

 

 

I walk along carrying an injured fish

This pot only fits one fish

How was it that the fish was injured?

I too want to know the answer

Only an examination will reveal the truth

I traveled past mountain ranges, bodies of water

I travel through centuries, millenia

Great rivers cut through deep valleys

One night I fell into flooding waters

The fish jumped out from the jar

I could only stare as she left

People say I'm affable

The fish now becomes a mermaid

With servant girls by her side

A waning moon sits upon my head

The mermaid ascends the moon

A drop of fragrant dew drops down

I extended my hands to catch it

And suddenly understood life that's passed, life that comes

 

Translated by  Brendan Higginbottom（USA）

 

 

 

Cao Shui is a Chinese poet, novelist, screenwrite and Doctor of Literature. He leads the Great Poetry Movement. So far 51 books of Cao Shui have been published, including 10 poem collections, 5 essay collections, 10 novels, 18 fairy tales. He has won more than 100 literary awards worldwide. His works have been translated into 36 languages. 

__________________________

 

 Li Chengen

 

Sleeping Landscape

 

 

Half of my sleep is in the water and half is buried in the valley

I'm not a god, I'm just a sleeping child

Wearing clothes of dreams, 

with beautiful moss hanging all over her face

The cows and horses across the mountain 

know that I have come down the mountain

I have an ignorant smile on my face

Like animals afraid of the cold

On frosty days, hide snake skin and droop captivating eyelids

Walking under the moonlight, peel layer by layer

The blue printed cloth covers my head, 

and the green snake I fed in my dream faces the frosty sun

Lift up the pointed face

Its shining neck wrapped around the mountains and waters

My tail stepped under my feet, struggling hard

Oh, the silver frost I saw when I woke up

Is it a dream for me in the next life?

Tell me the landscape is upside down

Dementia slowly descending the mountain

Dizziness with water

（English Translated by Cao Shui）

 

 

 

Li Chengen, a female writer born in the 1980s. Member of the Chinese Writers Association and contracted writer of the Beijing Writers Association. He has written 25 collections of poetry, essays, novels, fairy tales, picture books, and more. The work has been translated into over 10 foreign languages and has published multiple English poetry collections in the United States.

_________________________________

 

 

 Cao Bo

 

A Little Bird

 

Winter, hazy, heavy, epidemic

The bird died at nightfall

It took its curtain call

When evening descended

Natural, peaceful, at the stairs, a little sad

It was no longer lonely. I picked it up, went downstairs

And buried it, beside the stairs

The instant it died, it was pretty elegant, deserving the reputation of 

A good bird

Burying it beside the stairs

Smoothing the soil, and scattering some dead branches

Then I went upstairs

And continued

With my drinking

 

（Translated by Cao Shui）

 

 

Cao Bo, born in November 1979, lives in Xi’an, China. He is a Chinese postmodernism poet and an avant-garde poet. His devotion to poem writing started when he was 20. He has published poetry collections Yesterday’s Episode (2017), You Are a Cat (2019), The Man at Sea (2020) and Rosefinch (2023). 

___________________________________

 

 

梁志伟 雪花

 Liang Zhiwei 

 

Snowflake

 

I am a poetic child who loves to play with snow

Collect millions of snowflakes year after year

Spread on the hillside, a bed sheet waiting for her

And the two children without suspicion

 

Wait, wait for fifty years

Snowflakes covered the heads of both of us

She still hasn't come

 

I know she married Winter

But I just like it in winter

A lifetime of infatuation and waiting

Listen quietly to the snowflakes blooming

 

 

 

 Liang Zhiwei was an avant-garde poet from Shanghai, China in the 1980s. He was also an editor of the Labor Daily supplement and an antique collector.He has published 20 poetry collections such as"Awakening"and "Soul of Flame", as well as some collection monographs.

_____________________________________

 

Cao Tian 

 

Living on in Degradation

 

Living in the world for so many springs and autumns

Still I lack the courage utter the word “love”

In the sea of people I am cautiously nudging and dodging

A walking skeleton who achieves nothing yet ridden with wounds

 

Deep into the night I am often lost in speculation

I am sorry to my earth and the sun which shines on me

As well as the food, cloth and hedge wine

 

Without knowledge when childhood hearty laughter is lost

The blame can only be shifted on the much muddy road

Along which sprinkled are her soft nothings and the tender moonlight

 

From far away there is a voice calling my pet name

Listen carefully and it is my native kitchen smoke beckoning to me

The green wheat in my private plot is beckoning to me

The wild grass on the old wall is beckoning to me

My father in the tomb is beckoning to me

 

But… how to go home

I have got my homework notebook marked with failure lost in the wind

I must return by the gathering gloaming

Like a stray dog on a snowy winter day who tucks its tail between its legs

 

Cao Tian, a famous poet and writer in contemporary China, was born in 1968 in Lankao County, Henan Province.

He holds PhD degree in law, and is the author of seven books such as Heroes Under Heaven, Symphony Between Heaven

and Earth, Taken to the Heather, etc., and some of his poems and prose have been included into textbooks for middle

school and university students. He is the recipient of the annual golden medal prize by People’s Literature and

 

Competition of Chinese Poetry Composition.

 

_______________________________________________

 

Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai

 

 

The Vesper Bell upon the Buffalo’s Back

 

Dusk gathers the paddies; the village road thins into a wisp of ancient smoke.

From the spring mud a water buffalo emerges, bearing half an ancestral moon upon its back.

The furrow is not the wound of earth,

but time, with iron for a pen, writing its long scroll to famine and harvest.

Once, the hearth kept vigil beneath the low eaves,

simmering a whole village’s silence into the fragrance of rice.

Then the temple drums broke forth;

the god’s palanquin wheeled through the slanting sun, red lanterns like stars, incense like dream.

Those who carried it received the deity upon their shoulders,

and also the fate for which they had nowhere else to plead.

In childhood, beneath the opera shed, we looked up toward the ringing gongs,

believing all mortal grief and joy could be sung through in a single night.

Later, iron wheels entered the village;

high-rises rose from the edge of the fields, like monuments of an unfamiliar age.

The buffalo bell sank among the grass roots;

farm tools leaned against the wall, like abdicated ministers still guarding an unsummoned dynasty.

The young departed, folding their homeland into a ticket;

neon bloomed in the distance, yet bore no fruit.

I stood in the fallow field, hearing dew recite a scripture without words:

that buffalo’s hoofbeat still tolls the evening bell for a vanishing agrarian civilization.

 

 

Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai (Taiwan- China) is a retired professor and currently a freelance writer. He has long been devoted to the writing of essays, fiction, poetry, and scripts. 

 

His works often draw upon family memories, natural landscapes, and the everyday lives of ordinary people, combining self-deprecating humor, warm storytelling, and humanistic concern.

