Atunis galaxy anthology 2018 by IRINA HYSI MA

ATUNIS GALAXY ANTHOLOGY – 2018

LEADERSHIP STAFF: Editor in Chief: Agron Shele Deputy Editor in Chief: Prof. Dr Muhammad Shanazar Editor: Sunita Paul Responsible for Literary Information: Hasije Selishta Kryeziu Consultant: Peter Tase Literary Editor: Enertin Dheskali Graphics: Irina Hysi Advisory Board Raimonda Moisiu, NilavroNill Shoovro, Caroline Nazareno-Gabis, Günsel Djemal, Luan Maloku, Roula Pollard, Sinan Vaka, Dr. Eftichia Kapardeli, Shefqete Gosalci, Lumo Kolleshi, Luz María López, Rami Kamberi, Dr. Maria Miraglia, Leyla Işık, Susana Roberts, Anton Gojcaj, Alicia Minjarez Ramírez, Bilall M. Maliqi, Milica Lilic, Kujtim Morina, Juljana Mehmeti, Vatsala Radhakeesoon, Dr. Tarana Turan Rahimli, Claudia Piccinno. EVERY COLLABORATION WITH ‘ATUNIS’ IS WELCOMED A PUBLICATION OF POETICAL GALAXY ATUNIS

Table of Contents A Ada Aharoni (Israel) Adolf P. Shvedchikov ( Russia) Agron Shele (Albania-Belgium) Alicia Minjarez Ramírez ( Mexico) Dr. Abdul –Rashid . H. Pelpuo (Ghana) Alicja Maria Kuberska ( Poland) Dr. Aprilia Zank (Germany) Annamaria Pecoraro (Italy) Attila Elustun (Turkey) Ade Caparas Manilah (Philippine – Australia) Amy Barry ( Irland) ABAHN LETH (LE ANH) Vietnam) B Bilall Maliqi ( Presheva) Biljana Z. Biljanovka ( Macedonia) Baki Ymeri (Albania- Romania) Bam Dev Sharma (Nepal) C Caroline Nazareno (Philippine) Claudia Piccinno ( Italy) D Dimitris P. Kraniotis ( Greece) Dorin Popa ( Romania) Don Beukes (South Africa) Drita Lushi ( Albania) David Chukwudi Njoku (Nigeria) E Dr. Epitacio R. Tongohan (Philippine) Eftichia Kapardeli ( Greece) Enertin Dheskali ( Albania) Eliza Segiet (Poland) ELVIRA KUJOVIC (Germany)

Entela Safeti-Kasi ( Albania) Elena Liliana Popescu (Romania) Elida Rusta (Albania) Eva Kacanja ( Albania) F Prof. Dr. Fang Yaw-Chien (Taiwan) Flaminia Cruciani (Italy) Fatime Kulli (Albania) G Gopal Lahiri (India) Dr. George Onsy (Egypt) H Hasije Selishta – Kryeziu ( Kosova) Hadaa Sendoo (Mongolia) Huguette Bertrand (Canada) Hélène Cardona (France, Spain, USA) Heath Brougher ( USA) Hilal Karahan ( Turkey) Hana Shishiny ( Lebanon- Egypt) I Irina Hysi ( Albania) Irina Lucia Mihalca (Romania) J John FitzGerald ( USA) Jeton Kelmendi ( Kosova) Juljana Mehmeti ( Albania- Italy) K Dr. Kairat Duissenov Parman (Kazakhstan) Kyung – Nyun Kim Richards (South Korea - USA) Kinga Fabó (Hungaria) Kujtim Morina ( Albania) Ken Allan Dronsfield (USA) Kolec Traboini ( Albania – USA)

