taifas literary magazine no. july 1, 2020

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2 authors ... p. 2 editorial ... p. 3 poetry ... p. 5 prose ... p. 25 essay ... p. 31 confabulation ... p. 36 2 authors ... p. 47

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Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020 - ISSN 2458-0198 ISSN-L 2458-0198 Founded in Constanţa, June 2020 The magazine appears in Romania editorial office Founding President Lenuș Lungu Director: Lenuș Lungu, Ioan Muntean Deputy Director: Paul Rotaru Technical Editor Ioan Muntean Covers Ioan Muntean Editor-in-Chief: Ion Cuzuioc Deputy Editor: Stefano Capasso Editorial Secretary: Anna Maria Sprzęczka Editors: Vasile Vulpaşu, Anna Maria Sprzęczka, Pietro Napoli, Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim, Zoran Radosavljevic, Suzana Sojtari Iwan Dartha, Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim, Destiny M O Chijioke, Nikola Orbach Özgenç

TRANSCRIPT

Page 1: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

copert a1 tit luri

2 authors ... p. 2

editorial ... p. 3

poetry ... p. 5

prose ... p. 25

essay ... p. 31

confabulation ... p. 36

2 authors ... p. 47

Page 2: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Dr. Shailesh Veer

Suffering From Hunger

In search of work

They moved from village to city

In search of food

They are coming back now

From there to here

They are looking for food

Humanity is dead

We have become so rude

We are seeing them

suffering from hunger

How helpless the laborers are!

Dr. Shailesh Gupta

Veer is an Indian poet. He

is a bilingual, writes in

English & Hindi both. He

has a PhD in Archaeology.

By profession he is a

teacher. He has edited

about a dozen literary

books and several

magazines time to time.

His poetry has been published in various literary

magazines, journals, anthologies and websites. He

has won many awards in the field of poetry and

literature. His poems have been translated into

Chinese, Greek and French languages.

He was born in Fatehpur, Uttar Pradesh, India. He

is a poetry reviewer and poetry communicator too.

He has participated in many national and

international seminars and fests. His poetry attracts

hearts of many, while forcing brains to get

calculative. His love for human values, nature,

philosophy and the spiritual world is

insurmountable. All these can clearly be seen in his

works of poetry. He was declared a Literary Icon in

December 2018 by TV program You and Literature

Today from Nigeria. His poems were read on The

Dear John Show of Warrington, England.

Warda Zerguine Algeria

Be my love

In your eyes I see myself

In your tears I drown

I want you to be

Near me..

Your forgiveness i owe you

Your love i need

May your heart receive me..

Like a king

I want you to believe me..

I want you to see me..

So get ready

It's my right

Oh how much i love

your voice

And your laugh.. oh my

faith

I will not know why

Only you my heart.

Biographie

Warda Zerguine is born in Guelma (Algeria).

She is writer, poetess and journalist.

She writes poems in arrabic, french and english

She has published 4 books on folk proverbs

She has participted in many anthologies, in

Algeria, Tunisia, Serbia, India, USA, Indonesia..

Also has participated in many festivals in

Algeria and abroad in Morrocco, Tunisia, Jordan

and Liban.

She has published her poems in many

magazines in arrabic and english.

Page 3: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

editorial 3-4

Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim Goronyo

Editorial

Literature is life and anything about anything is literature, literature is meant to educate and replicate on the lives of the past, present and the future people. In the effort to nourish literature and improves it this magazine was given birth, and this month of June edition is not different from the rest of the previous editions for being the best and fully entertained.

It has been a good journey in the publishing trend of this monthly magazine that is all about to educate, entertain and to inspire. The world is a global village and all the people are united through the digital technology. We share thoughts, aspiration and do things together at the same time and in a twinkle of an eye, all achievements are made and this is what this Magazine comes to prove.

As a Nigerian, an African I believed that only knowledge and inspiration can make this world a progressive one with full of peace in every place. Coming together through this medium can make so many changes in our lives and put an end to all the problems the world is facing. The world is diverse and that is how the taste of the people manifests. This magazine carries different packages to provide every ready with the most interesting package of interest in the field of literature. The poetry come with different themes and words talking about correction and motivations.

The greatest enemy for humanity is ignorance and when we seek knowledge and continue to seek knowledge we will come to

appreciate each other and build a solid world full of joy and happiness through pens and ink.

In this new edition of this global magazine, there are so much to get and so much to enjoy. The magazine come with diverse ideas from the world up growing poets of our time to cast the way of beautiful memories, education and story telling.

Poetry is one of the genres of literature that aims to inspire and relaxes the mind, through thoughts and rhythmic words. Poetry is an aesthetic arrangement of beautiful words and the professionalism of writing is engraved in this month’s magazine.

The articles published are beautifully captured from around the world, unveiling the color of world culture and traditions, reading some of the stories from selected writers exposing one to cultural values and different lives styles of different people of the world.

In this episode, there is a glance of the work of Professor Idris Bugaje, a Nigerian educationist in the field of Chemical Engineering working with Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria one of the magnificent

Universities in the country. The magazine looked at the importance of the two books of Professor Bugaje and his lectures on the importance of skills in the field of work in developing any nation.

There are so much to enjoy and explore in the magazine in two languages of Italy and English.

Enjoy your moment.

Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim Goronyo Kaduna State, Nigeria

Editor

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Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

poetry 5-24

Marija Najthefer Popov

Born in Sivac (Backa, Vojvodina, Serbia) on

March 11, 1958, where she met a beautiful

written word. Since 1996, she lives and

creates in Zrenjanin. Until now, she has been

published in more than a hundred joint,

domestic and international poetry collections;

published in several domestic and foreign

journals; translated into several languages.

Her first solo collection of poems, “I WRITE

A WOMAN,” was released in 2018. The motive

behind her poetry is Rose, and Woman in all

its beauty and splendor… Love is the initiator

of everything!

Letter

I am writing this letter, Darling,

(which is unexpected result of some

uneasiness in me,

some black foreboding. I could not resist fear

and temptation…)

I hope you are well, thanks to God.

For many years, the aorta of life

poured into my heart

ink of sadness,

which hurts and lasts…

(and they say that time works wonders)

That ink overflows with strength of endurance

and was not spent on letters,

that should have arrived much earlier

as confession, plea, regret…

whatever, Darling,

and smooth our misunderstandings in time…

So, year after year,

all chances were missed and heart,

heart suffered an attack!

***

I tried to explain to them

that it was fatigue

caused by pain, longing, sorrow because of

you,

us, my Darling,

but,

who still believes in eternal love?

… and while they were performing open heart

surgery on me,

I held you firmly

so they wouldn’t

accidentally

rip you out of my

chest,

where you live since I know you

and forever,

my Darling.

There you abide, rein, cause pain, suffocate…

but, it is OK!

They did bypass and regulated my blood flow

saying: only one blood cloth

but caused hundred percent blockage!

They have no idea, my Darling,

that you abide there forever.

There you swell like water

at the Djerdap,

like Fake healing crystals

which triples overnight in the water…

They don’t know, my Darling,

that you are always

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Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

blocked passage of my life

(every love boat you stop and sink…)

….

Darling, I wrote selfishly, so much

about me. How are you?

(I heard you waiting for heart transplant.)

To be honest, that news broke me.

I decided to write this letter to you, my

Darling,

and let you know,

this morning in the transplant center

I wrote and signed:

I donate my heart to you,

exclusively!

(You know, my Darling,

when they cut our breasts open

you out of mine…

and I will jump out of yours…)

Then hug me tight

and we will fly…!

The clouds are so soft!

Heaven is endless eternity!

So much for now.

Stay mine!

Me, definitely yours!

Until our flight into eternity!

Yours forever, me!

Written: with ink from my heart-with bloody

ink of my life.

On the day: quiet ordinary.

Important: the day of the meeting of the final

and eternal!

Hidden in your poem

No matter in what language you write

I understand you.

Do not hide in verses

it is not necessary.

If you write about winter I freeze.

When you write about tear

I cry,

about beauty I become shy,

about goodness,

thank God we are alive.

Good thing we are here, even as examples.

But, when you write about love,

I plug all my senses,

I am in it,

a lot of hidden me is your poem.

Rose garden (Defloration)

I met you

in the rose garden

like a bee would

nectar and pollen powder,

to use

for honey,

royal jelly,

honeycomb.

I brought you

into myself,

for fertilisation

in my life and

every future breath.

My dream of you

(in sign of rose

royal, unreal beautiful

in all her splendor,)

is like a castle healed

in the rose garden,

all mine.

My dream of you,...

Page 6: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Ashok Chakravarthy Tholana

Time is ripe to….

Nature lightens our innermost heart’s bliss

With new life, why not we shun differences

Life is short, why not we support the needy

Like selfless nature let’s shun being greedy.

Why not the radiance of harmony illuminate

Every heart and every place on this planet;

Why not the paths of firm love and concern

Stretch deep into the heart of every human.

Eternal will be the joy of freedom with unity

Wondrous will be the

individuality with

dignity;

Time is ripe to script

the song of

compassion

To douse the fires of

hatred and

devastation.

Let us teach humane values to one and all

Respect traditional and cultural values of all;

Let us remove the veil of hatred and reprisal

And uplift the suffering humans from

downfall.

Once and for all

Sailing on ever-new delights,

With lasting love and peace

Let us make this world;

A serene place to live in.

Promoting universal peace

In word, deed and spirit

Let us script a new chapter

That’s devoid of conflicts.

Yes, let us eliminate violence

That brings universal downfall,

Let us impart love and peace

That’s serene and perpetual.

Let us avert devastate wars

That spills hatred in one and all

Let us respect the human race,

To uproot hatred, once and for all.

For his unique poetry compositions to

promote Universal Peace, World Brotherhood,

Environment Consciousness, Protection of

Nature, Safeguarding Children’s & Human

Rights etc., Dr. Ashok Chakravarthy Tholana

received several

prestigious national

and international

awards. His message-

centric poems have

been translated into

15 international

languages. As of now,

eight out of his 18

volumes of English

poetry have been published. That apart, 13

spiritual-related books have been translated

by Ashok from Telugu to English language.

Furthermore, Dr. Ashok received

commendations from Late Shri Atal Behari

Vajpayee, former-Prime Minister, Late Shri Dr.

A.P.J Abdul Kalam, former-President, India,

Mr. Bill Clinton, USA, H/E Queen Elizabeth of

Britain, Princess of Wales, President and

Prime Minister of France, Prime Minister of

Switzerland, Senator Viktor Busa, The Lord

President, Italy, United Nationals

Organization, UNESCO, UNICEF etc.

Page 7: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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Milica Boskovic

U krugu

Okrecem se u vrtlogu,

u daljini nebom modrim

primijetim sarenobojnu dugu….

Nemoj ici,

mislima eho zvona,

vrisak grudi para…

Zasto?

Ima li ovaj krug u cijem vrtlogu sam sama,

naspram mene bar zericu

stida?

Niko nista ne vidi!!!

Kovide, odradi li sto si naumio?

Pa zasto?

Hocu, a ne mogu iz kruga,

kraj pocetak…

Pocetak je kraj…

Upiru prstom u mene,

Ja vicem „Ja Volim”!

Covjekova tajna…

Sve je oduvijek isto

i uvijek isti dovjeka…

Od pocetka do kraja

u krugu 365 dana obrtaja.

Vrtlog sve dublji i širi…

Viš u njem’ nisam sama….

Sweety Sony Lall

Includes an identity

„Be aware of all the emotions, that acquire the

things,

in which we have involved bye the thoughts

and emotions,

these effects of life always increase in the way

of mortality,

that is call only.

The Spiritual Legend thoughts and the way of

that Immortal things

which goes into that passes through the all

passages in their theme accordingly that all

emotions have always push it up,

and tone it by the source of of creation that

evolve in which,

we involve by them and cancer affected by

them.

Not only these are the source of

creativity always so apart in

which

we have concluded for our all

mortality and the effects of of

virtual images.

In all these thoughts and

emotions by be aware of that

type of rules and behaviour.

Whenever we think about that,

this is a possessive thing or not

or

we are doing something best

for anyone or not?

we can’t say anything about it,

we have to ruled all the time for them that they

go on their own way,

But in which ways they have to go,

they always feel comfort on that path for this

reason.

We have lost all the time and in all the ways

was someone,

but there is no any type of understanding

about them,

that they also know about what the desires of

thoughts we have!!

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Gianfranco Aurilio

Giochi del destino

Ho approntato un vascello

per viaggiare e solcare gli oceani

solo per trovare l’amore che volevo.

Quando sono partito

ho guardato sulla banchina

e tu eri lì.

Non ho potuto fare altro

che guardarti

e adesso

aspetto solo di ritornare

per cercarti dov’eri,

vicino casa. Dalla raccolta „Gli

occhiali dell’animo”

Fabián

Jugando en la tarde

Sábado de otoño,me

invita la tarde,

Con un cielo gris de un color ceniza,

Me invita a qué hable,que cuente,

Hablando de ella y así la describa.

Me lleva muy lejos,en un bello vuelo,

Un mágico viaje,que tal vez me inspira.

Un viaje de sueños,de bellos paisajes,

En uno de ellos,sin maldad ni espinas.

Ahí pararé, ahí mismo he de quedarme,

Buscando cosas,que tal vez me inspira.

Una bella flor,un mundo de duendes,

Distinto el pensar,con distinta meta.

Sin nada que hablar,sin ningún problema,

Tan sólo paz y un mundo de estrellas,

Que el sol salga fuerte,un hermoso viaje,

En el sólo duendes y una hermosa princesa.

Ahí he de escribir, ahí mismo yo cuente,

Mí pluma y la tinta se deslicen en letras,

Un viaje de estrellas,de un sol muy bello,

Con un cielo azul y con cosas muy bellas.