______________________________________

 

 

  Abdel Latif Moubarak 

 

The Scars of Salvation

 

 

  Let the halos of my heart fall from my brow,
  A light I thought I’d find while resting on the shoulder of the word,
  The one that hums a tune through the folds of this poem.
  Illuminate for others my journey, this bitter taste of a homeland’s pain,
  The anguish that fills it, stirring with every dawn
  That rises on a morning full of nonsense.
  The word was powerless then,
  Unable to forge a new space for confession,
  Or pluck a bejeweled pearl from its sky
  To gift to the poor, the orphans, the forgotten,
  Those on the brink of death.
  I know I am the zero from which all poets begin,
  The seed whose sprout only grew in the shadow of my ancestors’ verses.
  From them, I drew the strength to survive,
  Dreaming of their blissful, generous seas.
  I lean on them all with a pride that lifts me
  Into realms bright with the light of their wisdom, O Lady Poem.
  All I ever wanted from you was salvation,
  To end on your shores.
  I began you (or you began me) among the transients
  In a city whose streets had all gone dark,
  Forgotten by long wars, then awakened just once
  By the triumph of survivors, and drops of hope
  That thirst couldn’t defeat.
  Between tables of gunpowder and napalm,
  Scattered limbs and blood-stained walls,
  Jackets lie vomiting on the sides of ruins,
  With the words “I was here” scrawled upon them.
  A hemorrhage of questions.
  How I’ve longed for my poems to take them on,
  A path to grief and to release.
  I craft my shoot for the fated crowd,
  And belong to the march coming from those forgotten lands
  Hidden in the folds of shackles and prison cells,
  The torment of hungry stomachs,
  The gasping of tongues behind cries for departure,
  The absence of hope for a coming brilliance
  That carries on its face the radiance of the impossible.
  Lady Poem, I know glory in your proof.
  I know the secret in your river.
  This is how we meet, and with us, we meet
  A life that has no shrine,
  A life that only survived through an impossible bargain
  Between a bundle of thorns that grew just once
  From the pain of salvation.
  I am destined to live and to see the city
  Be the first to bless the burning heat of a step toward freedom,
  Swearing by the fading glory in its children’s eyes,
  The honeyed treasures flowing over a new homeland.

 

 

   Abdel Latif Moubarak was born in Suez and writes poetry using classical Arabic and Egyptian vernacular. He received a Bachelor of Law from Ain Shams University. He was one of the most important poets of the 1980s and his poems were published in several literary magazines in Egypt and the Arab world, including the Arab magazine, Kuwait magazine, News Literature, Republic newspaper, Al-Ahram, the new publishing culture (magazine).[1] Received the Excellence and Creativity Shield from the Arab Media Union in 2014 and Won the shield of excellence and creativity from the East Academy 2021.He won the Sergio Camellini International Award in Italy in 2025. He won first place in the "Divinamente Donna" competition in Italy 2026.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abdel_Latif_Moubarak?wprov=sfla1

 

___________________________________

 

Ernesto P. Santiago

 

War Butterfly 

 

In the middle of chaos—

machine-gun fire and exploding 

shells, I see a butterfly

as if to sleep in a groundsheet, 

wrapping its wings of dreams

the way I fold my arms 

gently across my rugged chest 

when trying to appreciate the present 

moment of uncopyrighted time 

doing nothing but to hope.

I pick up a dead comrade 

and lay him down, lay him down 

the way the butterflies lay 

down to rest from the journey 

of light, and when you love butterflies  

you simply cannot bear 

to just leave them without care

like they do not matter.

But then I have to keep fighting,

fighting for another dawn. 

 

Ernesto P. Santiago (Greece|Philippines)  for a long time had believed that poetry is his flowing (es)cape to a higher understanding of the wor(l)d. He spends all his free time between here and there, trying to learn something. He is too small for his ego. He is enough for himself. He is fully confident in his identity with a Filipino heart. He lives in Athens, Greece. 

______________________________

 

 Βania Sofia

 

 The Garment of Passion

 

I stood in front of a mirror.

And he didn't ask me what I was wearing but what I was.

In one hand I held the garment of fashion.

Its fabric bathed in light, myrrh, graced the senses.

It had a borrowed color that magnetized the gazes of others.

In my other hand I held the garment of passion.

The fabric was rough, with seams of memory and stains of dreams.

A unique ornament, a pearl that has no dazzling shine

but flame and rose-gold passion from the sanctuaries of the soul,

which flows like lava,

which flows like a river.

I wore fashion first and the world applauded me.

Their eyes were fixed on the fabric and

not on the seam of the soul.

I shone momentarily but, although dressed, my soul was cold.

I took it off and was left naked not of clothes but of lies.

Then I put on passion, the only true garment

that adorns not the body but the soul..

The world did not turn to look at me because I did not wear shine.

But I wore truth that does not seek eyes for admiration.

But I put it on and walked. It was enough for me.

 

 Το ένδυμα του πάθους

 

Στάθηκα μπροστά σε ένα καθρέπτη. 

Κι εκείνος δε με ρώτησε τι φοράω αλλά τι είμαι.

Στο ένα χέρι κρατούσα το ένδυμα της μόδας .

Το ύφασμα του λουσμένο στο φως  μύρο χάριζε στις αισθήσεις .

Είχε χρώμα δανεικό που μαγνήτιζε τα βλέμματα των άλλων 

Στο άλλο μου χέρι κρατούσα το ένδυμα του πάθους.

Το ύφασμα τραχύ ,με ραφές από μνήμη και λεκέδες ονείρων .

Μοναδικό στολίδι ένα μαργαριτάρι που δεν έχει λάμψη εκτυφλωτική 

αλλά φλόγα και ροδόχρυσο πάθος από τα άδυτα της ψυχής ,

που κυλά σαν λάβα , που ρέει σαν ποτάμι.

Φόρεσα πρώτα τη μόδα κι ο κόσμος με χειροκρότησε .

Τα μάτια τους στάθηκαν στο ύφασμα κι 

όχι στη ραφή της ψυχής.

Έλαμψα στιγμιαία αλλά ,αν και ντυμένη ,η ψυχή μου κρύωνε .

Το έβγαλα κι έμεινα γυμνή όχι από ρούχα αλλά από ψέματα.

Μετά φόρεσα το πάθος,το μοναδικό αληθινό ένδυμα 

που δε στολίζει το σώμα μα τη ψυχή..

Ο κόσμος δε γύρισε να με κοιτάξει γιατί δε φορούσα λάμψη. 

Φορούσα όμως αλήθεια που δεν επιζητά μάτια για θαυμασμό. 

Το φόρεσα όμως και περπάτησα. Μου ήταν αρκετό. 

 

 

 

Βania Sofia

She was born in Greece. She studied at the Faculty of Philosophy, in the Department of Philosophy and Pedagogy.Since 2004, she has been appointed to public education as a teacher.She discovered the charm of poetry relatively recently and which is for her a means of expressing internal searches, concerns and existential thinking. Her poems have been included in Collective Anthologies of Greece and abroad, Encyclopedias as well as in electronic literary magazines.

_______________________________ 

 Sophia Tomaso 

 

 

Wound of Indifference

 

My steps dragged me home, the light in my eyes dim, I stumbled. I was sure they tripped me…

The chrysanthemums mournful, the tire flat, the moon gone and the shadow behind me screaming.

Cobwebbed life, broken bones and damn my life, damn it, For sale… for whatever.

I open my shirt, the wound there on my chest it will never leave. «And what do I care» you said… You didn’t even glance. Go to hell… I shouted and you got angry.

What did I ask of you, really? A hug, even a disposable one.

Every time I live I will plunge my finger into my flesh and I will not feel pain. We are not all the same, some of you are few…

 

 

 

Sophia Tomaso was born in Naoussa, Imathia Greece.

She studied at the ATEI (University) of Thessaloniki, in the School of Management and Economics, Department of Library Science, Archival Science, and Information Systems.

She worked in the library of the Philosophy at Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. Additionally, she worked as a private secretary in businesses and hotel units.

Her poems have been published in online media and have also been recited on Greek radio shows. Her poems are published in The Greek News and Radio in Florida, based in Miami.

Finally, she has also won awards in international poetry competitions, also received many distinctions .

She loves poetry, and through it her soul breathes.

 

_____________________________

 

 

 

Balachandran Nair

 

WAR WAYMENT

 

Why is War?

Rulers know.

 

 

What is War?

Very few politicians know.

 

 

What has to be War?

Military know.

 

 

What gain in War?

Armament dealers know.

 

 

What thrill in War?

War-mongers know.