L Lee Kuei-shien 李魁賢 (Taiwan) Lidia Chiarelli (Italy) Lumo Kolleshi ( Albania) Luz María López ( Puerto Rico) Dr. LANKA SIVA RAMA PRASAD ( India) Leyla IŞIK (Turkey) Luan Maloku ( Kosova) Ljubinko Jelić ( Serbia) Lily Swarn ( India) M Prof. Dr.Muhammad Shanazar (Pakistan) Marie Miraglia (Italy) Myrteza Mara ( Albania) Milica Jeftimijević Lilić ( Serbia) Mar Thieriot ( Canada) Michela Zanarella ( Italy) Munir Mezyed ( Palestina) Maki Starfield (Japan) Marcela Villar M. ( Chile - USA) Miradije Ramiqi ( Kosova) Monsif Beroual (Morocco) Marian Eikelhof (Netherlands) Monika Ajay Kaul ( India) N NADIA-CELLA POP ( Romania) NilavroNill Shoovro ( India) Nuri Can (Turkey- Holland) Nassira Nezzar (Algeria) Niels Hav (Denmark) Nancy Ndeke ( Kenya) Naseer Ahmad Khan (India) O Odette Beaudry ( Canada) Dr. Olfa Philo (Drid) – Tunisia

P Pavol Janik (Slovak) R Roula Pollard ( Greece ) Raimonda Moisiu ( Albania- USA) Rami Kamberi (Macedonia) Rima Re (Singapore) S Sunita Paul ( India) Stacia Lynn Reynolds ( USA) Satis Shroff ( Germany) SUSANA ROBERTS (Argentine) Scott Thomas Outlar (USA) Dr. Santosh Bakaya ( India) Sinan Vaka ( Albania) Sunil Sharma ( India) Siomara España Muñoz ( Ecuador) Sandra Patricia Sajché Sarmiento (Guatemala) Safet Hyseni ( Macedonia) SH Shefqete Goslaci (Kosova) T Tersinka Pereira ( USA) Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai ( Taiwan) Dr. Tarana Turan Rahimli (Azerbaijan) Tatjana Debeljački ( Serbia) Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon (Nigeria) U Ugwu Leonard Elvis (Nigeria) Y Yuan Changming (China - Canada) Yuleisy Cruz Lezcano (Cuba- Italia) Yesim Agaoglu (Turkey)

V Vatsala Radhakeesoon (Mauritius) Zh Zhang Zhi ( Diablo) – China Zhuljeta Grabocka (Cina) - Albania Painters Jacqueline Ripstein (USA) Mar Thieriot ( Canada) Irina Hysi ( Albania) Miradije Ramiqi (Kosova) Gianpiero Actis ( Italy) Ileana Haber (France) Lucia Torricela: Painting of Luigi Stanco (Italy Introduction – Editorial Staff of “ATUNIS”

The magic of the word is the best articulation of a synthesis and symbiotic memory and when words are raised into art the expressed power touches on the apex with a new high level. Literature with hits magical touch and its mysticism has attracted always many turbulent souls, souls that are reborn over the flirting of creational beauty, the beauty of life, natural beauty therefore reflects the aspirations, values and the purest thought on humanity. Such a high level of human vitality, where the word is transformed into a myth, into the production of genius ideas and is deciphering and shaping endlessly our civilization. Agron Shele

Atunis, the name which denotes class,which breathes out exclusive elegance,which showcases the best of the writers across the globe.When Atunis brings out an anthology therefore it has to be one of the best of its kind.Atunis is where you find the finest blend of the traditional as well as the contemporary literature.In todayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s world,where all is at unrest and hatred,this anthology is created to promote love and light with words . In the pages of this antjology ,right at the beginning, there has been given a special priority to convey literary works, through a myriad number of shapes and forms and all this surge has only one objective, that of reflecting thoughts of essence throughout all times, as well as unraveling metaphysical subjects for more development, for more prosperity and social emancipation. In this context and within a variety of genres that have been shaped, here comes today the sculpture of our ideas, in order to discuss and serve as a mirror image of literary summaries which have been published here, lights and shadows of concepts, although it may always come against us.Apart from this anthology will serve as an ongoing bridge that will help identify the best cultural and spiritual values in the world of literature. As Atunis is a rose in the garden of the contemporary literary world,it has spread its fragrance from Albania to every corner and nook of the world. We the editors had great difficulty in choosing the best of the best but we assure you that you will read the finest of todayâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s literature. The art of words in itself is a deep process of thought, the experience and inspiration of feelings and sublime emotions, with the endless nature of humans which has evolved with dynamism, an expressive power and crafting of ideas. Sunita Paul