Y luego regrese muy distinto del viaje,

Jugando en la tarde y también con letras,

Hablando de duendes y un cielo ceniza,

Un par de palabras y un simple poema.

Refik Martinović

Drugačija Pesma(Na Izmaku)

Dremljiva zora govori tišinama

zaronjena u omlečeno prazno.

Ulične svetiljke boluju

pred nestajanje.

Ulica gasi ugarke noći.

Nema ljudi

ostali boluju u snovima

koje im daju nadu.

Ni ptica.

Miris umiranja

i odlazak nepovratnih.

Ulični čistači

narandžasti

zaviruju

u zalogaje siromašnih.

Ezani sa nebeskih

visina

zovu na kajanje

za sutra

ovi drugi nisu grešnici.

Ne čuje se žubor

vode šadrvana

usahli su.

Emina nije umrla.

Zatvorene kapije.

Sunce ne ulazi u avlije

sakrilo se

u ključaonicama .

Samo još Mesec živi

i prati umiranje

moje ulice.

Stihovima brojim

odlaske

i suze koje ostaju

u emanet sudbine.

Page 9: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

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year I, no. 1, 2020, July

ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Alemseged Sisay

Short review of neo-classical economics

This poem reviews shortly different views of neo-classical

And from the perspective of climate change the economics of ecological

on the sustainability of economic growth and welfare.

To changes in hydro-logical and nutrient cycles and depletion of natural capital

environmental changes have potentially large negative outcome on human and animal

therefore, questions about earth’s health mandatory while a poet thinks and ponder

Due to substitution and technical progress, consumption can be constant

even if production depends on a natural resource that is being depleted

this is how the conclusion of Neo-classical economics deed

If production depends on an essential, renewable resource

there is a level of consumption that can be forever to be continued

but Pollution lowers the level of consumption that can be sustained

The increased scale of economic activity has impacts on earth

arises from population growth, shifts in age structure, urbanization

and the so-called immigration and spatial redistribution through migration

Welfare is not merely the sum of discounted individual preferences

but requires environmental compatibility and the explicit formulation

of policies of species, ecosystems and natural resources for conservation.

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Destiny M. Chijioke

Taking a decision

Why is the gold become dim!

Stones of precious treasures poured out in the

street.

The precious decision of old men of the land

cannot be compared to fine gold, people

regard there advice so esteem as earthen

pitchers, just like clay is important to the

potter so are will to the land.

Even the sea habitant draw out breast to their

sucking. My people have become cruel, like the

ostriches in the wilderness by our decision we

take,

Every tongue of the

suckling child cleave

to the roof of his

mouth for thirst, the

weak ask for bread,

and no man break it

into them.

The circumference of

our life is gotten by the decision we take.

Just like the eagle set beside the tree like

watchman which shall never hold their peace

day or night until it gotten is prey in once

chase,

The decision of the wise bring forth light to

men.

Kings and men, will come from afar to seek for

your wisdom, and direction.

Right decision enlarge the coast of the wise,

abundance of the sea shall be convert to great

treasures to him.

Set yourself right before the day,

Let not your heart trouble like the ocean,

create stability like the sun.

As a young man married a virgin, so shall your

day rejoice with you when you set your path

right.

The path of the wise shine brighter and better

to the perfect day

My view

In a world of hopelessness

Waking up is a suffering to me.

Thinking of how to hunt

for the beast in my belle

each morning Is perilous journey

that lead to Frustration.

Wishing is only hope we have

We can wish the life of

others

But none get that

wishes.

Some die of hunger

Some die of sickness

Some die by suicide

We are close to our

grave but we

Never know when death we lie

us to rest.

We wake up each day no good

Memories to add to our build up.

The ancient history of our life

Have become talk in the world

But no primary measure to secure our

freedom.

We are living in two world

Whereby others have food,

Clean water, shelter, good educational

background,

Good hospital care, selfishness,

Greedy, power, firm,

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But we have no such privilege

What we have is heart filled with love, we

share the little the day

Provide for us.

We understand true way to lead,

We provide for the children we have around

us,

We gather together to be strength

To one another.

We are living in the field of contest

Were men and women are made.

Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

The same notes on so much music...

You think you're different, but

I'm telling you...

That if you're unique, then so is

everyone else.

We are variations but on the

same theme

We are composed, but on the

same pattern.

We're all set to the same music

On the assembled notes of a

genetic code

We have in common the

essence of the piece

Only a few embellishments distinguish us

from the lot.

Know that another man halfway around the

world...

Share with you a closer baggage.

That you sometimes have with your family

So all humans are in the same circle.

I may have a talent that the other one doesn't,

but...

How many more of these I'll never get...

All of them combined, we're much stronger.

That to want to demonstrate, that the other is

always wrong.

Me, when I see a man on another continent...

I can see his smile, the hope in his eyes...

And I always say how wonderful it is...

To be all the same but also different.

We can share so many great things

Our cultures, our customs and also our dreams

We can open ourselves up to many other

horizons

And maybe the door to our homes.

La lumière de l'amour

Avec ses yeux sans vie, elle peut voir l'infini

Pas besoin de mots dits, elle sait quand tu souris,

Elle dessine à merveille tes lèvres et

t'émerveille

Par un cœur sans pareil brûlant

comme un soleil.

Sur la trame de la vie elle tisse

vos envies

Elle donne et s'investit et

jamais ne trahit,

Elle dit avec ses doigts comme

est grande sa joie

De vivre auprès de toi, son

amour est sa foi.

Quand tu ouvres tes bras où

elle se jette déjà

La lumière est bien là, la nuit n'existe pas,

Elle sait faire l'impasse sur tout ce qui l'agace

Les soucis elle les chasse et toi ça te dépasse.

Elle met tant de douceur à t'ouvrir au bonheur

Et elle t'offre ces heures, le cœur en

apesanteur,

Elle rit de tes regrets pour cette cécité

Qui ne peut l'empêcher de vivre et de t'aimer.

C'est au petit matin quand elle te prend la main

Qu’elle te dit allons viens on est déjà demain,

Que ton amour pour elle devient folie

sensuelle

Elle est comme un appel de l'amour éternel.

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Kalipada Ghosh

Soulmate parting

Wow, the beautiful Spring is come with his

grandeur and majesty

Life full of mirth and merriment with lush

green, blossoms and fruits.

A lovely young maiden

With hopes and desires

to fulfil her life-a spring tide.

She fell in love with a man of energy

Love’s exuberance and tide.

To her, he is a furnace

of love and light.

She left her studies

and would work

in a fashionable

Studio.

The youth would come

to her

with off and on

sang life’s songs with delight

hugged and kissed and relished.

A year rolled on

the flow of love augmenting.

They settled for a marriage

in a template of deity and performed.

They were happy in their souls

as two two bird sing melodious songs sitting

side by side.

But irony of fate

They passed their days in glee.

But irony of fate

dismissed their love and light.

The beautiful husband fell ill

Wrinkled face and feeble

and imbecile.

On a spring morning

When Nature adorned with leaves

and flowers and enlivened with life

and exuberance and the flood of delight

The youth parted with his beloved

and departed to the land of Peace and

salvation.

Even today the beautiful widow would

look at the starry night

sky.

Małgorzata Lipecka

The king

You are the king of life

the whole world loves you.

You are a celebrity among many other people.

You have an aura of uniqueness and beauty

around you.

You have admiration among other people.

You have the whole world at your feet.

You live as if this day would last forever.

Someone came unexpectedly!

With one cut of the knife blade, your world

disappeared into the dark..

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Stanisław Malarz

człowiek drogi (viator)

[man of roads]

w wędrówkach od domu do baru czuję się jak ulisses ze zharataną wątrobą talizman szmaragdowej popielniczki opróżnionej na odejście z petów pomazanych twoją szminką lalu nie daje przeciwwagi nieustabilizowanym przechyłom o matko pokurczona eugeniko z krzywego lustra nad barem u pyzatego saturnina macha niby człowiek w schodzonych butach

w tonacji h-mol

[in h-moll]

usiłujesz wejść w moją przestrzeń za nieaktualnością jutra po co rytualnym ukłonem pożegnałem zgiełk życia proszę nie zakłócaj ciszy spowitej poświatą oberona jesteś uparta znakiem pokoju łamiesz ostatnią tajemnicę pewna jesteś że warto zobaczyć rozszczepienie wiekuistego światła w kobaltowej nadprzestrzeni blakną wspomnienia oszronione promieniem zimnej konstelacji skoro weszłaś do mojego świata pozwól będę cię nazywał lodową orchideą

kochanie posłuchajmy kilku fragmentów mojej ulubionej mszy h-moll piękna nieprawdaż jesteśmy jednią od teraz razem będziemy błądzić po zimnym wszechświecie napotkaną odrobinką cudzej miłości ogrzejemy naszą samotność

requiem

odeszła do Pana pogodna ciocia hela do setki tyle co nic jej brakło do wieku średniego wiele lasek zdecydowanie przewyższała urodą (zachowały się foty na gumie arabskiej) na męża wzięła hendryka ćwierć głowy niższego za to z podporą której niejedna zazdrościła później życie nie raz nie dwa przykopało w siedzisko (broń boże nie hendryk) kiedy doczesność umiłowanego złożyła do

lastrykowego lokum ukazał w jej snach nieziemsko zielone łąki po których buszował wraz z białymi zastępami co sen odpływała bardziej chłodnej jesieni zadzierzgnęła bliskość ze stanem kapłańskim odmówione tysiące dziesiątków różańca wyostrzyły dar rozpoznania kto pielęgnował pierwiastek boski za pozorantami gorąco orędowała mnie też wspierała koronką (gorliwiec ze mnie żaden) coraz to śnię łąki zielone

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reżyser ukośnych perspektyw

[the diagonal perspectives director]

introwersja matka chrzestna mojej alienacji

już w dzieciństwie dała mi do zabawy

intuicyjny reflektor z wąską smugą

selektywnego światła

na początku bardzo lubiłem szperać po

cudzych zakamarkach

pozostając niewidocznym zwiększałem

dystans między mną a nimi

skutek uboczny z

biegiem lat przybrał

formę utwardzonej

dychotomii

piękniejsze ja

ignorowało potrzeby

brzydszego

jedyną osobą którą postrzegałem jako

możliwą do stworzenia związku

wolnego od planów na przyszłość była

barbara

znałem ją z dojazdów koleją do stacji co to

rano wysypywała zaspanych

popołudniami rozwoziła posiadaczy

miesięcznych biletów na rutynowe

wytchnienie

nasze tetatet to spojrzenia trwały na długość

przejazdu w nich

zawarta była cała niewypowiedziana miłość

dwojga samotników

październikowym rankiem

życie przewekslowało mnie na inne tory

chcąc nie chcąc załapałem się do trupy

performance

popisowym punktem był numer ze skakanką

kiedy ta zawisła na moment

nad głową chóralnie krzyczano boga nie ma

alleluja alleluja

każde lądowanie po

wyskoku wybijało

głębszy dołek pod

stopami.

usłyszane

przypadkowo

irracjonalne słowo za

progiem nieokreślonej

świątyni

rozkruszyło wzorzec samo destrukcji

zapisany pomiędzy

apogeum a perygeum skakanki

(finis)

niebawem

na obrzeżu bożego podwórca barbara-ariadna

delikatnie zabierze mi reflektor punktujący

znak powrotów nad brzeg

rzeźbiony falą jordanu

nigdy nie zapomniałem

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Yazda Ashrafi

O my lord i praise you

O god I praise you

You taught me how to be best,

you made me human the best creature of your

creation,

you taught me eloquent speech,

I praise you my lord,

you created sun so I can get daylight,

you created beautiful moon ,

O god you are beautiful.

you have put the earth for all

your creatures,

you created so many different

fruits

and corn and scented plants

O my lord I praise you

Laura Gulshani

Odaliska

słodsza od landrynki

czarnoskóra królowa nocy

ukryta za gordyjskim węzłem

kokardy niespodzianki

odwraca wzrok jakby szukała

dnia wczorajszego

z błogimi pastelami kolorów

i długim baraszkowaniem

w pościeli

wyśmienite ptasie mleczko

cesarza mody Valentina

do schrupania o każdej porze

oczekuje

na bezpłatną dawkę czułości

co przetoczy się jak huragan

przez jej trzewia

opanuje mózg

nim pożar obejmie całe ciało

Yanush Doyniak

Rejs Ku Miłości

Płyniemy

Góra lodowa

Tylko trochę strachu

Zrywa się szkwał

Łódź się przewraca

Jesteśmy w wodzie

O własnych siłach

Brzeg za daleko i ręce

Bolą

Fale na duszy

Ciało jest lodem

Gdzieś tylko wiary ogień

Woda zielona jak

Nadzieja

Jest ocaleniem –

Rabija Hamidović

Maj mjesec miriše na tebe i jutarnje

kafe

Sjedim kraj prozora u sobi roze boje

u ruci držim sliku, moje ljubavi iz jedne epohe

prisjećam se dana ,kad smo sretni bili

suza kanu na sliku, uzdah izusti, bole tvoje

ruke na mojoj koži

Maj mjesec miriše na tebe, u mojoj bašti

izcvjetale ruže, behar trešnje udara u prozore,

sve je kao nekada u našoj sobi

samo nema tebe, da me zagrliš,podignes u

visine

ostavio si dio sebe, u mojoj duši duboko

ožiljak para srce i vene

obostrana ljubav jednom desi u životu

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Tvoj glas iz bašte dopire, hoćeli ta kahva

ljubavi?