 

 

What is outcome of War?

Shattered economy,

Dusted structures,

Chaotic streets,

Ashed greenery,

Boasting statesmen,

Wailing widows,

Orphaned children know!

 

 

What for is war?

Even that God Almighty does not know!

 

 

 

 

Balachandran Nair (Kerala, India) is a multilingual poet and education activist. He published 9 poetry anthologies of his own and contributed poems to 95 other books.

Two of his poems were translated into more than 100 languages.

He introduced 944 School Children as New Poets in a just concluded literary project and thereby created three world records in literature.

 

 

____________________________________

 

Isaac Cohen

 

The Boy and the Flower

 

The flower whispered to the boy:

“Come, smell me

But don’t pluck me out”.

The boy answered: “I agree”.

The boy became the flower’s friend.

The flower heard about his first loves.

The boy took care of the flower

And cherished it.

When the boy was sick

He would smell the flower

And get well.

Over the years

He built a bench near the flower

And they keep talking

 

Like a pair of lovers.

 

 

Isaac Cohen is an international poet, prose, translator, photographer and singer.

His poems were translated into many languages. He was participated in many festival of poetry.                                 

His work was published in important anthologies, literary periodicals.

He was received several prizes for his works. He is a singer in "Big Band A.i.g", Israel.

______________________________

 

 

 

 

 

 

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

 

The Process

Reality – grab it or let it vaporise
Imagination – Embrace it or release it
Choose one
or mix the flames of both

Letters to letters
Words to words
Lines to lines
Stanzas to stanzas
All harmoniously knitted
Quilt of poignancy
Sharpness of truth
Softness of peace
Poise of emotions

Your life like a bold rose opens
Red bright  – impossible to dismiss
Poems engraved by Immortality
‘Poetry’ – genuine synonym of ‘ Your Life’.

Born in Mauritius in 1977, Vatsala Radhakeesoon has been writing poems for 34 years and she is the author of numerous poetry books. She is also an abstract artist and likes to experiment various possibilities that bless Art. Vatsala is a literary translator and currently lives at Rose-Hill, Mauritius

 

__________________________________

 

Pushpa Khanal

 

The War Within

 

Whether in love
Or across borders,
The one who starts a war
Is the one who loses.

Mentally,
Economically,
Socially,
Morally,
And physically.

Do you truly long for battle?

Then fight your ego, envy, greed,
And your dark desire.

Defeat the enemy that dwells within.

Fight poverty,
Fight suffering,
Fight inhumanity.

Raise, deep within your heart,
A revolution of change,
And reclaim the peace
Your own hands stole away.

 

Pushpa Khanal

Central Committee Member of International Nepali Literary Society.

 Ilam, Nepal

 

 

I am an award-winning creative artist, songwriter and poet with a passion for storytelling through creations. I enjoy connecting with audiences by sharing meaningful experiences and emotions in my work. I have a strong interest in current affairs, social issues, and personal growth. Through my work and experiences, I strive to inspire others and make a positive impact in my community.

________________

 

Ahmed Miqdad

 

“Hymns Of Peace” 

 

Hymns of peace,

Gently spreading over the holy land,  

Softly now, hear the mosque,

Calling the azha,

As a hymn of peace.

.

Marvel, church bells a-ringing,

Around the old city,

Rejoice in prayer

As a hymn of peace.

.

Behold, children flying kites,

Yonder over the mountains of north

Playfully yearning for freedom,

As a hymn of peace.

.

Olive trees cultivated by devoted farmers,

In their fields of green,

Giving hope to the coming generations,

As a hymn of peace.

.

Witness, freedom fighters raising the Palestinian flag,

Near the stolen bloodied borders,

Valiant in their sacrifice,

As a hymn of peace.

.

Listen, the sparrows joyfully chirp,

Singing over the flowering branches,

Tweaking their cheery melodies,

As a hymn of peace.

.

Let us draw together in fortitude,

Sing a song of freedom for Palestine,

Spreading love and peace,

As a hymn of peace.

 

Ahmed Miqdad is a Palestinian poet, teacher and activist in Gaza,

Palestine. He was born on December 15, 1985, in Gaza city. He has a

B.A. in English and a Master in Education. His literary journey began

in 2014. Ahmed is the author of four collections of poetry.

 

_________________________________

 

 

Shahid Abbas

The Unspoken Guest 

A wanderer came in silence to my door, 

A small green guest I had not seen before. 

Like a lost soul searching for its place, 

He moved through corners with a quiet grace. 

His eyes like lamps were shining, soft yet bright, 

Holding untold stories of the night. 

He paused as if he wished to speak to me, 

But time was loud, and I could hardly see. 

“I am like you,” his silent presence said, 

“A living being, by the same God bred.” 

No stranger I, no shadow passing through, 

But part of earth, as real and whole as you. 

O gentle guest in nature’s simple art, 

You left a silent question in my heart. 

I could not serve you, nor your story hear, 

Though in your gaze, your voice felt very near. 

The world was loud, too restless in its way, 

It stole the words you tried so hard to say. 

And I, a human lost in fleeting sound, 

Could not receive the truth that I had found. 

So I became your path, your way back home, 

Away from walls where you were not to roam. 

I set you free where you belong to be, 

Yet something stayed behind inside of me. 

You paused, then turned, and looked at me once more, 

As if to say what words could not restore. 

Like an unfinished poem, soft and deep, 

You left a memory I will always keep. 

Now in my thoughts, your silent echoes stay, 

A fleeting guest who quietly slipped away. 

Two different worlds, for moments, stood as one, 

Then parted gently when the day was done. 

 

 

 

 

 Shahid Abbas is a multi-awarded international author and poet from Kirpala, Pakistan. He is the author of Words from Nature and the co-author of We Speak in Syllables. Shahid is currently working on a poetry collaboration titled Verses of Meraki, which is to be published soon. His work has been translated into 11 languages.

________________________________

 

Cristina Maya Caetano

 

VELO BLANCO

 

Invisible para tantos

¡Pero todos lo hacen! Vives en el corazón,

eres embriagador, gratuito, impalpable,

formado por lirios de la paz

no te importa el sexo, el color, la religión.

 

Eres puro, oliendo a flores de caridad

Te pido que bajes del cielo.

Cada uno que te atrapa y se involucra.

Y que tu velo se una al mío.

El nuestro se une a los demás.

Los demás se unen a todos los demás.

 

Juntos, silenciemos el odio y el orgullo.

Os suplico gobernantes del mundo, humildad,

para que oigan la voz de la sabiduría que viene de lo alto.

Ponte la túnica blanca y deja la ambición,

abraza el amor, y deja que el mundo viva,

en el respeto de la igualdad y la fraternidad,

sobre los alineados rieles de la fe bañada en rosas de luz.   

Para que salga el sol de la  esperanza.

¡Por siempre en la Tierra!

 

Cristina Maya Caetano

 

 

 

 

Escritora, artista visual, ilustradora y poeta, es portuguesa. Ya ha publicado tres libros y varios poemas en revistas/libros internacionales. Es una pintora internacional galardonada, Jurado de Portugal para el Festival Internacional de Arte (2024 a 2026) y  Presidente del Comité de Promoción de ICAF (Corea del Sur). Ella es la Fundadora y Coordinadora del Proyecto Synergia Criativa.