Preface to ATUNIS Anthology Science makes devices, either good or harmful; in the same manner literature makes men and women either good or detrimental, therefore, study of literature never bears less importance than that of other sciences and technologies. In the study of literature, poetry is the most effective genre that indubitably shapes and reshapes human minds that is why in the primitive times most of the dramas which are considered master pieces of the respective epoch were written in poetry, Oedipus Rex and Doctor Faustus are the worthquoting examples, though they were the stage dramas yet written in verse, even Shakespearean tragedies have long soliloquies with utter poetic style ‘to be or not to be’ and ‘the world is a stage’ can be referred to. In fact poetry takes place when the mind of a poet is in communion with the Greater Mind, the span of communion in fact is poetic mood either long or fleeting, mind of a poet captures a wave of thought released by the Greater Mind, then this thought travels between heart and mind and it goes moving to and fro till it rests either in heart or mind, if the thought rests in mind, it is a scientific thought (philosophy) and if it rests in heart, it is a poetic thought, then it ripens and finally expressed by a poet spontaneously just like water gurgles from the fountain. As poetry manufactures men and women, it, ever in the history, bore much importance and significance, though in the period of scientific, technical and industrial development it was set aside to some extent, but very soon it enlightened that to make the world a better place for the descending generations the supply of good men and women is indispensable as exclusive study of science technologies supplied the world human robots. Though the study of science and technology rendered a lot to humanity, yet at the same time intrinsic values remained neglected and consequently violence and intolerance increased around the world. Study of literature, art, theology and morality harmonize discordant elements of human personality and make a man bearer of high ethical qualities who may perform his role as a harbinger of love and peace and as I feel the world has known the secret and now we are again passing through a renaissance of poetry. In the year 2017, I remained Secretary General of World Union of Poets and had an opportunity to witness the poets from all corners of the world rushing to become a part of the movement which is the most positive gesture for the world of future, the poets from all continents have an exceptional trend to render their role in achieving the lofty objective through their poetic

endeavors and that is attainment of the world wrapped in fragrance of love and peace. The ATUNIS Anthology which has been compiled is also a sequence of the same chain, POETICAL GALAXY ATUNIS has been rendering its role for promotion of poetry for the last many years and now it has also assumed a shape of movement in the leadership of Agron Shelle, with participation of thousands of poets in the caravan and the destination is attainment of global harmony and the world sans violence, sans wars by strengthening universal bond of fraternity. It represents commitment of the glaring poets from all continents of the world with unflinching spirit and zeal and a collective urge for the peaceful, worth-living and a safe abode for the generations; POETICAL GALAXY ATUNIS” is very appreciative to all poets who contributed in the anthology, and finally imparts good wishes of love, peace and prosperity for all residents of the planet. Prof. Muhammad Shanazar Director of the Board Galakitka Poetike ‘ATUNIS’

©Jacqueline Ripstein (USA) “Life”, 1987 Jacqueline Ripstein Art & Healing Pioneer & World Peace Envoy. United Nations ECOSOC Representative of the International Association of Educators for World Peace. International renowned Fine Art Artist /Author. WorldPeace Envoy For 39 yrs. she has inspired thousands of people across the world. With more than 380 International shows. Born in Mexico, self-taught, won a national Prismacolor diploma at 12 yrs. old. A unique creative that has dared cross the boundaries of the traditional Art schools, to create New Invisible Art techniques as: Invisible Art & Light tech. ©(pat.1986). Her deep desire has been to reveal the unseen dimensions and to offer a breath of hope to our humanity. Her art reveals the Light within all of us and the Invisible dimensions that create our everyday lives.www.Jacquelineripstein.com