Stiže za minut, samo ključ da baci u džezvi

baklava u tacni, samo za nas dvoje

sokom od baklave sladiš mi usne

ljubis me strasno, kao nikoga prije

ni kafa ne miriše više kao tog Maja kad smo se

sreli

Odlaziš u tuđinu, ljubavi moja

sa terase pratim tvoju sjenu, stao si na ćosku

ulice

gledaš me tužno, stisnuo si pesnicu rekao

zbogom

suza mi kanu, duša vrisnu, nešto mi reče nikad

te više vidjeti neću, put

te odvede na drugu

stranu svijeta

u tuđini sreo si drugu

ženu

Prstima dodirujem

tvoje usne na slici

nekada su bile moje,

ljubila sam ih strasno

sada ko zna, ko ih ljubi i skim čekas zore

Maj mjesec miriše na tebe behar trešnje i

jutarnje kafe

Zoran Radosavljevic

Od nje sam učio

Kad kreneš put krša

sa one donje strane..

sve su cure tamne…

a na vrhu je ona sva bela..

e ta mi je pamet odnela..

Probudi me miris što dopire od nje

Zamirisa mi jutros na ljubav Trebinje

volio sam ulice po kojim je šetala

mesta na kojim je sedala..

gledao sam je na način lepši

od njenog ogledala….

Ona me naučila da neke blizine ostaju bliske i

kad su negde sasvim daleko…

Sudbina moja je ona i moj neko…

Tu ispod trepavice,u drhtaju tela,sva snena,

zaspala je devojčica,probudila se jedna žena.

Kod mene i dalje sve pupulja

ništa ne vene…

Čujem eho u duši…borba želje i mirisa…

šapuću mi misli da ti želje još mirišu na mene…

Uvek se molim za nju..

i njoj je posvečena svaka moja dova..

da je uvek sretna i

zdrava

a ja bih još jednom

prošetao čaršijom

njenih snova...

Lukman Nurudeen

Sun

The inky night was tarrying on the ground

She tarried and did not make a sound

Until she threw blackness everywhere

Upon the sky and ground and air.

The sun that shines all day so bright

Goes ubiquitous to bid man light;

She melts behind a remote upland

The inky blackness broods away and wide

But I know when her nightly work is done

She would not forget to give us dawn.

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Maria Giurgiu

Sunt un proscris exilat rasial

Azi noapte, făceam salturi

acrobatice, cu definii

mă antrenam

să mă infiltrez în castelul lui Neptun.

Nimerisem pe câmpul cultivat

cu perle și mărgean din poemele

homerice,

turnurile unde lâncezeau

în haremuri aurite

frumoasele iubite ale

centaurului bătrân

erau vegheate, ieșirile zebrelite

de zombie din gărzile regale.

Călăream obsedant

un gând tenebros

printre recifurile de corali

și culturile de perle

și tânjeam, să ajung în harem.

Sunt un sinucigaș,

Corsar, extrădat penal

evadat dintr-o închisoare de

nebuni,

îmbâcsită cu fantome de covizi, masonerie și

mocirlă mișcătoare, infectă,

de milenii, lumea nebună, nebună, nebună

se zbate să scape

din tentaculele ce o istovesc

cu otravă abjectă

dar ocultismul e un monstru

ascuns în mocirlă,

cu venin de năpârcă,

o înghite devorându-i sufletul

de mii de ani și apoi o vomită!

Sunt un proscris exilat rasial

de țara mea!

Doar mama cu iubire

între două rugăciuni la Dumnezeu

mă apără și mă mai vrea

dar plânsul ei de iubire

E ca un strigăt în pustie!

Nu mai am nimic de pierdut

chiar dacă monștrii războnici

care veghează haremurile

cu demoni-sirene

mă ucid,

îmi dau în schimb

viața mea de ocnaș hăituit

pentru câteva ceasuri

de nebună și ucigașă iubire

cu preafrumoasele lui Neptun!

Gianfranco Aurilio

Giochi del destino

Ho approntato un vascello

per viaggiare e solcare gli

oceani

solo per trovare l’amore che

volevo.

Quando sono partito

ho guardato sulla banchina

e tu eri lì.

Non ho potuto fare altro

che guardarti

e adesso

aspetto solo di ritornare

per cercarti dov’eri,

vicino casa.

Dalla raccolta „Gli occhiali dell’animo”

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Afară plouă, vântul bate,

Pe geam zăresc o umbră mică,

Lângă biserică în spate,

Capul spre cruce și-l ridică.

Cu mâna-ntinsă către cer,

El spune-o rugăciune tare.

– Lasă-mă Doamne să pier!

Cu ce sunt vinovat eu oare?

Că sunt prea mic să-Ți fii greșit,

Mi-ai pus în inimă durerea,

Doamne Tu m-ai pedepsit!

De mic să nu știu ce-i plăcerea.

Să nu știu ce înseamnă „acasă”,

Nu am căldură, mângâiere,

Nu am mâncat nicicând la masă

Și am dormit doar prin unghiere.

Lumea îți spune Tatăl Nostru,

Mă simt orfan acum de Tine

Și nu văd care este rostu…

De-n viață m-ai trimis pe mine.

Să rabd de foame și de frig

Și alungat să fiu de toți,

Ma iartă acum, că am să strig,

Ia-mă la Tine! … Știu că poți!

E frig afară, bate vântul,

Plouă cu lacrimi de copil,

Un tunet îi acoperă cuvântul,

… Își lasă capu-n jos umil.

În ploaie stă o umbră mică,

Suflet pribeag prin astă lume,

Spre cruce capul și-l ridică …

Și Tu mă cerți?! când n-am nici nume …

Lina Alfieri

È salvato il mondo

È salvato il mondo

per tuo mezzo.

Meraviglioso il tuo nome

ricco di grazia.

Hai scritto

su pietra rigida parole

di tenerezza e bontà.

Hai perduto te stesso

per acquistare me…!

Ora nasco e rinasco.

Con molto amore,..

… senza giudicarmi,...

mi salvi.

Non andrà perduto

nemmeno uno dei miei capelli.

Neppure un filo d’erba,

neanche un velo di bellezza,

niente scomparirà nel nulla.

Il mondo è salvo perché amato.

Il tuo abbraccio

libera e fa alzare in volo

una pulsione d’amore.

Vasile Lihăt

O umbră mică

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Nelu Cazan

Patimile lupului 6

(fragment)

Miros de vară și de tine

Îmi aduce văntul uneori

În diminețile senine

Aș vrea să pot să ți trimit flori

În adierea lui divină

De mere dulci și de cireșe

Ești îmbrăcată în lumină

Purtănd mereu straie alese

Prin roua găndurilor mele

Pășești sfios în dimineață

Cu plete fluturănd rebele

Tu..mă trezești din nou la viață

Miros de tine și de vară

În taina viselor de noapte

Adun cu dor..a căta oară?

Să ți pun o floare semn de carte

Nici piatra azi nu te mai știe

Nu te ai mai așezat pe ea

Durerea mea mereu e vie

De căte ori dau pagina

Sperănd că mi ai lăsat ceva

Un semn,o lacrimă,un cuvănt

Dar nu i...oricăt aș căuta

Tu ești numai la mine în gănd

Miros de vară și de tine

Îmi aduce văntul uneori

Să urlu iar la lună îmi vine

Dar și ea s a ascuns în nori.

Umar Y. B.

Perch now o dove

Compressed volcanoes going up

With every ticking of the clock;

As the Ring of Fire does expand

Spreading fear, dearth an' havoc.

Thin orphans move thick mountains

In search of raiment and bread

Bereaved wives lacking in

muscles

Carry their homes on the head.

Perch now O bird of the

heavens

On this sunbaked forsaken

terrain

Littered with parts and caked

clots

Of men maimed, and of men

slain

Build thy nest with with twigs of hope

On the typhooned tree of love...

Tolerance, compassion - host branch

For a manna of calm from above

Justice, its compost manure, for

Ragged pauper, bejewelled king.

A plain of no predators nor preys;

O what heaven could that bring!

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Daniele Cerva

… E rieccoli

... e rieccoli

il senso di vuoto, la malinconia,la sensazione

d'inutilità

quaranta e più anni di parole

buttate al vento

nel tentativo di colmare

qualcosa che mai s'è riempito

che mai è sazio

e che mi lascia sempre

la bocca amara

un chiaro sapore del non esserci

carezze verbali sorrisi

virtuali

è tutto ciò che resta

ma anche questo non

serve

condensata in me

la certezza di non aver

vissuto abbastanza

sentito davvero

il passare dei giorni

il tempo che accarezza altre vite

ma non la mia

ed ancora una volta chiuso

verso il mondo

che non capisco

che non riesco più ad afferrare

e cosi

sopravvivo a me stesso

senza sapere di esserci

e qui vedo di nuovo

altre parole buttate al vento

forse meglio smettere

interrompere il flusso

... e comunque la vita va

Andrada Ilie

Tu

Tu mă iubești dar nu o spui

Și mă întreb de frica cui

Oare de frica timpului

A inimii, sufletului?

Tu mă iubești o simt, dar taci

Și din a mea iubire faci,

Lumea în care se ascunde

Sufletul tău când n-are unde.

Tu mă iubești și eu o fac,

Dar eu iubitule nu tac

Îmi strig iubirea pan'

la cer,

Că sunt om, nu sunt de

fier.

Sunt din carne și din

oase,

Îmi doresc clipe

frumoase,

Mângâieri de neuitat,

Brațul în juru-mi înconjurat,

Privirea-ți să mă pierd în ea,

Cât ne păsuie lumea

Inima-ți mie să-mi bată,

Și-o iubire nevinovată.

Tu mă iubești dar vreau mai mult,

Vreau poate-acea nebunie

În care să zbor n-am putut,

Dăruiește-mi asta...mie!

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Ana Livia Roman

Viaţa … într-un album …

Port prea mulți ani în spate și prea grei

Dar, chiar așa cum sunt, sunt anii mei

Unii cu mai mult bine, alții și cu puțin rău

Au fost așa cum datu-mi-a Dumnezeu!

Că fiecare-n viață am avut trăiri

Și din iubire, dezamăgiri, neîmpliniri

Stau toate adunate în al vieții

album

Cum, prăvălite după ploi, stau

pietrele pe drum.

Aș vrea, dac-aș putea, pagini

din el să scot

Cu ce-a fost rău, ce m-a durut,

dar… nu mai pot

Rămas-au scrise cu lacrimi și

durere

Iar vieții, să se-ntoarcă înapoi,

nu-i mai pot cere.

Acum, când firul pe mosor s-a-mpuţinat

Când știu că inimii ce și-a dorit eu nu i-am dat

Aș vrea să-i fac favorul să pulseze

Pentru-o iubire mare la care să viseze,

Iar, când veni-va timpul pentru-ultima bătaie

Plină de dragoste, cu foc și cu văpaie

Să soarbă din iubire la ultimul popas

Și, cu un ultim strop, să își ia „bun rămas “!

Costache Năstase

Test

Strâng urme de entuziasm,

Vestigii din anii tineri

Când totul era un basm

Cu zâne și sfânta Vineri,

Încerc să le-adun laolaltă,

S-ajungă de-o acțiune

Cât de cât interesantă

La fel ca-n vremurile bune.

O doză de încredere

Oricând este necesară,

Dă siguranță și putere

Ca ploaia caldă de vară.

Uneori și-o confruntare

Este un test binevenit

Un indice de valoare

De la momentul potrivit.

Dacă testul e trecut

Și constat că se mai poate

Încă nu-i nimic pierdut

Și continui mai departe.

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Smart Oyedeji

Just For You....

The universe shall be enriched with the

constellation of adornment

The castle of gold shall be built in the

palace of your Majesty

The blue sky shall wears the hues of rainbow

singing lullaby alongside your placid meadow

The crescent moon shall smother your heart

with the sparkles of peace and comfort

Just For You

Your heart will gain momentum of happiness

on the track of beauty

The selective nectars

of grandeur in the

garden of Eden,

Shall present you the

fragrance of purified

perfection

on the path of holiness

The sound of love shall

be echoed at the highest

peak of mount Zion,

For your relationship to be blessed by

heavenly dew

If the growth of trees and grasses,

Shrubs and vines are boundless in the

beauty of heaven,

So shall your heart blossom under the

ambience of silky cloud

As the breeze do carries tenderness in the

spring,

So shall the angels floating on the stream of

honour

Tender you the candle of light carrying the

glory

of the future with radiant of satisfying

blessedness

As winter do runs after summer

And summer unfolds the rain of blessing,

The purity of nature will caress your spirit like

showers of grace

For

You're the symbol of beauty

The elegant treasure that make kings to plead

before the throne of queens

And Just For You,

Men will navigate your orbit to bring you the

evergreen roses of

blessing

Tanu Vermani Kapoor

Crimson Hues!!

Nature is shedding its

old attire,

preparing for a brand new look .

Whisper of hustling leaves or

rhythm of a turning brook.

Solemn end to sublime beauty...

an exalted air... now... all greens took!!

Sun is lazy to show up soon..

... sets with a deep crimson hue.

Jaunty birds are all packed up,

to rush for their little trip long due.

Bidding adieu on every turn,

like picking up some lurking cues.

Time and tide now alter quick,

Mellifluous waves on soothing beat.

melancholic symphonies in it’s make,

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as they meet the shore and then retreat.

Strained on a dismal edge,

didn’t espy... whom they came to greet!!

Far on mountains... in woods so deep,

winds just altered track.

Humming ardent love melodies,

amidst pines... hearts break and crack.

Drift sagas along with them,

chant to the world...

.... or

... let go on a marooned shack.

Stefano Capasso

E' ingiusto rubar l'amore

Mi ritrovo a piangere,

senza fartene mistero,

mentre

ti guardo , addolorata,

perché di Te

sono ancora innamorata.

In alto,sempre di più,

cominciano a volare

sospiri amari,

perché è ormai

ben chiaro,

che ,tra Noi,

non può esserci,

futuro.