 

____________________________________

 

 

Sonia Socorro Cabañas Cortés

 

“ Voces del silencio”

 

Reviendo las fotografías

con imágenes ya ha tiempo olvidadas

revivo felices momentos:

las risas, los juegos , la alegría de mi hijo

y las travesuras con los perros

Hoy….  en una inmensa casa vacía

donde alguna  vez me sentí amada

 

Ahora…. la música me reconforta

con pasajes de una vida pasada

y con recuerdos de viajes inolvidables

 

A través de la pintura

mi alma se recobra y libera

de los sueños o pesadillas que me agobian

y que  con el color se desvanecen

 

Mas…. Todo pasa…. todo cambia…..

y en la obscuridad de la noche

fría y de soledad

las voces del silencio

se escuchan

como un eco interminable.

 

 

 

Sonia Socorro Cabañas Cortés ©

 

Nacida en la  Ciudad de México, México. Reside actualmente en Portugal.

Artísta plástica  que trabaja en pintura, dibujo, papel marché y cerámica.

Gusta de tocar piano , teclado eléctrónico y escribir poemas.

Ha exhibido su obra artística por diversos países, individual y colectivamente.

________________

   

Bogdana Cârstea Gageanu

 

Clothes

 

 

  We wear many types of clothes

  Physical clothes for our bodies

  Moral clothes for our characters

  Spiritual clothes for our souls.

  All these clothes are sewn by us

  We can make them better

  Or we can ruin them, too.

  We are our own tailors

  Choosing the  fabric

  Making the cuts and the adjustments.

  We can be a certain prototype of the society

  Or we can be a unique design.

  Clothes always have a story

  And they always expose us

   We just have to assume in what way.

 

 

 

 

Bogdana Cârstea Gageanu is a Romanian writer , who has published 5 books, four books of poetry and one book of aphorisms. She even wrote a script for a short Romanian movie, '' GPS'', that was presented at a film festival in France. She has achieved a lot of national and international awards for poetry.

 

_________________________

 

Makhmutova Alina Railevna ( Ana Maу )

 

The World

 

Through the hands of the clock a poet’s
word makes its way, leaving the past behind.
Someday we must hear the world’s breath
in unison,
see how it rises above the pure heights.

 

 

 

Makhmutova Alina Railevna. The pseudonym is Ana Maу. Writer, poet and photographer from Kazan, Russia. Winner of international literary awards. They have been published in various publications around the world in different languages.

 

_________________________

 

 

SANDA RISTIĆ STOJANOVIĆ

Translation Sonja Asanović Todorović

 

WHAT WE ARE GOING TO DO IN THE FUTURE

 

We will sit on the shore

the sea will identify herself with our clairvoyance,

the high and low tides will emulate our glares,

the roar of our inner Moon,

our mirrors that have the depth of other people's words.

 

We will sit on the shore,

The Moon and the Sun will have the costumes of our time,

the heavens and the earth will have our hands and

will touch the future of song

and the future of the spoken.

 

We will sit on the shore,

and that of the coast of time

where our hours will dance like

the human reflection of the precious metal of reality.

 

We will sit on the shore,

two, three, poets and

two, three, poetesses will be

the catharsis of a bonfire of time.

 

ŠTA ĆEMO RADITI U BUDUĆNOSTI

 

Sedećemo na obali

more će se poistovetiti sa našom vidovitošću,

plime i oseke će se ugledati na naše odbleske,

na hučanje našeg unutrašnjeg Meseca,

na ogledala naša koja imaju dubinu tuđih reči.

 

Sedećemo na obali,

Mesec i Sunce će imati kostime našeg vremena,

nebo i zemlja će imati naše ruke i

dodirivaće budućnost pesme

i budućnost izrečenog.

 

Sedećemo na obali,

i to obali vremena

po kojoj će naši sati igrati kao

ljudski odraz plemenitog metala stvarnosti.

 

Sedećemo na obali,

dva, tri, pesnika i

dve, tri, pesnikinje će biti

katarza jedne lomače vremena.

 

 

SANDA RISTIĆ STOJANOVIĆ

Sanda Ristić-Stojanović is a poetess and aesthetic born in Belgrade in 1974. She graduated in philosophy at the Belgrade Faculty of Philosophy. She is the author of 15 poetry books.

She is a member of the Serbian Literary Society, the Association of Serbian Writers and the Aesthetic Society of Serbia.

 

______________________________

 

Dušan Stojković

 

AND YESENIN HAD HIS OWN ANNA

 

You do not know: my ribs are gates

through which you pass,

and every bone bears your name, Anna.

 

You are, Anna, the knot on the rope

that ties the sky to the village.

And the bread in my hand changes its shapes,

now it is a sabre, now an icon, now a shoulder

on which I sleep, now a fishbone.

 

And when you kiss me,

it is as if you move me from a trench into a church,

as if you carry me from the battlefield

before the vigil lamp, Anna.

 

 

 

Dušan Stojković was born on June 27, 1994, in Grdelica (Serbia). He has published the poetry collections: You Are Not Cursed (2021), Lament (2022), and Pero Zubac as a Legacy (2026).He is the founder of the association MUK (Young Artists of Culture), its deputy president, and the General Director for Serbia of the International Chamber of Writers and Artists CIESART, headquartered in Spain.

 

______________________________

 

Milica Ristić 

 

 Là, je t’attendrai

 

 

À la frontière entre la fin et un nouveau commencement,

à la lisière du monde terrestre,

dans la pause de ce qui va de soi,

dans le bref repos d’un apprentissage sans fin,

dans la dernière seconde d’une minute trop longue, sur une vieille horloge en retard;

Derrière chaque obligation que nous nous sommes imposée, en fuyant le péché;

sur le bûcher qu’ont dressé ceux qui se croient sans péché;

dans la cour d’un ancien écrin délabré de sentiments sincères;

après le coucher de chaque nouveau soleil, et l’extinction d’un autre jour où tu ne seras plus;

au bout de notre rue imaginée, sous le tilleul en fleurs qui a recueilli toutes les paroles de notre existence et a donné ses fleurs comme ses plus beaux fruits.

 

Le parfum des fleurs de tilleul est si fort qu’il m’arrive souvent de ne plus rien voir;

mais là, je t’attendrai.

 

 

Milica Ristić is a Serbian poet born on May 19, 1994, in Vranje.

She is the author of the book “Beg” (original title: BEG, 2026) and a recipient of the Golden Charter of the Knight’s Festival

 

 ____________________

 

 

 

 

Babacar Ndiaye 

 

Un Longtemps

 

Le temps, ce grand mystère aux vagues insaisissables, 

S’étire ou se replie en heures variables. 

Combien dure un "longtemps", s'interroge le cœur, 

Quand l'attente s'habille d'une douce langueur ? 

 

Dans l’ombre du désir, la minute s'étire, 

Pour l’esprit suspendu, le silence est un pire, 

Mais dans le nid secret d’un amour immortel, 

Le siècle s'évanouit en un flash textuel.

Le longtemps des amants, accoudés au balcon, 

Un café partagé, un joyeux tourbillon, 

Est-ce le même élan que celui du blessé 

Qui regarde le ciel, guettant le jour passé ? 

Le temps change de robe au gré de nos vécus, 

Sous l'hiver ou l'été, ses repères sont perdus ; 

Chaque saison y laisse une unique nuance, 

Les heures se soumettant à chaque circonstance.

 

Dans l'arbre éphémère de nos vies qui défilent, 

Ces instants suspendus demeurent comme des îles. 

Sur l'océan des jours au ressac incessant, 

Nos longs moments d'amour sont des éclats d'argent.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Babacar Ndiaye dit Korjo  est un journaliste et écrivain sénégalais, figure clé de la scène littéraire contemporaine.

Rédacteur en chef du magazine Sénégal Njaay, il s'investit pleinement pour la promotion de la lecture et de la culture.

Poète engagé, il est notamment l'auteur du recueil Waaw Kumba, une œuvre vibrante dédiée à la célébration des femmes.

Son activisme culturel et ses critiques littéraires pointues en font une voix majeure du monde des lettres au Sénégal. 