Ada Aharoni (Israel) Prof. Ada Aharoni - She is the Founding President of IFLAC Prof Ada Aharoni is a poet, writer, and professor of literature and sociology, who was born in Cairo, Egypt, and now lives in Haifa, Israel. She has published 33 books to date that have won her international acclaim. She writes in English and Hebrew and her works have been translated into several languages. She studied at London University, where she received her M. Phil. Degree on Henry Fielding, and at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, where she was awarded a Ph.D. on Nobel Prize Laureate in Literature, Saul Bellow. She taught English Literature at Haifa University, and Sociology and CR: Conflict Resolution, in the department of Humanities, at the Technion in Haifa. She has been a Guest Lecturer and visiting professor at several American and European universities. Her poetry collections and novels, have lately also been published as eBooks on Kindle Amazon, 2017. Her book of poems: Rare Flower (Dignity Press, US), was a candidate for the Nobel Prize. She is recipient of several prizes and awards, among them the British Council Award, the President Shimon Peres Peace Prize and the World Golden Crown of Poetry. She is the Founding President of IFLAC: International Forum for the Literature and Culture of Peace. A BRIDGE OF PEACE “They shall sit every man under his vine and under his fig tree, and none shall make them afraid.” (The Holy Bible, Micha, 4,4) “He who walks with peace, walk with him” (The Koran, Sura 48)

My Arab sister, let us build a wonder bridge

from your fig tree and vine to mine above the boiling pain of the Intefada battle Salima, my Arab sister, when will we laugh again like two women, instead of weeping on our sonsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; stones? You and me, Salima, my friend, on this wonder bridge from your culture to mine, from my culture to yours in the fragrance of blossoming jasmine, holding hands whispering secrets about our loves, our children, our plans, and our deepest, deepest yearning for a bright free sky crowned by twinkling peace stars. I do not want to be your oppressor, you do not want to be my oppressor, or your jailer, or my jailer, we do not want to make each other afraid under our vines and under our fig trees blossoming on a silver horizon above the bleeding of our children by stones, bullets and missiles. So, my Arab sister, let us build a sturdy bridge of tolerant jasmine understanding, where each shall sit with her baby under her vine and under her fig tree AND NONE SHALL MAKE THEM AFRAID!

Children Are Stars of Peace You were born with loving smiles Star seeds of peace You are life you are future You do not want to die in wars Smart children, armed With smart phones and computers You will shoot your peace beeps All over our global village

Your rapid fingers will bring us What we failed to bring you – A world where not one gun is fired A world of twinkling stars of peace.

YEAR OF HOPE 2018 Despite our wars, despite our tears, Despite our furtive fears We welcome the smiling Year of Hope. The power of women for peace is rising, Democracy and the Internet are spreading, Global poverty has been cut in half – Never have ordinary people, like you and me, Had more power to face challenges And to decide our own fate of Non-killing. We’re poised on the edge of the cliff between Our oldest fears of terror and war And our deepest dreams of peace. We face a choice – to rise to this moment in time And be the Peace we want to see – It all depends on us, for we peace lovers Are the largest global community! In this Year of Hope, let’s joyfully embrace The golden sunbeam of Hope gladly waltzing Toward twinkling Global Peace.

Adolf P. Shvedchikov ( Russia) In 2013 he was nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature. Born May 11, 1937 in Shakhty, Russia. In 1960 he graduated from Moscow State University, Department of Chemistry. Ph.D. in Chemistry in 1967. Senior researcher at the Institute of Chemical Physics, Russian Academy of Sciences, Moscow. Since 1997 – the chief chemist of the company Pulsatron Technology Corporation, Los Angeles, California, USA. Doct or of Literature World Academy of Arts and Letters. He published more than 150 scientific papers and about 600 of his poems indifferent International Magazines of poetry in Russia, USA, Brazil, India, China, Korea, Japan, Italy, M alta, Spain, France, Greece, England and Australia. He published also 17 books of poetry. His poems have been translated into Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Greek, Chinese, Japanese, and Hindi languages. He is the Member of International Society of Poets, World Congress of Poets, International Association of Writers and Artists, A. L. I. A. S. (Associazione Letteraria Italo-Australiana Scrittori, Melbourne, Australi a). Adolf P. Shvedchikov is known also for his translation of English poetry (“150 English Sonnets of XVI-XIX Centuries”. Moscow. 1992. “William Shakespeare. Sonnets.” Moscow. 1996) as well as translation of many modern poets from Brazil, India, Italy, Greece, USA, England, China and Japan.