Non sono più sicura,

di voler portare via,

l'amore altrui,

per poi accompagnare

allo sbaraglio,

un 'arrabbiata moglie

e innocenti figli.

Pur provando

un profondo dispiacere,

dico, lasciamoci così,

senza rimpianti,

perché non voglio più

lasciar soffrire,

chi non ha colpa.

Bhagirath Choudhary

Art of Divine Poetry

Poetic imagination

Praises beauty of creation

Giving words and voice

To every human nation

Poet feels the pulse

By his poetic impulse

Bard's heart resonates

With loving sonnets.

Loving poetic spell

When rises well

The ordinary mortal

Becomes divine poetry portal.

With sacred passions

Poets dress up naked nations

Bards like holy masons

Build temples of civilizations.

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Paul Rotaru

Ce-i poezia?

Ce-i poezia? Glasul ce-a răbufnit din grote?

Lumina care leagă abisul de abis?

Un cântec de vioară în uragan de note?

Întâia mea clipire și cel din urmă vis?

E ultima scânteie din infinitu-mi rece?

Abis și înălțare, cădere și-apogeu?

Acea străfulgerare ce-a-ncoronat un rege?

Crepuscul și luceafăr, satan și dumnezeu?

În stihurile mele se-ascunde cu sfială

Un demon melancolic cu suflet de copil,

Ce-adesea se ridică și-mi spune cu răceală

Că lira lui cea sfântă e-

un spin de trandafir.

Eu, mut, privesc la fila

cu slove incolore

Prin care-același

demon stă drept și

neclintit,

Cu-n deget îmi arată

buchet de aurore —

Eu, răzvrătit din fire, nu înțeleg nimic!

Pe buze-nsângerate de sărutări, de șoapte,

El pare că strivește cuvântul lui Manu.

Ce-i poezia?! Glasu-i răsună mai aproape:

„Poet cu trup de ghiață, eu sunt eternul TU!

Sunt patimă și ură, uitare și iubire,

Sunt zgomot și tăcere, sunt viețile cerești,

Speranță și durere, un dram de fericire,

Iar, între toate-acestea, sunt lacrima ce ești!”

Mai răsucesc o filă, răstălmăcesc cuvinte:

Se-nnoadă sub privire-mi un orizont întreg!

Străină gălăgie îmi explodează-n minte,

Dar pe acest diavol eu tot nu-l înțeleg...

Atunci el îmi arată imperii și palate,

În care deopotrivă-s iubire și prăpăd,

Sfârșiri și începuturi, iar peste ele toate

Privește tristă Gheea, dar eu nimic nu văd...

Mă tem de sentimente? Când slove prind

culoare,

Mă camuflez în liniști și dumnezei invoc?

Talmuzi, Corani și Biblii deschid la întâmplare

Să reaprind în mine același tainic foc?

Prin armonii de Mozart să văd a Ei făptură

Și pletele-poeme cu sete să-i miros?

Sub dușul de cascadă ce-o-mbracă în căldură,

Ca Polifem în lanțuri, să o privesc sfios?

Abia atunci, fantasma surâde cu tăcere,

Arată cu un deget spre cer și spre pământ,

La slovele eterne din file efemere.

Medussa-mi ia privirea și nu văd un cuvânt!

Gigi Mejri

Colours

I wrote of all colours

Searching for yours

I said maybe white

As a dove

Maybe black

As a starless night

Maybe red as a rose

Who knows ,it can be blue

As the ocean

No need to mention

The depth

Maybe pink ,purple or brown

The colour of dehydrated leaves

Who knows ,it can be yellow

The colour of the daisy

And I start playing the game

"He loves me ,he loves me not"

To go back to infinite questions

Then find the answer in the chameleon

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prose 25-30

Ryszard Mścisz

Wójta urwanie głowy

[A Commune Head’s Headache]

Po gabinecie wójta krążyły muchy, bzyczały

na równi z wentylatorem jego starego

komputera. Okno jednak musiało być otwarte,

bo w te upalne dni nijak nie dałoby się w

zamkniętym pomieszczeniu wytrzymać.

Widząc czy raczej czując ten problem,

sekretarz gminy powiesił na

oknie pismo urzędowe:

„Muchom, wszelkim owadom i

innym stworzeniom spraw

urzędowych nie mającym –

wstęp wzbroniony”. Te jednak

gówno sobie robiły z takiego

pisma, a nawet – zdarzało się

niejednokrotnie – robiły to na

pismo. Wójt Błaśnik był

oburzony takim brakiem

posłuchu z ich strony, zaś

sekretarz Strupek wściekły z

powodu braku szacunku dla

urzędowego pisma. Toż pisał je

przez godzinę, starannie dobierając czcionkę i

nawet używając kolorowego tuszu. One

tymczasem całe pismo pokropkowały

ordynarnie, nie pomijając nawet urzędowej

pieczęci. Walka z tą hałastrą była jednak z góry

skazaną na porażkę z racji przewagi liczebnej

wroga. Nie pomogła nawet specjalnie zwołana

z tego powodu sesja, bo radni też byli

bezradni. Zastosowanie w walce z wrogiem

wojny biologicznej bądź chemicznej, to jest

odpowiednich środków i preparatów,

oznaczałoby ciągłe zamykanie gabinetu wójta

Błaśnika i przesiadywanie przez niego w

prześmierdłym pomieszczeniu.

Porozwieszanie wszędzie jakowychś lepów na

muchy oznaczałoby zaś ośmieszenie powagi

urzędowego pomieszczenia.

Trudna rada w tej mierze – można by rzec.

A przebywać w gabinecie było trzeba i sprawy

nie cierpiące zwłoki rozwiązywać. Teraz też

akurat wójt musiał wystosować pismo

urzędowe do wójta gminy Zakrapiana Wola w

sprawie budowy wspólnego dla obu gmin

gimnazjum. Bo dzieci gminnych mieszkańcy

powoływali do życia już od lat coraz mniej i

jeden budynek szkolny w sam raz

zaspokajałby potrzeby gminy Zakrapiana

Wola i Wydmuszkowo. Jako że

sekretarz miał trochę innej

pilnej pisaniny i paru

interesantów, wójt postanowił

sam pismo sklecić. Bo co to

znowu takiego, żeby on –

gospodarz gminy – miał sobie z

tym nie poradzić. Pomozolił się

trochę, czoło pomarszczył,

parę much zabił, a resztę

pogonił wolną, niepiszącą ręką

– i pismo jest jak się patrzy. Na

zwykłej kartce, bo od

komputerowego pisania to już

szary gminny pracownik jest.

Przeczytał wójt sobie pismo po cichu, a potem

– zaglądając czy akurat za drzwiami kogo nie

ma – na głos, żeby zabrzmiało jak trzeba:

Do wójta i Rady Gminy Zakrapiana Wola

Jakeśmy to już obgadywali kiedyś przy

szlachetnym trunku i w godnej kompanii,

piszę urzędowo w sprawie gimnazjum, które

wspólnie postawić uradzilim. Się wie, że ono w

naszej wsi stanąć musi, bo mieszkańcy gminy

Wydmuszkowo bardziej w temacie uczniów

szkolnych pracowali i więcej ich namnożyli.

Tylko niech tam już wójt z radnymi zaklepią to

urzędowo i swoim mieszkańcom wyjaśnią.

Pieniądze na inwestycję wyłożymy po równo,

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a jak się uda, to jakieś dotacje na ten cel z

zewnątrz dotrą i da się to zrobić szybciej, no i

mniejszym wkładem własnym. Inne szczegóły

się uzgodni potem, byle tylko zgoda była i

urzędowe przyzwolenie.

Wiadomo Wam wójcie, że bez nauki

człowiek ślepy, choć od niej też się zdarza.

Szkoła jest potrzebna, a że gimnazjum trzeba

robić, to nie nasza wina jest, ale tych, co tak

narobili w reformach. A za szkołę i nasze

wspólne interesy to jeszcze nieraz wypijem,

czego sobie i Wam życzę.

Podpisano: wójt Wydmuszkowa Jantek

Błaśnik

Po przeczytaniu na głos listu, wójt jeszcze

raz wyjrzał za drzwi, a

potem – jako że nikogo

nadal nie było – mógł

już na głos wyrazić dla

siebie aprobatę:

– A toście się wójcie

spisali. Długo nie

zeszło a pismo jest, że

mucha nie siada.

Paszła won – to

powiedział akurat do muchy, która w tym

momencie bezczelnie na pismo siadła. - Wasza

praca zaowocuje dobrą współpracą pomiędzy

gminami i wyborem na kolejną kadencję

sprawowania urzędu. Tak trzymać, drogi

wójcie – dokończył.

Teraz to już wszystko było załatwione jak

trzeba. Pismo napisane, mowa dziękczynna

wygłoszona. Wójt Błaśnik pomyślał sobie

nawet, że można by w gminie paru ludzi

zwolnić, skoro jemu tak dobrze idzie. Bo bez

sekretarza by się obeszło, a i Lucka Kramarza

można by zwolnić, bo on i tak przyjęty tylko po

znajomościach, nic robić nie umie – z

wyjątkiem chwalenia wójta. Ale po namyśle

uznał, że może lepiej nie. No bo bez sekretarza

za dużo roboty by spadło na niego, a czasem

dobrze posłuchać też i nie swoich pochwał.

Zresztą on im ze swojej kieszeni nie płaci.

Niestety, wójt musiał kończyć te

rozmyślania, bo oznajmiono mu, że pojawił się

do niego interesant. Zaraz, zaraz, przecież się

nie rozerwę – powiedział sekretarce i kazał go

zawołać za dziesięć minut. Ostatnio zaczął

darmowe kursy angielskiego, prowadzone ze

środków unijnych, więc lubił sobie od czasu do

czasu tak zagadnąć lub pomyśleć po angielsku.

Oczywiście nie istniał dla niego problem

wymowy, więc zwykł używać tych zwrotów w

takiej postaci jak zapisane. Zresztą miał na to

swoje uzasadnienie: - W takiej postaci dadzą

się dobrze połączyć z pozostałymi, polskimi

słowami. No bo nie był wójt przecież

zwolennikiem całkowitego zangielszczenia.

Czasem wtrącić jakiś

wyraz to można, ale

żeby tylko angielskich

używać – toż to nawet

niewychowawcze i

niepatriotyczne. Teraz

też sobie właśnie w

takim duchu

powiedział pod

nosem: - Taki wójt to

ma very much

problemów. Znowu pewnie ktoś czegoś chce i

mi podstawową moją funkcję – to jest

myślenie – przerywa. No ale Błaśnik był

człowiekiem obowiązkowym, więc klienta

przyjąć musiał i jakoś grzecznie go odprawić.

Wreszcie dzień pracy dobiegł końca.

Zamknął gabinet z problemami i muchami

(których było ogólnie dużo – jak mawiał: very

much) i udał się do domu. Ale myślał sobie

przez drogę, jak ciężka jest jego praca. Bo taki

zwykły człowieczek zakończy robotę i ma

spokój. A on myśli o niej po drodze, będzie

myślał w domu... Może nawet i tam ktoś

przyjdzie w jakiejś sprawie. Jedno tylko go tu

cieszyło: problemów domowych też jest

wprawdzie much, ale muchy to tam mu się

pokonać udało...

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Šahdo Bošnjak

Domobran

20 Poglavje

Zima začinjena snijegom je period kad su radovi kod druga Kadri-bega svedeni na minimum. Ljeti je mnogo raznih poslova, od kojih su najobilniji poljoprivredni i voćarski, a tu je i briga oko brojne stoke, pa oko pčela, uređivanje cvijetnjaka, avlije i slično. Zimi se obavljaju samo oni neophodni poslovi, bez kojih teško da bi opstalo ijedno domaćinstvo, kamoli ti Kadri-begovo. Cijepaju se, unose u šupu i slažu drva, namiruje se brojna stoka, krupna, a i živina, čisti se snijeg kako bi bio omogućen pristup svim zgradama u velikom dvorištu, priprema se hrana, a obavljaju se i neki periodični i manje važni poslovi.

Zato je begova potreba za slugama i, pogotovo, za nadničarima u zimskom periodu znatno smanjena. Gotovo za tri četvrtine. Ali ja i moja žena smo jedni od tih sretnika za koje uvijek ima posla, ljeti kao i zimi.

Razmišljao sam o tome i došao do zaključka da je više krupnih razloga zbog čega je to tako. Navest ću neke. Recimo, i ja i žena smo vrijedni radnici. Zatim, mnoge poslove drugi mu ne bi znali, niti htjeli, obavljati tako kao što ih ja obavljam. Usto, ni u koga nije imao tako veliko povjerenje kao u mene, pa sam sukladno tome poznavao i mnoge njegove tajne, koje bi mu sasvim umanjile ugled u očima naroda i, naročito, kod vlasti, ako bi dospjele u javnost, pogotovo do mnogih seoskih tračara.

S druge strane, poznato mi je, i lično sam iskusio na vlastitoj koži, da mi je Kadri-demon najveći i najpodmukliji neprijatelj, koji bi me se rado riješio onog časa kad mu više ne

budem bio potreban, i kad bi mogao da se ni slučajno ne sazna da on stoji iza toga. Zato on nastoji da od mene sakrije što više tajni. No, neke naprosto ne može, jer sam mu ja u nekim nemoralnim i nezakonitim rabotama nezamjenljiv saučesnik. A jutros mi je naredio da brinem o konjima: da ih hranim, čistim i da ih pustim u njihov tor barem sahat-dva, da malo protrče i tako protegnu noge. Naime, goveda mogu biti vezana i provoditi vrijeme na jednom mjestu jako dugo. Dok to konji teško podnose.