 

_______________________________

 

 

Gloria Fu Keh, Singapore

LOVE CHILD

I was deep 
in her womb
when I heard her say
that I was to be given away.

Years later I was told
that I was sold instead.

One wonders…..
How does a mother do that?
To sell the issue of her body?

Was she starving?
Was she so utterly desperate?
Was I a love-child?

The truth be known
I was sold because I was a girl-child
My mother kept her sons
but bartered and traded her daughters
as if they were goats.

 

Born in 1952, Gloria Keh, an artist, enjoys writing poetry. In 2008, she founded a charity outreach program using her art to support humanity.

 

____________________________

 

 Mufid Nabzo, Syria

 

All I Want Is a Window

 

 

A window through which the soul looks out,

a window of feelings,

a window of humanity.

It opens onto the sun and the rain.

Through it I watch the light,

and every morning I open it

to change the air of the room,

so that I may breathe new air.

Sometimes I hear the noise and close it—

a curse of silence upon the windows of clamor.

When I hear the birds’ voices, I leave it open.

Strange are the minds that have no window.

Who placed this curtain over beautiful thoughts?

For more than two years I have no longer heard the birds,

so I closed it.

Two years ago the snow visited it, and when it could not

embrace it, it melted from grief and seeped into the veins

of the earth.

How clever the one who invented the window!

How beautiful is the conversation of windows between

two lovers,

and how beautiful the tapping of rain upon the windows.

The window of a cage is an open door to freedom,

and the window of thought is an open door to the world.

All the civilizations of the earth have their window in the

East,

yet the East has no window.

Houses without windows collapse without storms or

earthquakes.

I do not want to have a roof in this world.

All I want is just a window—

 

a window, even in the depths of graves, so that I do not

suffocate and die.

 

Death is the window of life.

 

 

 

 

بقلم : مفيد نبزو

نافذةٌ تطلّ منها الروح ،

نافذةُ الأحاسيس ،

نافذةُ الإنسانية .

تطلّ على الشمس والمطر ،

أراقب من خلالها الضوء ،

وأفتحها كلَّ صباحٍ

لأبدّل هواء الغرفة ،

فأستنشق هواءً جديدًا.

أحيانًا أسمع الضجيج فأغلقها،

لعنةُ الصمت على نوافذ الضوضاء.

عندما أسمع أصوات العصافير، أتركها مفتوحة.

غريبةٌ العقولُ التي بلا نافذة.

من وضع على الأفكار الجميلة هذه الستارة ؟! .

منذ سنتين ونيف لم أعد أسمع صوت العصافير، فأغلقتها.

منذ سنتين زارها الثلج، وحين لم يستطع معانقتها ذاب من القهر ، وتغلغل

في شرايين الأرض .

كم هو ذكيٌّ ذاك الذي اخترع النافذة !.

ما أجمل حديث النوافذ بين عاشقين،

وما أجمل نقرات المطر على النوافذ .

نافذةُ القفص بابٌ مفتوح للحرية،

ونافذةُ الفكر بابٌ مفتوح للعالم.

كلُّ حضارات الأرض نافذتها الشرق،

ولكن الشرق بلا نافذة.

البيوت التي بلا نوافذ تسقط بلا أعاصير ولا زلازل.

لا أريد أن يكون لي سقفٌ في هذا العالم،

كلُّ ما أريده نافذة فقط،

نافذةٌ ولو في غياهب القبور، كي لا أختنق وأموت .

 

الموتُ نافذةُ الحياة .

 

 

Mufid Fahad Nabzou - Poet and writer - Born-1963 in-Syria-Hama-maharda . - Holds a bachelor's degree in Arabic language from the University of Aleppo . - Studied the Diploma of educational qualification at the University of Homs . He taught Arabic in rural Damascus and Hama for thirty years . - Published his studies, research and poems in many magazines and Arabic newspapers and websites. He has received many awards and certificates of appreciation.

 

________

 

Neal Whitman

 

A Day in the Pine Grove

   inspired by La Via Del Rifugio

 

We enter under shoreline pines

known to stand firm along the coast.

Early afternoon onshore breezes are brisk

so our pine trees sway to and fro. By dusk

ocean winds are gusting stronger than usual

and the pines bow toward the land

as if in prayer. No limbs are lost,

but we take refuge in the shadows 

that fill the pine grove. Here

we listen to birds pitch their calls.

Those must be hooded crows looking

to roost on thick branches close to trunks.

Before nightfall we depart; they remain.

 

 

Neal Whitman (California, USA) is Immagine & Poesia participant for a decade and devoted reader of Guido Gozzano. He believes with poetry we can stand up to authoritarians. As a poet, he gives the reader the last word. His poetry is published and read across many countries … poets know no borders.

_________________________________________

 

Sherzod Artikov 

 

   Sky’s tears

 

Ruined and broken

Land of Palestine

Day and night

Under the bombs.

Blood flows like a river

Poisoned life of people

Dying children, old men

Dying fathers, mothers and sons.

Families are being destroyed

Houses, walls are being crumled

Nature is being terrified.

But, the world is silent

The Mankind is silent

The God is silent.

Maybe cries only the sky

Because of the cruelty of humanity

Carrying a complaint against them

Or being angry at their silence.

Maybe cries only the sky

Who caught in deep shock

Whispering in the company of Earth

Turning whose tears into the rain.

Maybe cries only the sky

For being not able  to understand 

In spite of the endless thoughts:

Why so bloodily killing each other 

Brothers who in one land were born.

 

Sherzod Artikov was born in 1985 year in Marghilan city of Uzbekistan. He graduated from Ferghana Polytechnic institute in 2005 year. His works are more often published in the republican inside presses. He mainly writes stories and essays. His first book “ The Autumn’s symphony”was published in 2020 year. He is one of the winners of the national literary contest “My Pearl region” in the direction of prose. He was published in such Russian and Ukraine network magazines as “Camerton”, “Topos”, “Autograph”. Besides, his stories were published in the literary magazines and websites of different countries.

________________________________

 

Dildora Xoʻjyozova

 

 

The Echo of the Whispering Waters

 

The ancient river flows through the quiet night,

Carrying secrets of the soil, heavy and deep.

The moon leaves its silver on the silent stream,

While the tired world gently falls asleep.

 

I listen to the breath of the wind in the trees,

A language born before the first human word.

Every dropped leaf is a message to the earth,

The most beautiful song that was ever heard.

 

We search for the truth in the distant stars,

But it hides in the roots, in the dust, in the rain.

The soil remembers every step we take,

Turning our sorrow back to life again.

 

The river runs on, to the endless sea,

Teaching my soul how to wander and be free.

* * * * *

 

 

Dildora Xoʻjyozova is an award-winning student, researcher, and poet from Uzbekistan, actively involved in youth leadership. Her academic background is in Geography, which deeply inspires her creative writing and ecological perspectives. Her poems and articles have been featured in various international literary magazines and journals. She passionately uses her voice to promote literature, education, and volunteering.

______________________________________

 

 

Hong Ngoc Chau, Vietnam

 

 

PURSUING LOVE

In life, many people are missing
They have no chance of loving
A lot of dreams but unfinished love
They lack. to decide to pursue love

Just as let your heart feel full enough
Touching moments of your true lov
Keep the union of heart and mind
Guarantee loyalty to the love life

Evil results come if you think of love as a game
You can't smile forcing yourself to do the same
Your love is not to learn experience, you see
You devote your clear mind wholehearted

As your love harmonizes the mind with the ideals
To nurture hope for people to know how to deal
Bitter and sweetness they shared as ever
It will overflow their faith and their desire

Happiness bestows each other the union
As expected they achieved their ambition
Just as love and career will advance all life
Steadfast, and wholehearted they’ll satisfy

HNC @

 

Her true name is NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH. Her pen name is HONG NGOC CHAU. She is a Master of Education Management, a member of the Ho Chi Minh City Writers Association
(Vietnam) and an Honorary Doctor of Literature and Humanities of the Church and the University of Prixton.