WINDS OF THE SOUL The human soul cries out for the help, Fate takes us up and bears like a gust.

Sometimes it throws us into the flame of hell, Or gnaws slowly like ruthless rust. Winds of the soul, they fly around the world Through desert’s heat, through ocean’s breadth, Through icy mountain’s penetrating cold, Through the scent of nightly meadow’s breath. Occasionally they are like a storm, They are fierce as wrath and fury hurricane, Sometimes they get a long-awaited morn Like roses’ pleasure after summer rain. They are a whisper of trembling fervent lips, Ancient amphora with thrilling wine of love, A lonely bank amid the ocean deeps, Or early morning contented cooing dove. Winds of the soul, they are so fast and free, But our hearts are sensitive with age. I am still alive, a wise old oak-tree With flourishing soul placed into an iron cage.

THEIR BITTER SCENT It is spring again, the ancient round of things… The nectar of fresh flowers that I bring, Of newly awakened plants for your delight On your birthday, my sweetest love, my light! Once more the fields and groves are greening, The earth begins to lick old wounds leaning. Again the poplars spreading their bitter scent, For the early May morn your laugh is lent. For us to be together like a reverie, And air of life is so sweet that it hurts me. How nice is that each dawning day I’m more irrevocably smitten with your way. And if I die once, as die I must, I’ll go in peace to that dark realm of dust. I’ll take with me your birthdays to cling, And unfinished love’s song I still have to sing…

AN ARGENTINEAN TANGO OF WEEPING BIRCH TREES An Argentinean tango Is like a bitterness of a faded day. I hear the woman sad voice singing About unexpected betrayal. The Argentinean tango is full of tears. I hear this song in another country Staying near weeping birch trees. I cannot see here Argentinean forests And fields full of numerous herds. A couple of milk cows eat The green grass peacefully Among chamomile and quinoaâ&#x20AC;Ś There is not of argent Argentinean passions, Life is silent and measured Among drowsy Russian fields. How strange to hear An Argentinean tango hereâ&#x20AC;Ś

Agron Shele (Albania-Belgium) President of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Agron Shele was born in October 7th, 1972, in the Village of Leskaj, city of Permet, Albania. Is the author of the following literary works: “The Steps of Clara” (Novel), “Beyond a grey curtain” (Novel), “Wrong Image” (Novel) , “Innocent Passage” (Poetry) and “Ese-I ” . Mr. Shele is also the coordinator of International Anthologies: “Open Lane- 1,” “Pegasiada , Open Lane- 2 and ATUNIS magazine ( Nr 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 )”. Is a member of the Albanian Association of Writers, member of the World Writers Association, in Ohio, United States, Poetas del Mundo, WPS, Unione world Poetry and the President of the International Poetical Galaxy “Atunis”. He is published in many newspapers, national and international magazines, as well as published in many global anthologies: Almanac 2008, World Poetry Yearbook 2009, 2013, 2015, The Second Genesis -2013, Kibatek 2015-Italy, Keleno- Greece, etc. Currently Resides in Belgium and continues to dedicate his time and efforts in publishing literary works with universal values. I know...! I know One day , you will understand Feathers stay as proof of a flying bird Lost far away from the horizon No turning back No shelter Very angry Far away Anxiety of an escaped shadow

I know That this emigration has nothing in common with rainy days Neither the blooming flowers It is an unusual escape towards time , when the air smells the pain of earth . Death of innocent leaves under the meaning of life until madness I know that the darkness brings lonely nights No light , that gives you hope No dreams , that give you freedom No tomorrow But only a dawn related to the shadows of life in chaos . It feels like the poison of broken hopes I know that scream will destroy the walls of broken memories And what is dead will return to life No more envy trapped in a spider web And the voracious crowds and Kings without crowns.