Oni vole da su aktivni, stalno u pokretu. Zato iz staje imaju izlaz direktno u za njih

pripremljeni tor. Staja za konje podijeljena je u dva dijela. Jedan je za jahaće, a drugi za konje za vuču. Znao sam, a znao je i beg, da imam cijelog dana posla kod konja. Sinoć je meni i Bećiru rekao da će danas kod njega doći Glavna komisija za otkup.

Zašto nama, siromašnim seljacima, mjesne Komisije, a njemu Glavna. To može značiti dvije stvari. Jedna je da je on kod nove vlasti nesumljiv autoritet, a druga da vlasti znaju za njegovo ogromno

bogatstvo pa tako i velike godišnje prinose hrane. Zato su od njega očekivali i veliki otkup i prema njemu malo više ispoljavanja sile da bi se taj otkup i realizovao. No, sve bi to i bilo tako, da Kadri-beg nije bio simpatizer partizana od samog početka rata i da mu šura Edhem Nuhbegović nije predsjednik Glavne komisije za otkupe.

Sve sam to ja uspio saznati i nekako u svojoj glavi povezati u logičnu cjelinu. Još sam zaključio kako i ova vlast, koja sebe naziva komunističkom, niti je pravedna, a još manje bezgrešna. Nije još čestito ni zaživjela, a već boluje od ružnih bolesti kapitalizma, kao što su: korupcije, mita, rođačkih, prijateljskih i

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drugih veza kao i raznih drugih lopovluka. Naravno, sve se to dobro skriva zato što bi kazne za počinioce, barem u ovim poratnim vremenima, bile primjerne i kobne. Siguran sam kako me beg udaljio od hambara jer nije želio da budem svjedok dolaska Komisije i njihovog pregleda u prvom redu hambara, a potom, moguće, i drugih prostorija. Svakako je želio da jedan svjedok bude manje, pogotovo ako je tako nezgodan kao što je smatrao da sam ja.

Snijeg je i danas svojim laticama behara tkao bijele, mekahne ćilime i njima obilato darivao brda i doline, ali i Kalešić i okolna sela. Umanjio je tek u poslijepodnevnim sahatima da bi sasvim prestao s tkanjem s prvim baršunastim sumrakom, što se tako lahko gnijezdio kao kokoška na položenim jajima. Malo poslije podneva u staju je ušao jedan sluga da mi pomogne pokidati konjsku balegu tako što bismo je kroz kidanicu izbacili napolje na đubrište. Ulazeći zaboravio je zatvoriti vrata te je ždrijebe kobile Bise uspjelo istrčati na prostranu avliju. Oba smo pohitjeli za njim, bojeći se da se ne pozlijedi. I umalo se nismo sudarili s općinskim fijakerom. U njemu se nalazio kočijaš i tri člana Komisije za otkup. Prepoznao sam samo predsjednika Edhema Nuhbegovića, koji nas je pozdravio:

– Dobar dan, drugovi! Ima li kod vas snijega?

Edhema sam poznavao od ranije. Prvi put sam ga vidio kad smo išli Kadri-begu u svatove. Poslije smo se gotovo redovno viđali kad bi on posjećivao zeta i sestru ili kad bi mi bilo naređeno da begovski par fijakerom odvezem u Tešanj, u posjetu porodici begovice Širaze. U nekoliko navrata smo uzgredno i popričali, te sam siguran kako i on mene dobro poznaje.

– Dobar dan, druže Edheme! – odgovorio sam – Ima ga malo i previše.

Produžili su još koju desetinu metara i zaustavili se pred čardakom, gdje ih je dočekao i pozdravio sami gospodar, zapravo drug Kadri-beg Džonlić. Dok smo se vijali za nestašnim mladuncem, čuo sam kako ih je domaćin upitao kojim dobrom su došli. Onda ga je Edhem potanko obavijestio, sve kako nalažu pravila službe, da su oni članovi Glavne otkupne komisije na općini, i predstavio dva kolege i kočijaša. Sebe, razumljivo, nije predstavljao, jer mu je domaćin bio zet. Pošto smo ulučili razigranog mladunca u staju, i dok je moj kolega Fehim nastavio čistiti konjsku balegu, ja sam brže-bolje dohvatio lopatu za čišćenje snijega i, kao bajagi, nastavio razgrtati

snijeg ispred ulaza u staju.

S tog mjesta mogao sam i da lijepo vidim domaćina i goste i da sasvim razgovijetno čujem razgovor između njih.

– Želite li koju rakijicu da se malo zgrijete i usto šta

ovako založiti?... – pitao je beg.

– Ne, o ne, druže Kadrija! – reče službenim glasom Edhem. – Zbog toga bi neko mogao optužiti i tebe i nas, kako nas želiš potkupiti.

– O, ne ne, molit ću lijepo! Ja sam samo gostoljubiv prema svima koji navrate u moju avliju. Pogotovo po ovakvom pasijem vremenu. Dobro, onda, molim lijepo. Samo izvolite, radite svoj posao. Ja ni u kojem slučaju neću smetati.

Jedan nizak i prosijed čovječuljak izvadio je svesku i olovku iz kožne komesarske tašne i stao pisati zapisnik. Tad Edhem reče:

– Nama je, druže Kadrija, prijavljeno da ti posjeduješ velike viškove hrane. Naš je zadatak da sve te viškove po zakonu, a u ime države, oduzmemo od tebe. Tebi će ostati samo ona nužna količina, također propisana

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zakonom.

– Dragi drugovi – otpoče beg tihim, sjetnim glasom – što sam imao hrane, najveći dio dao sam svojim slugama i najamnicima kako bih im podmirio zarađene nadnice. Veliki dio sam potrošio hraneći stoku, a, bogami, sam dosta razdijelio siromasima i prosjacima, kad bi pali na aman ovdje pred čardakom. Tako da više nemam hrane ni za sebe, a kamoli još i za državu.

– Uredu, druže, otključaj nam sve hambare i koševe da se i mi lično uvjerimo u to što govoriš.

Beg pozva starog baščovana Galiba da mu iz čardaka donese ključeve od svih vanjskih prostorija. Zatim otključa sve hambare i koševe te pozva Edhema i druga dva člana Komisije da slobodno pogledaju. Pošto su natenhane sve pregledali, Edhem se kao slučajno uputi prema staji, ispred koje sam čistio snijeg. U prolazu kratko zastade kod mene, šeretski mi namignu, muhnu me malo prstima u rebra i upita:

– Svaka vam čast, Naile. Kad brž-bolje skloniste onoliku hranu? Čak ste stigli i okna pomesti!

– Kakvu hranu?! – glumio sam kao, tobože, ne znam o čemu me to Edhem pita.

– Hajde, bolan, ne budali, kad ja znam sve. Hoćeš li da ti kažem i gdje ste je sakrili? Eno je u Gričiću u iskrčenoj šumi, pod snijegom. Štaviše ste stigli i tragove poravnati brezovim metlama. Aferim! – reče, plesnu me blago po ramenu i kobajagi nastavi cunjati po stajama, dok su njegove kolege zavirivale po avlijskim ćoškovima, ne bi li otkrili kakav trag tolikoj, u zemlju propaloj, hrani.

Na kraju je zapisničar dovršio Zapisnik o otkupu hrane od druga Kadrije Džonlića. U njemu je konstatovao stanje kakvo su zatekli

prilikom detaljnog pregleda svih dvorišnih zgrada, čak i čardaka, kao i detaljno obrazloženje druga Kadrije zbog čega je zatečeno stanje takvo kakvo jeste. Na kraju su se svi članovi Komisije potpisali ispod Zapisnika kao i drug Kadrija. Pri odlasku drugarski su se pozdravili s domaćinom, sjeli u fijaker i zadovoljni obavljenim poslom odjezdili u Tešanj. Samo što su napustili avliju, a drug Kadrija nasred avlije raskreči obje noge pa za njima odmjeri od šake do lakta podviknuvši:

– Evo vam, partizančine, šumnjaci, nećete zajebati mene, moćnog Kadri-bega. Više ja

imam pameti u dupetu nego vi, drugovi, u vašim pohlepnim glavurdama.

Onda je odmjerenim koracima došetao do mene i srdito se izdreljio na me:

– A ti, ti, Naile... Sve si i gledao i slušao, je li?! Ma, sunce li ti garavo, zucneš li kome i riječ o ovome, s glavom ću te rastaviti! Porodicu ću ti pobiti, a kuću zažeći!... Dobro to upamti, i iz sna kad se probudiš!...

– Aman, gospodaru, pa nisam ja dijete. Takvo nešto

nije mi ni nakraj pameti. Budi ti za me bez brige! – tješio sam ga, znajući da imam posla s okorjelim zulumćarom, koji bi svoje prijetnje mogao lahko i ostvariti.

– Hm, bolje ti je da tako i bude... Nego, idi kući iz ovih stopa i odmori se. Onda mi dođi tačno u ponoć. Imam jedan života vrijedan posao, koji mogu povjeriti samo tebi. Pomagat će nam i Bećir, ali on neće znati gdje i kome ćemo voziti hranu iz Gričića. A vozit ćeš je Rašidu pekaru u Teslić. Cijena je tako povoljna pa kao da mi je plaća samim suhim zlatom.

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Anna Maria Sprzęczka-Stępień

Mój brat-artysta

[My Brother-Artist]

Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

I believe

A tak rysuje mój brat. Brat-stolarz, brat-wierszokleta, brat-konstruktor od kolektorów słonecznych...

Obok takiego talentu nie można przejść obojętnie, ani go zapomnieć.

Rysunki wykonane są bądź to na podstawie gazet (są tu aktorzy, aktorki i zwykli bohaterowie artykułów), bądź na żywo (portrety członków naszej rodziny – i mój, i naszych rodziców).

Zapraszam do oglądania i podziwiania.

Ja zachwycam się za każdym razem, kiedy sięgnę po nie do mojego skarbczyka, specjalnej teczki z ciekawymi materiałami.

I pewnie przepadłyby na zawsze w czeluściach szuflad brata, gdyby rodzona siostra jego nie była taka wścibska, i nie rzuciła raz okiem na to, co kryje się na biurku, pod stertą papierów, wydruków i formularzy. Trafiwszy na jeden, szukała aż znalazła – oto one, arcydzieła –odręcznie naszkicowane, już pożółkłe czasem i ze śladami notatek brata, nadgryzione zębem czasu; niektóre to kserokopie. Te są bledsze, lekko niewyraźne, choć z drugiej strony, jakby nie patrzeć, lepiej zachowane i estetyczniejsze (bo mój domowy artysta pewnie w końcu wyrzuciłby oryginały, więc nie bardzo o nie dbał, dopisując przy okazji a to wzory chemiczne, wiązania, a to kalkulacje jakieś raz na awersie, innym zaś razem na rewersie).

Portrety:

Wiesław Stępień

[DZIENNIKI / FOTO-

PAMIĘTNIKI / o życiu refleksje:

„U styku dwóch rzek – ale na

nowo napisane – co w duszy gra”

I believe that there are beings destined

for each other.

A calling from the bodies, a calling from

the hearts. A secret whispered in the depths

of the night. A promise of life...

I believe there are beings that everything

brings together. Beyond appearances and

preconceptions. Beyond all that exists and

that does not exist.

I believe that there are beings made to get

along. Without a word, even. To get along

and understand each other. The language of

souls.

I believe that there are beings made to

find each other. To find each other. And

never leave each other.

Beings made to discover love together.

Remembering it, together.

Souls who remember as they love each

other...

I believe there are souls meant for each

other.

I think we have a date...!!!!!

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essay 31-35

Lenuș Lungu

Bias of Priene (642-577 BC)

He is the first figure, the most bizarre and

mysterious of the seven sages of Greece. His

bibliography is unknown, only fragments with

modest information about his life have been

preserved. It is believed that Bias was

contemporary with the famous king Cresus

and witnessed the conquest of the cities of

Asia Minor by the Persians.

At that time, there was a

long war between Samos and

Priene. In the battle of Drius,

the inhabitants of Priene were

defeated by the Milesians. Bias

traveled to Samos and

managed to resolve the conflict

on terms satisfactory to all

parties. In this way, military

action ceased.

During the Second

Messianic War, Bias redeemed

some of the girls taken

prisoner by the Spartans, raised their own

daughters, and then sent them home to their

parents, even giving them dowries. Shortly

afterwards, Athenian fishermen brought a

bronze tripod with the inscription "Wise"

ashore.

The father of one of the girls spoke at the

assembly of the people, told about the good

deed of the philosopher and declared that the

sage can only be this one, namely Bias. The

assembly of the people agreed with this

statement and I was sent the tripod. Bias, after

reading the inscription on the tripod, declared

that the sage was the god Apollo and did not

receive the gift. After a while, during the siege

of the Lydian king Alyattes, Bias saved his

hometown by a ruse, after which Alyattes

concluded a peace agreement with Priene.

Advised by the sage Bias, the Lydian king

Cresus stopped preparations for the

construction of a fleet and began to maintain

friendly relations with the inhabitants of the

Ionian Islands.

When Priene was conquered by the

Persians, many of the inhabitants began to flee

the city, striving to take all their

possessions with them. Only

Bias was very calm. The

inhabitants of the city were

amazed by the calm demeanor

of the philosopher and asked

him why he did not take

anything with him, to which the

sage replied with his famous

phrase: "Everything I have, I

carry with me."

* Do not encourage recklessness, love

prudence.

* Conquer by conviction, not by force.

* Most are bad.

* When you are poor, quarrel with the rich

only if you have not borrowed too much.

* Do not hurry when you speak, haste is a

sign of madness.

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Destiny M. Chijioke

Word of wisdom

* The secret behind successful day is early fellowship with the day before it proceed is journey, wake up early communicate with your maker only then you will have upper edge over other people, that run the day with you.

* pain break us Into two part, good and bad, it left for us to decide which one to follow.