_______________________

 

Gustavo M. Galliano

 

LUCES DE LA CIUDAD 

 

Princesa de la gran  ciudad

por favor regresa,

hoy necesito tu amar,

hoy necesito tu alma.

Luces de la ciudad

hoy masticarán almas,

necesito luminiscencia

en esta cumbre de la nada.

Hoy no puedo verme así

los caminantes desean ansias,

y agradecerán la calma

de tu risa estridente.

Luces de esta gran ciudad,

ya no me dejen solo,

en el eco de  mi oscuridad

necesito quien  me guíe hacia ella.

Luces de la ciudad,

plenas de mí y de ti,

sin decir una palabra, recuerdas,

sellarán nuestro amor.

 

®Gustavo M. Galliano 

 

Breve Biografía  de Gustavo M. Galliano (Rosario, SF, ARGENTINA):

Profesor Universitario de UNR (Argentina), Sec. Técnico de REDIM (MERCOSUR y UE). Diplomado en Calidad e Innovación Educativa. Doctor Hc. del IFCH (Marruecos). Especialista en periodismo digital. Escritor, poeta, narrador, colaborador especializado de revistas literarias. Traducido en más de 100 países.

_____________________________

 

 

 

Nonvithy D. Roland SOGLO 

 

Lumineuse ville

 

 

Lumière qui fait briller,

Les rues remplies d’obscurités,

Qui font scintiller les voies,

Beauté de jour, 

Clarté d’une nuit,

Lumière du jour qui éclaire, 

La nuit obscure,

Et les lampadaires éclairent,

Quand la nuit prend place,

Le jour s’éfface,

Et lumière prenne vie dans les couloirs de chaque ville.

 

Nonvithy David  Roland SOGLO alias Sonodav le Poète Multi-Plume est un écrivain et poète béninois né le 13 mai 2003 à Ouidah. Étudiant en Master 1 en Management culturel et touristique à l’UAC, il est formé en patrimoine culturel et civilisations afro-hispano-américaines. Il est l’un des lauréats du Concours Littéraire International de Poésie “OSSI DI SEPPIA” (catégorie B Recueil de poèmes) 2026, distingué au Concours Littéraire  Amilcare Solferini 2025 et bien d’autres. Son écriture explore la mémoire et les héritages afro-diasporiques.

________________________________

 

Dr. Haji Mohd Ali bin Haji Radin (H.MAR) 

 

CITY OF LIGHTS: CHASING MY OWN SHADOW

 

 

I see scattered notes across the heart of the city,
fragments of thoughts that never found their way home.
As I gather them one by one,
my hands suddenly grow rigid.

.

The city lights burn like sleepless eyes,
warming a night that is secretly cold.
Amid this overwhelming brightness
I hide those notes inside a sorrowful mind.

.

The human soul seems lost to time,
leaving wounded lines for someone to read.
I walk with my head lowered along the streets
beneath lamps that glow yet feel strangely dim.

.

In this city people write themselves with tears
through notes that are never finished.
Faces rarely greet one another here,
each carrying its own loneliness.

.

 

Hope rises like towers of glass,
yet hearts sink into a restless rain.
In this blazing city of light
I slowly lose myself.

 

H.MAR

 

 

Dr. Haji Mohd Ali bin Haji Radin (H.MAR) is a Bruneian writer and Senior Language Officer at the Language and Literature Bureau, Ministry of Culture, Youth and Sports, Brunei Darussalam. His works are published and translated internationally. Recipient of important national and international awards.

 

___________________________

 

Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai 

 

A Night Letter to a City by the Pacific

 

The Pacific writes night upon Hualien’s brow;

behind her, the mountains fold their hands like monks.

 

She makes no proclamation,

only entrusts her window-lamps to salt mist—

not lamps, but answers borrowed from darkness.

 

Waves rise from the Black Current,

ancient drums striking the island’s chest.

 

If you read this on Rome’s stone steps,

remember a clay bowl before its broth:

a civilization shaped like mercy.

 

The Central Range is a blue-green scripture unopened;

mist lifts from its pages

like grief the East does not hurry to explain.

 

A temple dragon holds starlight beneath the eaves;

incense bends in alleys,

translating prayer into smoke.

 

Hualien knows light is not display,

but a direction kept for those not yet home.

 

 

 

Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai  (Taiwan - China) is a retired professor and currently a freelance writer. He has long been devoted to the writing of essays, fiction, poetry, and scripts. His works often draw upon family memories, natural landscapes, and the everyday lives of ordinary people, combining self-deprecating humor, warm storytelling, and humanistic concern.

 

__________________________

 

 

 

Laskiaf Amortegui

 

THE CITY LIGHTS

 

The city awakens amidst crimson afterglows;

the lights say goodbye—could it be they are resting?

Only the greatest star illuminates the day.

The lamppost watches silently as the saxophone fades.

When the afternoon surrenders, they stealthily awaken,

lighting up old and new streets for their dwellers.

Fireflies mingle with the brightness of the trees;

and drunk on the glare, the streetlights look beautiful.

That sunset dissipates toward a lost infinity,

among endless sparkles upon the highway

where the sky kisses them in the distance.

The lights are witnesses and accomplices of the night:

Lovers sink into a dance of tongues

and briny cascades under the neon spell,

while other beings lose themselves in eternal walks

to the rhythm of an old saxophone's sonatas.

I watch them in ecstasy from the viewpoint,

the wind swirls my hair in the air,

and at dawn, my gaze resists with a sigh.

The lights do not leave... they only sleep.

 

 

LAS LUCES DE LA CIUDAD

 

La ciudad despierta entre resplandores carmesí;

las luces se despiden—¿será que están descansando?

Solo la estrella más grande ilumina el día.

La farola observa en silencio mientras el saxofón se desvanece.

Cuando la tarde se rinde, ellas despiertan sigilosamente,

iluminando calles viejas y nuevas para sus moradores.

Las luciérnagas se mezclan con el brillo de los árboles;

y ebrias de resplandor, las farolas lucen hermosas.

Ese atardecer se disipa hacia un infinito perdido,

entre destellos sin fin sobre la autopista

donde el cielo las besa a lo lejos.

Las luces son testigos y cómplices de la noche:

Los amantes se hunden en una danza de lenguas

y cascadas salinas bajo el hechizo del neón,

mientras otros seres se pierden en caminatas eternas

al ritmo de las sonatas de un viejo saxofón.

Las observo en éxtasis desde el mirador,

el viento agita mi cabello en el aire,

y al amanecer, mi mirada se resiste con un suspiro.

Las luces no se van... solo duermen.

 

 

 

Laskiaf Amortegui  (País: Colombia)  is a co-author of several international anthologies, featuring both poetry and narrative fiction. She is an award-winning Colombian writer, poet, and broadcaster, recognized as Best Poet 2025. Her novel “La jaula de las mariposas” (The Cage of Butterflies) was honored with the Arina Gold 2025 award in Russia, solidifying her international impact. Her published works include “Alas del alma” (Wings of the Soul) and “El espantapájaros” (The Scarecrow). Her upcoming projects feature the bilingual collection “Letras inconexas” (Unconnected Letters) and her work “Roja” (Red). Her writings have been translated into several languages.