* pain increase when you think of it, but is better to educate your mind that pain is only thing that make us stronger

* pain bring family together to seek for oneness, family is not known in the season of gain but in the season of pain.

* the secret of overcoming pain is oneness with yourself, connect your mind,spirit,body together in one accord.

* the strongest and most dangerous force on earth is pain,

Men arise and fall by pain, pain kill your believe and also strengthens you more.

Silvia Garioni

Sei tutti i miei sbagli

di Penelope Ward

Torna la fantastica penna di Penelope Ward

a far sognare con una nuova storia d’amore

che vede per protagonisti Chelsea e Damien.

Un inizio da perfetta commedia farà

divertire il lettore per il modo rocambolesco in

cui si incontrano la prima volta i due giovani,

per poi trasportare con un ritmo graduale

verso qualcosa di più serio e romantico.

Quasi tutta la storia, epilogo a parte il quale

regala finalmente un piccolo assaggio dei

pensieri intimi di Damien, viene descritto dal

punto di vista personale della dolce Chelsea e

raccontato al tempo passato.

Damien nasconde un segreto il quale lo

spinge ad allontanare l’unica donna che abbia

mai veramente amato, ma Chelsea non sarà

disposta a farsi da parte così facilmente, e

quando quel segreto verrà a galla entrambi gli

innamorati dovranno affrontare delle

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importanti decisioni, forse le più importanti

della loro vita. Questo porterà

irrimediabilmente il lettore a riflettere se è

giusto o meno lasciare andare la persona

amata per salvaguardare il suo futuro, anche

se questo porterà entrambi a soffrire, oppure

vale la pena correre il rischio?

Si può amare a tal punto da compiere un

atto quasi masochista e spezzarsi il cuore con

le proprie mani per il bene dell’altro?

Damien dimostra tutto quanto attraverso

gli occhi di Chelsea in questa storia che farà

ridere e piangere assieme, che alterna humor,

dolcezza e passione

in un’altalena di

emozioni grazie alle

quali mai ci si

annoia.

La trama e i

dialoghi risultano

scorrevoli e ben

costruiti, questo

anche grazie al

buon lavoro svolto

dalla traduttrice

Simona Palmieri

che ha saputo

riportarne con cura

ogni aspetto. Il finale di certo non delude e,

come sempre, l’autrice lascia aperto uno

spiraglio per un’eventuale futura storia

d’amore fra due personaggi rilevanti comparsi

in questo romanzo. In attesa di una nuova

uscita, consiglio di intrattenersi con „Sei tutti i

miei sbagli”, e come il titolo stesso suggerisce,

a volte bisogna anche sbagliare per trovare la

strada giusta, esattamente ciò che

dimostreranno Chelsea e Damien fra queste

pagine.

Amanti del romance, non perdetevelo!

Akhila Saroha

The Rhythm of the Butterfly

AUTHOR: Santosh Kumar Biswa

GENRE: Poetry

In the modern times, generally poetry does

not seem to be following the poetic

conventions set by literary giants of earlier

times who followed them and wrote

marvellous works. In the present day of poetry

writing, Santosh Kumar Biswa’s collection of

poetry, „The Rhythm of the Butterfly” is

beautiful work comprising of 131 poems

having the artistic showcase of the exceptional

skills and ability of the poet and his effortlessly

creative style of writing poetry. The poet

appears to be a deeply rooted person of

literature and particularly well read in the

classical, canonical, well-known and

renowned texts of literature and the influence

appears clearly in his writing. This deep

knowledge and thorough study of the classics

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makes his work very rich and beautiful. He

writes with flair and the smart usage of

literary devices only does the work of

ornamentation and adds beauty, grace and

charm to his writing. The writing is definitely

on contemporary subjects and issues but the

influence of the classics is very much visible in

his work and that is what differentiates him

from his mainstream counterparts.

For a person having fine knowledge of

poetry writing, metric style, figures of speech,

various literary devices and verse pattern, it is

easily noticeable how the poet follows the

conventions of poetry

by following a

standard stanza size

or even writing in

different forms of

verse.

He uses the

definitions of poetry

as given by William

Wordsworth and T.S.Eliot and stylistically fits

in his own definition of poetry in between

them in the beginning of the collection.

Apparently, his definition of poetry makes

equal sense too.

The poet puts great thought and effort

when he writes of diverse themes which

include peace, family, women, nature, people,

culture and cultural differences. Other than

that he explores abstract themes like time,

love, teaching as a profession (since the poet

himself is a teacher) and beauty not just being

limited to the external side. He even explores

subjects as simple as a smile, saying no to

things, desires, children and dreams.

Often, his poems appear to have literary

references now and then. His poem, „My dark

lady” reminds the reader of Shakespeare’s

sonnets addressed to a dark lady. His other

poem „The Road to be Taken” reminds of

Robert Frost’s „The Road not taken” and

somewhere appears to be a post modern take

on Frost’s thought. For a person who has a

good literature background, poems of these

kinds in his collection offer an interesting

insight into the mind of the poet and the

changed context with the same subjects years

later. Other poems in

this regard include,

„Let us sing oh!

Nightingale” which

appears to have the

Keatsian influence

from „Ode to

Nightingale”, „Hell”

which reminds of

Dante’s „Inferno” and John Milton’s „Paradise

Lost” and another poem „Beauty” having a

direct Shakespearean allusion etc. Other

beautiful poems in the collection include, „The

song of my childhood’s happiness”, „Inside my

mother’s womb”, „O friend of mine! All’s

friend”, „The Rhythm of my Heart”, „An

interview with my Granny”. In these poems

and in many more, the poet’s genius and flair

appropriately comes to life and somewhere

the potential of his poems to stand the test of

time is also worth noticing.

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Lenuș Lungu

Author's portrait Sameer Goel

Sameer Goel is the educational director,

Delhi NCR, at the World Aid Organization for

Human Rights and also vice president,

International Relations with all associations of

repute in the Republic of India. Sameer Goel,

an experienced teacher and writer, a human

rights activist, a respected journalist and

writer. He was recently named

Vice President, International

Relations at All Indian,

Reporter’s Association. The

portfolio includes the

appointment of ambassadors

of peace throughout the world.

With intense activity, Sameer

Goel directed his steps towards

culture, promoting it. Also,

writing became his friend and

he himself became a poet

appreciated by readers, taking

care to offer them quality

literature, journalism articles,

poems and information from different fields

(cultural and not only). Admirable is the fact

that it never stood still. As a poet, he

constantly struggled to bring poetry to light

and, knowing from his own experience what it

means to be a writer today, he extended a

hand to the authors, promoting them through

his resources. His professionalism bore fruit

not only in his work, but also in the authors he

helped with perseverance and dedication. At

the same time, he always opted for self-

education and personal evolution, and in this

sense, documentation from various areas of

interest and intellectual development played

an essential role. Supporting progress in any

field and strongly rejecting the capping, the

poet considers that man is in a continuous

ascent as long as he wishes to do so. His

literary activity was warmly received and

applauded by both readers. To learn more

about the author, but also about his literary

work, to read poems, but also articles from

various fields of interest, to get to know and

socialize with Sameer Goel to invest some time

in his own intellectual development, you are

invited to our poet’s personal website. Here

you will discover a magical

world of culture and

refinement and you will

witness that special spell

between writer and reader. As

a publicist, Sameer Goel has

written essays, articles and

opinions in multiple

publications, both online and in

print. He also excelled in

promoting anthologies.

Ginger Hues, Dripping

Honey, his first book, is a

collection of short quotes and

epigrams about the experiences and

aspirations we all have in our lives. It has a

total of twelve chapters, each of them

presenting various dimensions, its

experiences and aspirations, the lessons it

learns. He tells us about all the sufferings

presented and aspirations. Moreover, the way

in which he strongly supported his literary

endeavors brings him another plus in today’s

society. Against a highly technological

background, he managed to show that quality

literature has a well-defined place.

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confabulation 3646

Jo Herbert

Interview with Alexander McCall Smith

Alexander McCall Smith is the author of

over 60 books, including the bestselling No. 1

Ladies Detective Agency series.

Why do you write?

Like most writers, I write because I feel that

I have to. It’s not exactly a compulsion, but it’s

quite close to that. Writing makes sense of

one’s world, which is what most of us want to

do on some level or other.

Which novelists

do you admire?

I like the usual

suspects – the great

19th-century novelists

such as Tolstoy,

Flaubert and Dickens –

but I very much enjoy

reading twentieth-

century and

contemporary novels too. Graham Greene was

a great master.

R. K. Narayan, the Indian writer who

created a wonderful series of books set in the

small Indian town of Malgudi, is one of my

great literary heroes. He is something of a

miniaturist, as is Barbara Pym, another

enthusiasm of mine. Then, for a bit of humour,

I greatly admire E. F. Benson and his Mapp and

Lucia novels.

Describe the route to your first novel

being published…

I started as a writer of children’s books. I

entered a writing competition and was

fortunate enough to be one of the winners.

After writing numerous children’s books I

started to write short stories, and then

progressed to writing novels.

How has having a literary agent helped

you?

At a very early stage in my writing career I

acquired an agent. I was very fortunate to have

Gina Pollinger on my side, and she continued

to represent me until her retirement. I then

went to Caroline Walsh at David Higham

Associates, who has done a wonderful job for

me. A good agent is above the price of rubies.

In what ways do you ’service’ your

books?

If one is fortunate enough to have one’s

books taken up in a significant way, there is a

tremendous amount

to do in ‘servicing’ the

books. I do a lot of

travelling and often

attend literary

festivals and other

events all over the

world. Although it can

be quite burdensome,

it is always very

interesting to meet the readers, and I think

that is what keeps me going.

What advice would you give to an

aspiring novelist?

I think that many novelists at the beginning

of their careers spend far too much time

writing and then tinkering with their first

book.

My advice is to write a book and then

immediately go on to the next one and to the

one after that. In other words, the more you

write, the better you will become.

Alexander McCall Smith has written over 60

books for adults and children, as well as a variety of

academic legal texts.Best known for his No. 1 Ladies

Detective Agency series, the latest addition – The

Double Comfort Safari Club – is published in March

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2010.

Adrian Grauenfels

Aspecte dadaiste în poezia Beatricei Bernath

Analizând problematica scrisului

românesc în Israelul modern nu putem ignora

câțiva factori derivați din starea

intelectualului educat în România comunistă

și ulterior stabilit în Israel, așa cum este cazul

generației noastre care se află la granița

dintre două total diferite

culturi. Evreii României

postbelice au avut

oportunitatea unei educații

pluraliste, puternic influențate

spre valorile latiniste, vest-

europene, fiind supuși unei

literaturi de înalt suflu,

produsă de marii scriitorii și

poeți români din secolul XIX-

XX.

Pe de altă parte, regimul

comunist a preferat să

mascheze existența și opera de

excepție e unei întregi pleiade

de artiști avangardiști, filosofi, dramaturgi și

artiști plastici - apăruți puțin înainte de primul

război mondial și desigur ulterior nealiniați

idealului comunist de artă pentru popor. Așa

se face că mulți dintre noi, imigranții ajunși în

Israel în anii 70, am consumat în tinerețe și

studenție o literatură universală și autohtonă

cu un larg spectru de la Dante, Shakespeare,

Cehov, Caragiale sau Ionesco, și pană la

Arghezi, Marin Preda, Liviu Rebreanu, Sorescu

etc. Nimeni nu pomenea în anii 70 de mișcarea

Dada, de Tristan Tzara, Marcel Iancu, Brauner,

Vinea, Eliade, Cioran, de avangarde sau

suprarealism. În Israelul anilor 70-80

întâlnim aici o cultura deja formată, devenită

eclectică, puternic amalgamată între oriental,

european, idealul sionist, etc.. marcată de

activitatea unor elite intelectuale trecute prin

ororile holocaustului și apoi hărțuită mental

și uneori fizic de conflictul dintre palestinieni,

țările arabe și israelieni. Țara trebuie apărată

și construită. Clima este grea, lipsurile sunt

acute. În acest context amplificat de

complexitatea limbii ebraice funcționează

artista Beatrice Bernath care oscilează între

desen, arte plastice, scris și viața de familie.

Învață, apoi predă și produce artă, crește doi

băieți, o familie...cu o artă într-o manieră vădit

răzvrătită, impulsivă, profund

expresionistă . Subiectele

preferate sunt femeia, pe știi,

marea, peisajul urban imediat

și interacția dintre artist cu

mediul său. Care nu este nici

plăcut, nici foarte estetic, nici

armonios ci veșnic se cere

modelat, digerat, corectat din

mers. Marșul acesta între

trivial și vis, existența brutală

vis a vis de idealul frumuseții

utopice, oscilarea între infinite

obstacole și survolarea lor cu

maliție și umor stau la cheia

succesului Beatricei Bernath.

Poezia ei este o litanie personală, un scroll

al mondenului presărat de emoții și de

neliniști de magnitudini fluctuante. Iată cum

în "Decameronii mei mișună în paradis "

(Tracus Arte -2016) poeta produce un ritual

oniric în care își asumă toate rolurile posibile:

"muza mea se hrănește din zboruri

albastre/plânge în marea sărată /.. luna m-a

înșelat/e o minciuna rece/în magazinul cu

manechine vechi mă caut..." În altă stanță își

vopsește părul în albastru ... ca sa mă simt

tristă/că nu are nicio importanță /de este bine

sau nu/ca de obicei desenele mele vor

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rămâne/neterminate spuneai? " Artista

circula liber între un paradis imaginar și unul

concret, plin de dileme. Dacă dadaismul

postula refuzarea nebuniei lumii și inventarea

unui arte noi, BB se conformă mai ales prin

colajele sale picto-vizuale. Ea însoțește textul

poetic cu desene sau invers, intervine în desen

cu fragmente de text și prelucrări digitale

extrem de inspirate reușind sa producă o arta

nouă, adaptată la mediile noi, electronice,

care o seduc.

BB devine un artist total al revelației

estetice, obținută prin imagini, o sinceritate

intrinsecă și mesajul poeziei sale,

neconvențional.

Trebuie pomenită

cartea scrisă la două

mâini: " Doamnă, e un

poet sub masă.. ",

(autori: BB și

subsemnatul ), o carte

de colaje

experimentale în care

autorii produc un

dialog dinamic cu diferite voci. BB folosește

stări descriptive, emoționale, uneori tranzacții

psihologice cu ea însăși: "mărul e doar un

fruct/în regăsirea sinelui reinventez saga

amazoanei/voi galopa singură în marele

niciunde/... e grea lupta dintre mine și eu/nu

știu jocul/mâzgălesc zâmbete/informație:

inima este un organ oarecare." În schimb

partenerul de colaj o invită la absurd: "tren

albastru cu călători fericiți/urcă pe o pojghiță

de gheață , o rupe, oftează și dispare în apele

reci cu un zâmbet mulțumit/suma cuvintelor

folosite pană în abis fiind zero". Cei doi

construiesc un opus bipolar interactiv,

echivalent cu joaca "cadavrul esquis" a

dadaiștilor, dar toposurile nu se contopesc

într-o coherenta imagine sau dialog ci se

așează ca un într-un mozaic, uneori nostalgic,

alteori reluctant la textul precedent, și de

aceea, cartea se poate citi aleator - la

întâmplare sau chiar pe dosul oglinzii (vezi

poemul "Pe cealaltă parte a oglinzii") așa cum

ne explică poeta: "Voi ilustra insomniile fără să

ascund nimic pană de frica revelării secretelor

murdare vor părăsi insula creierului meu

nedormit cu adresa în poșeta celui mai bun

dușman..." Ba chiar ne vom răfui pentru

insuccesele și frustrarea intelectualului

înlănțuit în limba lui maternă, singura în care

poate respira și argumenta: "Antiromantic - aș

paște iarba de sub vaci/aș îneca tristețea în

marea moartă/bolovan te trag cu praștia

ochind toate urâtele care trec pe stradă /te rad

în barbă/te cojesc scoarță . te ogoiesc cum

pot/pom morocănos și

sictirit "(BB). Iar AG

produce un ecou în

"Parter fără lift" :

"hainele mele se

demodează dizolvate

de stilul eclectic/de cei

ce vând belciuge și

oximoron/suntem

morți în viata asta de

matriță/de aceea strig HELP la ore fixe, poate

mă auzi tu, cea de la parter.." Desenele din

carte sunt vibrante ilustrând diversele stări

ale femeii pictor-poet-filosof: vom găsi trei

muze în nud încercând un dans haotic, poate

un ritual în care dansatoarea alege poziția și

direcția, așa cum arta are direcții, stiluri și

căutări diferite. Dadaismul s-a epuizat după o

efervescență explozivă care a catalizat

apariția suparealismului european, a

promovat îndrăzneala, visul, scrisul automat

...negând tot ce era rece, precis și bine definit.

Trăim într-o lume relativa, cuantică, în care

Pisica lui Schrödinger ne învață că adevărul ni

se dezvăluie numai cand îl cercetăm de la o

distanță decentă.

Beatrice trăiește un proces evolutiv în scris,

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se distilează și se rafinează la margine

cuvintelor. Într-o conferință ținută la ICR -Tel

Aviv, încercam să demonstrez că în Israelul de

azi, în limba română (cel puțin) nu se mai pot

produce capodopere. Lipsesc ingredientele

unei mari și radicale literaturi care nu se poate

naște într-o societate lipsită de mentori, de

etică, care fărâmițată în sute de cioburi

conceptuale, produce un caleidoscop care cu

greu strălucește în lumina și arșița acestor

locuri.

BB rămâne o excepție proaspătă, închei cu

un fragment dintr-o poezie recentă:

Lukas gorila mea de iarnă

uite a venit primăvara plină cu

flori

luăm hotărâri ce ni se par

perfecte

le trăim și dacă nu le-am fi luat

dacă lăsăm iubirea să atârne în

spațiul imens

ce ne desparte atâta

am fi devenit rutină că nu mai e

iarna decât în noi

acum în timpul reînnoirilor

aud un cântec

îmi undui șoldurile pe melodia lui

e proaspăt ca liliacul

în care-mi îngrop timidă obrazul cu lacrimile-

n ochi de dorul vechi

neîmplinit

mereu cu întrebarea:

ar fi devenit rutină

sau era dragostea?

Lukas gorila mea am mai iubit cândva iubire

de copil

și aș fugi în ea.

Adrian Scriminţ

Teatrele, mari factori de risc?!?

Spre neuimirea mea, căci în momentele de

față nu prea mai sunt ipostaze care să mă mai

surprindă, descopăr tot felul de declarații

aproape halucinante în spațiul public, venite

din partea anumitor persoane amplu

mediatizate, unele dintre ele chiar îndrăgite de

populație, de altfel și urmate. O oarecare

declarație a unei astfel de

persoane m-a făcut să rămân cu

scroll mouse-ul în loc, și să mă

întreb: oare să mă supăr pe

Raed Arafat, sau nu??? mai ales

că în urmă cu câteva luni încă îl

simpatizam. Dar mi s-a

volatilizat treptat simpatia, și

în momentul de față tinde să se

afle pe cale de dispariție.

Simțeam un prestigiu și o

afinitate față de domnia lui

pentru că în urmă cu câțiva ani

mă aflam atât alături de el cât și de alte

personalități ale județului Brașov și ale țării pe

scena Operei Brașov, laureați fiind de către

Uniunea Națională a Patronatului Român la

Gala Top Branduri Brașovene. În cadrul galei

am fost premiați atât eu cât și soția mea - ca și

cuplu de balerini ai anului, pășind pe aceeași

scenă cu personalități precum actorul Marian

Râlea, fotbalistul Tudorel Stoica, foști primari

ai Brașovului, descendenți ai curții regale,

inclusiv domnia sa, și mulți, mulți alții. Îmi

place să mă asimilez cu astfel de oameni și să

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mă laud, mai ales când te afli în amalgamul

benefic al ecelorași energii. Domnul Arafat îmi

era prezentat de o anumită elită și ca un

înaintat maestru vizionar.

Ce m-a lezat oarecum?! Poate trebuia să își

cântărească puțin declarațiile în spațiul public,

mai ales în cazul unor astfel de situații,

tensionate. Citez una dintre ele: „Și dacă s-ar

face relaxarea totală, eu nu m-aș duce la

cinematograf sau la teatru, căci știu că există

un risc” – fapt care oarecum m-a cam

bulversat, pentru că mulți oameni au

încredere oarbă în astfel de spuse, fără a avea

harul cântăririi realului și al irealului, cu

proporțiile sale de

50% adevăr, 50%

minciună, situația

salvatoare fiind

sintagma că pe pământ

adevărul nu va prevala

în totalitate niciodată,

pentru că este văzut și

intepretat din mai

multe unghiuri. În contextul în care sunt

aglomerații atât de mari prin piețe, pe litoral,

în stațiile de metrou, la terase, se pleacă cu

trenuri de lungimi interminabile la cules de

sparanghel, în spatele cortinei parlamentare

se stă la șuete umăr la umăr în compania

whisky-ului, a cafelelor și a trabucurilor,

dumneavoastră îndemnați lumea să nu mai

vină la teatru? Într-un fel vă înțeleg, și am să vă

explic de ce: Teatrul reprezintă un temeinic

portal al gândirii!!! Însă vorba aceea, în sacra

noastră zonă carpato danubiano pontică nu

avem nevoie de prea mulți gânditori. Nici nu-i

de mirare că teatrele se desfășurau în urmă cu

un secol doar la curțile regale, și poate că în

viitor se va avea în vedere creionarea

prerogativelor desfășurării spectacolelor

teatrale doar în curțile parlamentare, pentru

că se pare că numai acolo trebuie să se

conglomereze mințile luminate.

Prin expunerea unor astfel de texte, câteva

sute la număr, unii artiști au reușit în cele din

urmă să pună în mișcare motoarele și așa

destul de fragile ale culturii în România—într-

o reală măsură mai mult simbolic, deoarece

desfășurările culturale sunt etichetate de

influența temporară a scepticismului

pandemic—dar uite că trebuie să ne hrănim

mai departe țelul nobil, cu multe astfel de

viitoare trageri ale

semnalelor de alarmă

pentru prevalarea

acestui vârf piramidal

al națiunii:

CULTURA!!! Chapeau...

Writers and Artists

Interview with Benjamin Zephaniah

Benjamin Zephaniah is known as a

performance poet, but that’s only one of his

talents – he’s also a reggae artist, children’s

writer, novelist and playwright. His journey

from an approved school and a prison sentence

for burglary to international recognition and a

nomination for the Oxford professorship of

poetry is an inspiring tale in itself.

Why are you a poet?

I have always loved playing around with

words. I didn’t know it was called poetry. I was

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just an innocent kid messing around with

words when an adult said ‘You’re a poet, be

published or be damned’.

What poets do you admire?

Poets I like are Shelley, KRS-One, Carol Ann

Duffy, Jean Breeze, Spike Milligan and the

greatest living poet in the world, Tony

Harrison.

What inspires you?

Freedom fighters like Marcus Garvey, Tony

Benn, Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X, Shami

Chakrabarti – people who know there is

another way. I am also inspired

to write by the hungry people I

see when I travel around the

world. Sometimes I feel like I

just want to do whatever I can

to help them but I can’t do

anything else, I have no other

skills. I’m not rich, so I try to

help them with my words, and

sometimes by doing charity

work.

Tell us about a normal

working day…

If I’m in England and on

Greenwich Mean Time, I get up about 7am. I

always start my day with a run or a cycle ride,

then I come home to my gym and do a boxing

and Kung Fu work out. When I have pushed

myself to the limit I slow down with some

Yoga and Tai Chi. I then have breakfast. I check

my emails, post, and reply to those that need

attention. Then I start working.

Work can be sitting in my study and

writing, going to my recording studio and

making music, or going out to film or record a

radio programme. Well that’s how it should

happen; but sometimes I just hang around

talking to cats and birds all day, or playing

football or Kung Fu with my neighbours. I

sometimes work late into the night. I

sometimes play late into the night. Fortunately

I only need a few hours sleep.

How do you write?

I work in a study at the back of my house

that has a great view. If I’m writing a novel,

play or film I’ll work on a computer, it I writing

poetry I tend to write it by hand.

What’s your thought process behind a

poem?

It all depends on what kind of poem it is. If

it’s a performance poem I

sometimes start with a theme

or even a chorus. I will also find

a rhythm to work with, a beat

in my head. If it’s a poem for a

music CD album then I may

listen to lots of music to get me

in the mood. If it’s a

commission I’ll read books on

the subject.

Sometimes I’ll do these

things for a couple of days then

suddenly one day the poem

comes out, just like that, in a

couple of minutes. I might rewrite it later, a

kind of fine tuning, or sometimes I’ll tell the

audience it’s a new poem and just perform it

to see if it works.

Describe your route to being

published…

I spent a lot of time sending my work to

publishers, but then I realised that – at that

time – publishers in Britain didn’t understand

black performance poetry. So I went to a small

cooperative publisher and published my first

book. It was only a small book (and not very

good), but it got me noticed. More importantly,

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I went out and performed my work and

created a buzz with the public. When people

started talking about me and I was appearing

on television many of the publishers who

turned me down came running back.

What’s your advice to an aspiring poet?

When you start you should try to write

about things close to you. If you can perform

your poems go out and perform, take it direct

to the people and let the publishers catch up

with you later. Read or listen to as much

poetry as you can. If you are young and good-

looking have fun – it doesn’t last forever. Don’t

write just for money, don’t think you’re good

because you’ve won an award, don’t go to 10

Downing Street or Buckingham Palace if you

are invited, and just stay true to you.

Benjamin Zephaniah is a high-profile

international author, with an enormous

breadth of appeal, equally popular with both

adults and children. He is most well known for

his performance poetry with a political edge for

adults and ground-breaking performance

poetry for children, and his novels for young

people include Face, Refugee Boy, Gangsta Rap

and Teacher's Dead. As well as poetry and

novels, he writes plays and music.

Stefano Capasso

Napoli - Chiesa di Santa Teresa degli Scalzi

LUOGO di CULTO ubicato nella stessa Via,

quasi sempre chiuso, nonostante conservi

opere di notevole valore architettonico e

storico . Iniziata nel 1604 fu voluta dai

Carmelitani Scalzi grazie alle offerte raccolte

soprattutto dal predicatore spagnolo

Pietro della Madre di Dio.Progetto affidato

al Di Conforto mentre la Facciata fu disegnata

dal Fanzago nel 1652 con due Statue in stucco

Ai lati del portale : Santa Teresa d'Avila e

San Giovanni della Croce.venne realizzata una

doppia rampa nel 1835 che sostituì la

precedente.

INTERNO a croce latina ed un' Unica Navata

con Cappelle laterali ove sono conservate

opere del periodo barocco:

Paolo de Matteis

Niccolò de Simone

Sepolcro di Tito Angelini

Statue del Vaccaro

Busti del Bottiglieri e del Viva

Decorazioni del Marasi

La seconda Cappella di sinistra opere di

Battistello Caracciolo del 1620 mentre del

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1613 gli affreschi del Corenzio. , nella quarta

Cappella di destra.

Opere di Giacomo del Po' , due grandi Tele

ai lati del Transetto

Cupola del Di Conforto crollò nel 1835 e

sostituita da una di mediocri valore artistico.