________________________________________

 

 

 

    Pedro Licona                                                                                              

 

 

                     LUCES DE LA CIUDAD

 

 Nadie quiere atravesar las cortinas del tiempo,

nadie quiere saltar al corazón de la bruma que duerme en las calles,

aferrada a los escombros, los olores, el aire, los sonidos, el cartón.

 

El sudor de ayer quedó adherido a la piel, al aliento de los danzantes

porque el hermano necio salió a atrapar torpedos con el cuerpo

luego de la furia contenida en la historia de esta indescifrable oscuridad.  

 

Pero un rayo, dos, muchas luces surgieron de repente

abrieron los ojos de la multitud sedienta de verdades,

para apagar malos recuerdos, desastres desteñidos en el tiempo

después de una lluvia de ecos sembrados en el horizonte, en las mentes,

por un cazador fiel a la atracción que traspira la textura de las verdades

instaladas para el futuro de una ciudad sembrada de ilusión y flama.

 

 

 

 

Pedro Licona (Quibdó, Choco, Colombia 1948) Poeta, escritor y filólogo, Universidad Libre, Bogotá. Ganador del Sahito International Award, 2023, Bangladesh. Premio Especiale Internacional Amilcar Solferini, Guido Chiarelli, 2024, participante seleccionado en la Antología Arte y Conciencia, Mexico 2022-2024. Seleccionado en el Libro Poetry Year Book 2024-2025, China. Arina de Plata 2025, Rusia.

 

________________________________

 

 

Goran Gatalica, Zagreb

 

Poetic Prose

 

The City’s Metaphysical Pulse

 

 

In the fabric of our city, in the grand design of human habitat, the unseen spirit of place lingers. Underneath the stars, the city still breathes, still glimmers, its lights like human eyes—tremulous with longing, bearing stories unspoken, guiding spirits through the darkness. At the end of the day, the light stretches down the long, straight avenues, pulling warmth—miles of it—into the city’s core. The grids of streets, the way they catch and hold the fading glow, help orient a wandering mind—a map of light and shadow, guiding us home. The city lights are fragile, pale hints of heaven’s distant glow, mirroring the quiet torches of home, the unseen dwellings in the vastness—pioneers of spirit, holding their tapers aloft. Every feeling—the cold hands, the cool breeze, tears caught in my eyes, the crowded streets, the distant giggles—made me feel alive again, the city pulsing in my veins, the lights flickering like stars, tremulous with longing and hope.

 

 

 

 

Goran Gatalica is a physicist, writer, haiku poet in Zagreb, Croatia. He works to make the sciences more open, accessible, and inclusive for young people. Alongside his scientific work, Gatalica is an accomplished poet, having published six award-winning books of poetry. His poetry and haiku have been featured in numerous Croatian and international publications.

 

________________________________

 

 

Neelam Saxena

 

We, the women

 

 

City Lights!

 

Do they mean anything to us at all?

 

We’ve always been decorated with embellishments

That irradiate-

Ne’er by choice, but by societal pressure.

 

Historically and mythologically, we’ve been bedecked

To please one of the men-

Did the luminescence ever mean anything to us?

 

Do the city lights really feel happy

While they radiate the streets and roads of the city?

Do they feel as lonely as we do?

 

Are they the women standing on the lanes of time

Wondering why they are made to feel like puppets?

 

Someday- we the women, standing as city lights,

Will gather together and have the combined radiance

More powerful than the sun-

Only those who understand our worth shall feel the light,

Others shall drown in the lands of dark.

 

 

 

 

Neelam Saxena (India) is the author of 82 books and holds three records in the Limca Book of Records. She has been honored with the Sohanlal Dwivedi Puraskar by the Maharashtra State Hindi Sahitya Akademi, the Premchand Award by the Ministry of Railways, the Rabindranath Tagore International Poetry Award, the Freedom Award by Radio City, the Reuel Lifetime Achievement Award, among many other accolades. In 2014, Forbes India recognized her as one of the 78 most popular authors in India.

 

_______________________________

 

Vatsala Radhakeesoon

 

Under Urban Brightness


A child waits
on an uncaring busy street
on a cold rainy tropical night;
Shirt stained tattered
Shoes greyish torn
Eyes goggled
mesmerized by the sustaining lights
slaying darkness

At some distance further
a passionate artist pours creativity
as a worship to the Muse
winning over denser darkness
The night owls, eagles, and kestrels
smile the perfection of strokes on the newly-born mural

Glances meet glances
Compassionate Art smiles to Innocence
Hope illuminates both hearts
Humanity is reborn.

 
Born in Mauritius in 1977, Vatsala Radhakeesoon has been writing poems for 34 years and she is the author of numerous poetry books. She is also an abstract artist and likes to experiment various possibilities that bless Art. Vatsala is a literary translator and currently lives at Rose-Hill, Mauritius.

 

________________________________

 

 

 

Hadaa Sendoo

 

Twilight and City Lights

 

For Guido Gozzano

 

Twilight, fading

On the treetops, whispering

And looking back at a cabin

There, the blue, melancholy night

 

Exudes the fragrance of an apple orchard

There, stars twinkling, streams winding

The gentle glow, over the old city

Evokes the poet’s nostalgia.

 

 

 

Sendoo Hadaa, born in 1961, has published over 15 collections of poetry, which have been translated into more than 40 languages. He won awards and honors in Europe, Asia, North America, Latin America, Africa, and Arab countries. He is the editor-in-chief of the World Poetry Almanac. He lives in Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia.

 

_________________________

 

 

Ranjana Niraula

 

 

City Lights

 

 

City lights—like an unfinished dream from afar, softly flickering,

A gentle, silent sentinel holding the city in its quiet embrace,

Soothing the weary eyes of the dark with tender grace.

 

In their shimmer lives a firefly-like invocation,

“Come, a new life awaits you here……”

And in that very moment, their restrained glow gathers

The loneliness of the crowd into its luminous fold,

 

Yet this radiance is not mere allure, but also a mirage

A delicate veil of illusion and artifice,

That touches the heart, even as it quietly deceives.

 

City lights are not just light,

But a living metaphor of humanity’s journey

From darkness into illumination—

They are freedom, opportunity, and the bright voice of individuality.

 

And yet, they mirror the silent conflict

Between tradition and modernity,

Where behind every glow lingers the ache

Of being distanced from one’s roots.

 

Still, they call to every wandering wayfarer

“Come, perhaps here you will find your way…….”

 

 

 

Ranjana Niraula is a Kathmandu-Nepal based writer, editor, poet, and educator with Master’s degrees in Humanities and Sociology, currently pursuing a PhD. She is the author of three poetry books, an essay collection & Founder Director of Yashaswi Pragya Pratishthan. She serves and is active in literary circles.

 

_______________________________

 

Ahmed Miqdad

 

 

"Lights of the city"

 

 

My city is modest and innocent

Full of vibrant colourful lights

It overlooks the open sea

Swamped with glittering stars.

.

 

Its moonlight reflects silver beams

Casting their nightly glow on the glimmering water.

.

 

Red lights suddenly appeared

Stopping the very breath of life abruptly

And flames of wild fire soared so high in the sky

.

 

Ruins of destroyed homes filled the space

And shrapnel flew everywhere.

.

 

Chaos, terror and loss took over

Occupying the city's streets

.

 

My city became so dark and silent

Except for the sound of raiding aircrafts,

The air was filled with the screams and wailing of bereaved families,

the red lights of ambulances and their sirens

.

 

And the innocent luminous souls flew to the sky

.

 

Please, restore my city's  lights again,

Dismiss darkness and terror

And let peace prevails once more.

 

 

 

 

-Ahmed Miqdad is a Palestinian poet, teacher and activist in Gaza,

Palestine. He was born on December 15, 1985, in Gaza city. He has a

B.A. in English and a Master in Education. His literary journey began

in 2014. Ahmed is the author of four collections of poetry.