ALTARE maggiore attuale ha rimpiazzato

quello del Lazzari, che fu realizzato dal

Sanmartino.

CAPPELLE di Santa Teresa rappresenta

uno dei più rilevanti esempi di ambiente del ª

Napoli Disegnata dal Fanzago presenta

articolate decorazioni ad

intarsi di marmo.

CONVENTO in origine

Palazzo del Duca di Nocera che

oggi ospita varie Istituzioni

facenti capo all'Istituto

Colosino per i non vedenti.

CHIOSTRO grande è l'unico

rimasto.

Emozioni

Parole Mute

Cosa sono

le Emozioni,

se non mute parole

dagli Angeli

giù fatte cadere

per far volare l'Anima

verso il Divino?

Ed allora

non capita allo stesso modo

quando fi fronte

ai Tesori del Passato

rimani incantato

ad ammirare muto?

Ma anche

di Ricordi Straordinari

può solo rimanere

un'Emozione

che ti porti dentro

e più non ti abbandona.

Ed ancora, di fronte

alla Bellezza di un Dipinto

come non provare

FORTI EMOZIONI

se una schiera

di Angeli Divini

ti si fa attorno

ed intona canti

a DIO graditi?

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Suzana Sojtari

Zoran Radosavljević

Zoran Radosavljević, writer and poet, uses

this collection of poetry, a new book by Zoran

Se Nada, to describe Trebinje with his verses

of longing, the beauty of a city that can never

be small for a great description with a rich

vocabulary, a description full of romance and

emotion with youth that never fades in his

eyes.

One single character of a blue woman, the

same character and feeling that does not

change over the years, but even more love

grows and overcomes with distance what can

overcome me, and that

is love, which is in the

heart of the poet closer

and closer, even

across the ocean

which never

separates.

That same youth of

the next generations,

which will be

refreshed in his collection, is connected with

this time through the alleys and the smell of

Trebinje, which is connected with the love that

still breathes for him, the love he compares

with the beauty of the ancient historical city

with the experience of the past. the fountain

leaks into the veins. In some parts, through the

centuries-old alleys, he is briefly broken, like a

real poet who describes with his poetry the

sorrow and suffering of the majority who love.

But more sincere love and great hope

prevails with faith on the path of the future

that blooms in fragrance in the only love he

cultivates with its scent, the most beautiful

vision that can be felt very easily by lovers of

love poetry.

With his verses, Zoran Radosavljevic

presents the beauty of a beautiful stone city,

cobbled wide neighborhoods as his open

poetic heart that accompanies him with a

faithful shadow, a description of the beauty of

a woman in wonderful harmony, in the rhythm

of the spirit that moves the time of hope and

faith like a big mill.

And with each new verse with a traditional

strength that is not destroyed by his strong

will and desire, a strong character with a great

connection with a chain of emotions that is

never broken by faith, as well as his hope that

he often does not mention without that word

but always feels like the title book, as a hope

that most long for and the victory of time to

come tomorrow, Zoran Radosavljevic always,

illuminated by her

face, sees only the

eternal return of

youth, which he

described very

touchingly in the

previous book

"Trebinje still smells

like her" with a lot of

passion.

Even in the narrow

alleys, that passion and love does not lose its

luster, but as if by climbing, writing, his poetry

becomes full of dynamics without illusions,

without any egoism with the composition of

woven verses of a sincere soul described in the

poetry of Zoran who describes the living city

as never before, because his spirit and unique

style of writing with the most beautiful breath

only reveals all the undisguised beauty of

Trebinje and love, symbolic poetry, the

melody of youth.

And all, memorially, all the wonderful

memories that he realistically and

passionately reveals in verse without a hair on

his tongue, because he is a poet who, even with

this collection of poetry, writes with hope in

the spirit of eternal youth.

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Editura Mondolibri

Ballata per nostre anime di Mauro Garofalo

Mondadori, 2020 - Con un’atmosfera a

tratti verista, Garofalo racconta la storia (vera)

di un uomo tranquillo, che un giorno ha

imbracciato il fucile per uccidere sette

persone.

Cos’è che decide il destino di un uomo?

Cos’è che ne definisce la

natura, il carattere, le scelte di

vita?

"Questa è la storia di un

uomo tranquillo.

Padre di otto figli.

Onesto lavoratore.

Che un giorno imbracciò il

fucile e uccise cinque uomini e

due donne."

Così esordisce Mauro

Garofalo in Ballata per le

nostre anime (Mondadori, 2020). Simone

Pianetti, un nome e un cognome semplici che

ci fanno subito pensare a uno di noi. Ed è così,

anche se non è così. Simone Pianetti è un uomo

normale, la cui storia non ha nulla di normale.

Vissuto a cavallo tra il diciannovesimo e il

ventesimo secolo, in un’epoca in cui i figli

venivano battezzati con nomi adesso obsoleti,

Simone è il mezzano di una famiglia

tradizionale, in cui la legge vigente è il rispetto

dei padri e il timor di Dio. Ma Simone è un

ragazzo dall’animo palpitante di una vitalità

che vuole essere respirata tutta, soffio dopo

soffio. Per lui la caccia non è uno sport e

nemmeno un’arte, ma uno stile di vita che egli

abbraccia con anima e corpo, tutt’uno con la

montagna che percorre agile come i camosci

che insegue. Per lui la vita appartiene a chi la

vive e non alla famiglia che decide al suo posto.

E quel padre austero e aggressivo, che tutti

rispettano con timore reverenziale, è solo un

padrone illegittimo che si arroga diritti che

non ha e da cui è lecito difendersi.

Parte da qui “la maledizione dei Pianetti” o

meglio la maledizione di Simone. Perché alla

fine Simone non chiede altro che di vivere in

modo tranquillo, secondo le

proprie scelte, senza fare del

male a nessuno. Chiede di

pensare e di scegliere, mentre

tenta di vivere del suo lavoro,

di amare, di essere utile alla

società. Non gli è concesso.

Perché Simone è uno di noi, che

riconosciamo i suoi diritti,

mentre lui è nato in un’epoca in

cui quegli stessi diritti erano

male, frutto del demonio. La

società antecedente la Grande

Guerra, fatta di tradizioni

severe, di superstizioni, di

controllo sulle anime da parte del clero, non

può proprio accogliere un Simone Pianetti.

Accoglie più volentieri la cattiveria

mascherata da virtù, la stupidità mascherata

da saggezza e l’oscurantismo mascherato da

santità, ma non può accogliere un piccolo

uomo che vuole solo vivere la propria vita

come una persona normale.

In un’atmosfera in molti tratti verista,

Simone Pianetti è dunque un vinto, uno che ha

provato in tutti i modi a essere l’innocuo se

stesso che voleva essere e che alla fine, per

usare le parole dell’autore, ha dovuto

“abdicare per diventare ciò che gli altri

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volevano”. Non c’è lieto fine per lui, lo si sa

dalla prima pagina, e un giorno imbraccia il

fucile e fa una carneficina.

Il vinto però ha il lettore che sta dalla sua

parte. Perché le pagine raccontate con uno

sguardo quasi naturalista, sono alternate a

brevi sequenze poetiche che respirano l’anima

di quel piccolo uomo, con una cadenza

musicale e multisensoriale. Impossibile non

abbracciare tanta vitalità, impossibile non

amare quel piccolo Simone Pianetti, malgrado

sia arrivato alla follia. Anzi, lo si ama proprio

per questo e alla fine diventa quasi un eroe.

Lo stile è impegnativo, ma non per questo

riesce a scoraggiare il

lettore che cerca la

sostanza. Tutt’altro.

Lascia un sapore di

orgoglio e un

messaggio di

speranza. Perché al

giorno d’oggi Simone

sarebbe stato un uomo

virtuoso, pieno di

amore e di valori genuini. Significa che,

malgrado tutto, l’umanità ha saputo fare anche

dei passi avanti importanti e ha potuto salvare

e valorizzare i Simone Pianetti del presente. La

nostra società oggi avrebbe risparmiato la vita

delle vittime del vendicatore della Val

Brembana - che peraltro è veramente esistito

- ed è il motivo per cui il lettore riesce ad

accompagnare ogni passo del protagonista in

tutta la vicenda, anche e soprattutto, nel

momento in cui giunge a quell’epilogo

straziante e drammatico.

Magazine Editor

International Kissing Day 2020

July the 6th is International Kissing Day

which is the perfect excuse to grab that special

someone in your life and pucker up. But how

will people around the world be celebrating

International Kissing Day? Here’s a few

interesting facts on how other cultures see the

kiss.

In Italy and Greece friends, both men and

women commonly kiss each other on the lips

when greeting each

other, whereas in

France one air kiss on

each cheek is a

customary greeting.

Modern

Anthropologists

believe that kissing

developed from

“Eskimo kissing” ,

which is actually the practise of rubbing noses

to take in each others breath. This is also

practised amongst many Pacific Islanders as a

greeting, which has led to the theory that

kissing is actually a testing of another persons

scent to measure compatibility!

In Vietnam kissing between spouses is only

done in private, with China and Japan adopting

a similar attitude towards this. While people

from the Netherlands actually opt for 3 kisses

as a form of greeting.

Page 47: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

47

Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

year I, no. 1, 2020, July

ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

coperta3 p47 2 authors

Nikola Orbach Özgenç

Following you

When Grandfather died

the taste of pleasure

changed

into taste of tears.

Bitter silence

ruled over

the field of my soul.

Heavy blackness sank

In the depths of my body

and

I sank under his grave.

I sank into the Mourning

soil

as Orpheus,

as he sank like a rock in my

heart

when I was born.

Individual

Have you ever heard

about?

Yourself?

Not from others,

But from yourself?!

A silent voice in between

Your thoughts, who

Whispering mute love.

If you'll ever hear that voice

You'll get lost

Until you become

Addicted to knowing yourself

Blocked to other voices

outside your mind.

Do not listen to mute voices.

Renata Sendrowicz

Polne maki

[Field poppies]

Czerwone płatki drżące,

patrzą prosto w słońce.

Łodygi zielone włochate,

chronią delikatne kwiaty.

Wszędzie je spotkać możesz,

rosną przy każdej drodze.

Kobiety jak te maki,

na wietrze drżące,

czerwienią wabiące,

najskrytsze myśli głęboko ukryte,

na dnie serca wyryte.

Sprzeczność nie wyklucza

mocną czerwień maków,

z ich delikatną duszą.

Page 48: Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

48

Taifas Literary Magazine no. July 1, 2020

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

ISSN 2458-0198 - ISSN-L 2458-0198

Authors in summary:

ADRIAN GRAUENFELS 37, ADRIAN SCRIMINȚ 39, AKHILA SAROHA 33, ALEMSEGED SISAY 9,

ANA LIVIA ROMAN 21, ANDRADA ILIE 20, ANNA MARIA SPRZĘCZKA-STĘPIEŃ 30,

ASHOK CHAKRAVARTHY THOLANA 6, AUWAL AHMED IBRAHIM GORONYO 3, BHAGIRATH CHOUDHARY 23,

COSTACHE NĂSTASE 21, DANIELE CERVA 20, DESTINY M. CHIJIOKE 10, DESTINY M. CHIJIOKE 32,

DR. SHAILESH VEER 2, EDITURA MONDOLIBRI 45, FABIÁN 8, GIANFRANCO AURILIO 17, GIANFRANCO AURILIO 8,

GIGI MEJRI 24, JO HERBERT 36, KALIPADA GHOSH 12, LAURA GULSHANI 15, LENUȘ LUNGU 31, 35,

LINA ALFIERI 18, LUKMAN NURUDEEN 16, MAŁGORZATA LIPECKA 12, MARIA GIURGIU 17,

MARIJA NAJTHEFER POPOV 4, MILICA BOSKOVIC 7, MYRIAM GHEZAÏL BEN BRAHIM 11,

MYRIAM GHEZAÏL BEN BRAHIM 30, NELU CAZAN 19, NIKOLA ORBACH ÖZGENÇ 47, PAUL ROTARU 24,

RABIJA HAMIDOVIĆ 15, REFIK MARTINOVIĆ 8, RENATA SENDROWICZ 47, RYSZARD MŚCISZ 25, ŠAHDO BOŠNJAK 27,

SILVIA GARIONI 32, SMART OYEDEJI 22, STANISŁAW MALARZ 13, STEFANO CAPASSO 23, STEFANO CAPASSO 42,

SUZANA SOJTARI 44, SWEETY SONY LALL 7, TANU VERMANI KAPOOR 22, UMAR Y. B. 19, VASILE LIHĂT 18,

WARDA ZERGUINE ALGERIA 2, WRITERS AND ARTISTS 40, YANUSH DOYNIAK 15, YAZDA ASHRAFI 15,

ZORAN RADOSAVLJEVIC 16

The magazine appears in Romania

editorial office

Founding President Lenuș Lungu Director: Lenuș Lungu, Ioan Muntean Deputy Director: Paul Rotaru Technical Editor Ioan Muntean Covers Ioan Muntean Editor-in-Chief: Ion Cuzuioc Deputy Editor: Stefano Capasso Editorial Secretary: Anna Maria Sprzęczka Editors: Vasile Vulpaşu, Anna Maria Sprzęczka, Pietro Napoli, Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim, Zoran Radosavljevic, Suzana Sojtari Iwan Dartha, Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim, Destiny M O Chijioke, Nikola Orbach Özgenç

Responsibility for the content of texts published in the journal

Taifas Literary Magazine belongs directly to the authors who sign

them, in the name of freedom of expression.

Reproduction - in whole or in part - of the journal and its electronic distribution are authorized for the private use of the reader and for non-commercial purposes.

yaer I, no. 1, 2020, July

ISSN 2458-0198 ISSN-L 2458-0198

Founded in Constanţa,

June 2020

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or: Taifas Literay Magazine

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