_________________________

 

Shahid Abbas

 

City Lights at Night 

City lights shine in the night, 

They look soft and calm and bright. 

Many dreams are in each view, 

Giving hope to me and you. 

Neon lights glow on the road, 

People walk with hearts that hold. 

Soft sounds move with every beat, 

Time walks slowly on the street. 

Windows shine with stories inside, 

People keep their feelings to hide. 

Hope stays strong in the dark shade, 

Like a small light that won’t fade. 

Lonely people in shining light, 

Still search for home in the night.

 

 

 

 Shahid Abbas is a multi-awarded international author and poet from Kirpala, Pakistan. He is the author of Words from Nature and the co-author of We Speak in Syllables. Shahid is currently working on a poetry collaboration titled Verses of Meraki, which is to be published soon. His work has been translated into 11 languages.

 

 

 

___________________________

 

 

Elisabeta Bogățan

 

Les lumières de la ville

 

comme par miracle

les lumières de la ville s’allument

pour la faire sortir des ténèbres

qui l’envahissent

au crépuscule

de tous les côtés

 

il semble que la ville déverse

la lumière ramassée

durant la journée

dans les maisons

dans les gens

pour défendre

leur beauté

leur chaleur

leurs amours

leurs espérances

contre les ténèbres de la vie

 

 

 

Elisabeta Bogățan, poète, essayiste, critique littéraire, traductrice, éditrice, est née en

Roumanie. Elle est membre de l’Union des Écrivains de Roumanie, de la Société des Poètes

Français de Paris, de l’ AREAW  de Wallonie/Bruxelles. Elle a reçu de nombreux PRIX,

 

DIPLÔMES, TITRES, en Roumanie, Allemagne, France, Russie, Liban.

_____________________________

 

Ernesto P. Santiago

 

 

City Lights 

 

When the great sky welcomes 

the dusk, we become a crowd favourite.

We do not say a word, and yet 

the whole world listens to our rhythm. 

Many wish to become like us—

illuminators and rooftop lovers. 

They wait and wait as if they are 

being summoned to our dancing steps. 

While I, who live in a nest of light,  

focus my soul on city prompts, 

darkness rivals my pulse for substances, 

flavors, styles, and that knowing look— 

of a fragile poet who intently listens 

to a nearby songbird, hoping for another 

poem to outlive his silver quill.

As silhouettes and shadows breathe

the sighs of dawn, I sink with whispered 

promises into a life of a neon moth—

confronting all, searching for meaning, 

in everything except Providence. 

 

 

Ernesto P. Santiago (Greece|Philippines)  for a long time had believed that poetry is his flowing (es)cape to a higher understanding of the wor(l)d. He spends all his free time between here and there, trying to learn something. He is too small for his ego. He is enough for himself. He is fully confident in his identity with a Filipino heart. He lives in Athens, Greece. 

 

__________________________

 

 

Howard Osborne

 

 

DARK TIMES

 

In half-darkness, the city lights not switched on

The crowd felt it in their sour collective mood

Sensing that the vibe had passed a critical point

And something was about to flash and explode

Finally, after so many years of brutal repression

Now, on the streets, a revolution in the making

With a fist clenched around a piece of timber

Others grasping their hidden sharp kitchen knife

Scowling faces, ready for action and a response

Bitter memories of those who were lost before

But some kind of overdue freedom beckoned

And in the unlit street, a brightness in their eyes

 

 

 

Howard Osborne  is a UK citizen, retired. Published author of non-fiction reference book, scientific papers and poetry. Interests mainly creative writing (poetry, novel, short stories, songs and scripts), music and travel.

 

________________________________________

 

Neal Whitman

 

 

haiku

 

neighbors on rooftops

see flashes, hear booms, feel shakes

skyline in Tehran

 

Neal Whitman (California, USA) is Immagine & Poesia participant for a decade and devoted reader of Guido Gozzano. He believes with poetry we can stand up to authoritarians. As a poet, he gives the reader the last word. His poetry is published and read across many countries … poets know no borders.

______________________________

 

 

 

Hong Ngoc Chau, Vietnam

 

 

CITY LIGHTS UP

The city seems to wear new clothes
It puts on pretty clothes, you know
Streetlights are as quiet as watching
High tops of buildings are soaring

Surely the night lights divide the light
For diligent peddlers during the night
Here and there, go and forth on streets
To suffer for a living they satisfy indeed

Street lights pursue a couple to promenade
Pure hearts they fall in love so passionate
Step by step, strolling in their free time
They breathe the air, the source of life

The night scent on grass and leaves spread
The lights are sparkling in the mist, and great
Green bud sprouts, and a lot of open flowers
The city at night seems to be a great wonder

Just as the lights at night give us life
To spread joy everywhere we all like
Just as civilization rises in worldly life
Humanity is at peace in leisurely life
*
HNC @ 

 

 

 

Her true name is NGUYEN CHAU NGOC DOAN CHINH. Her pen name is HONG NGOC CHAU. She is a Master of Education Management, a member of the Ho Chi Minh City Writers Association
(Vietnam) and an Honorary Doctor of Literature and Humanities of the Church and the University of Prixton.

 

 

___________________________

 

CINZIA  PANUCCIO

GLITTERS OF ASPHALT

 

Clouds squeeze the light like a fist.

I approach. Under the dark sky, the lights flicker

like stubborn matches in the wind.

The rain has left

a shiny skin on the wet asphalt,

someone is sleeping at the tram stop.

It seems natural that the darkness itself, overcome by a gentle enchantment,

scatters a fragile firmament on the asphalt,

as if a thousand stars, swept from an ancient sky,

were taking refuge among the cold concrete buildings.

In the shining sea, in a strange silence,

slow shadows slide under the streetlamps.

They brush against each other, continue, disappear at the intersections.

The lights remain. On the black asphalt, an upside-down sky opens up.

And a star continues to shine.

Not above us.

Here, among the streets.

 

 

Cinzia Panuccio, I° premio medaglia d’oro al concorso A. e A. Valenti. La Fondazione M. Luzi l’ha inserita nell’Enciclopedia di Poesia Contemporanea 2025”. Premio Sicilia “Donna In”  sez. “Legalità & Memoria”. Candidata al Premio Strega 2025. Insignita, del I° Premio “Emanuela Setti Carraro”.Alla IIa edizione del Premio Internazionale il Mons.  Gonzaga, le viene conferito il titolo di Accademica. I° al concorso “L’eco dei comuni e delle comunità” con il patrocinio del Senato della Repubblica.

 

_________________________________

 

 

SERENA ROSSI 

  

In the Night 

 

In the night black city

amidst the extinct skyscrapers

I mark the rhythm of my

melancholy.

Breathing the air of new lights

we create peace with every

whisper we share.

 

Serena Rossi, Milano 1972. Laurea in farmacia 1999. Autodidatta in arti visive. Dal 2002 espone in mostre in

Italia ed all’estero. Dal 2012 pubblica sue sillogi di poesia e pubblica in diverse antologie. Collabora con

riviste italiane e internazionali. Le sue poesie sono tradotte in inglese, russo, rumeno, albanese e serbo-

croato.

www.serenarossiartecontemporanea.it

 

_______________________________

 

 ISABELLA SANDON TENCA

 

The city

 

 

In the sunset light

the glass skyscrapers

become serial mirrors

of golden-pink light

on a steel grey field.

 

 

Isabella Sandon Tenca nasce a Milano nel 1950.

Bibliofila ed ex docente di Lettere è appassionate di arte, pensiero e scienza.

Pubblica sue poesie e saggi.

_________________________________