This time... This time , When you hear the rain that falls over the bare trees from a bronze sky And the rows of ravens all yellow You ask yourself Why only a tree stands tall ? In an empty park , lonely rotting day by day Why do you care ? Maybe because that reminds you the time that has passed And you feel more older than ever Like a lonely bird abandoned when the winter comes Surviving is the only chance This time , When your thoughts are lost And your face shows nothing more than sadness In pale colours remained tattoo over your filthy skin

That is when you feel the touch of the last season That is what reminds you of the long starry nights All of this turns your spirit blue ....when the time passes You can only see a rainbow that stares over an old church Acrylic glass You can only hear the whispers of monks as they go But you can't hear the bell What does that mean ? You feel like an old abused statue with crossed arms You wait for your sins to be forgiven If only it was that easy But no , your demons consume your soul every day Your disgusting devious eyes only stare at one thing The only The innocent saint Magdalene

Whitening of angels Demons violently Abandoned, The dark drapes spread in â&#x20AC;&#x153;sceneâ&#x20AC;? Disappeared, Were lost in their own distant self. the sky was shining angles where whitened the darkness of space, dead souls were whispering, as they were forgotten; Steel bars were being reshaped, Flew in peaceful skies.

Alicia Minjarez Ramírez ( Mexico) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Poet, Translator, Singer, University Professor, Broadcast locution Radio and T.V. She was born in Tijuana Baja California, Mexico. Winner of a special mention and a medal in the International Poetry Prize NOSSIDE Italy 2015, recognized by UNESCO. Awarded with the IWA BOGDANI Albania Award, 2016. Awarded with the Third Place in French Poetry in the International Poetry Prize ‘Sous les traces de Léopold Sédar Senghor” at Milan, Italy, 2016 recognized by ONU and UNESCO. Winner of a mention in the NOSSIDE Poetry Prize, Italy 2016. She was considered among the International Poets published on the XXI Century World Literature Book released at New Delhi, India, 2016. Her poems have been translated into: English, Albanian, French, Cameroonian, Arabic, Chinese, Taiwanese, Portuguese, Polish and Italian. And published in more than 50 International Anthologies, journals and magazines around the world.

FLASHES AND SHADOWS I will find you Far beyond history Where the zephyr Is concealed and surfaces, Where immersed poems Flashes and shadows; The tongue goes back To the ocular sound

Of swinging words Around the stems Of your rivers. Autumn leaves awaiting For the rumbling night, Postponed silences Singing. Shy hours leaving Frizzed cracks in the mud, Like airily stars. Inert prayers Flowing unnamed And confined to the wind, Versed in the glare Of your pupils.

LONTANANZAS I built you up From diaphanous drops that clarify the thin contour of the windâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s arms.

Those dancing upon my face, hold up and excuse the rising of light stealth birds on the horizon. Sky wings bearing

fragrant polyphonic aromas, diluting moist loams in vetiver and bergamot, disseminated over your bodyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s drought. I envision you In my silent barren palms, as drops upon my river; ecstatic the open sea conspires, flows against formed verbal tide, in ivy language. Warp naked fanciful voices, dawning deep inside my skin, cracking desireâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s opacity. I built you up! while it rains.

Dr. Abdul –Rashid . H. Pelpuo (Ghana) Rashid Pelpuo Obtained a PhD in African Studies (Development Policy) (2013) and holds a Master of Arts Degree in International Affairs (1998),both at the University of Ghana, Legon. He had earlier obtained a Bachelor’s Degree in Education (Psychology) and a Diploma in Economics at the University of Cape Coast(1994). Rashid Pelpuo has over 20 years experience in research, planning, designing, and implementing development programmes, and in local government capacity building and Youth development in Ghana at the highest level of policy in Ghana. In 2005 he was elected Member of Parliament for Wa Central. Before this he co-ordinated and managed various programmes in the area of research, training, and enterprise development at the community, district, regional and national levels. He worked extensively with some public service institutions and especially with local government structures throughout the country and have a firm grip on development policy and planning issues. Dr Pelpuo was Ghana’s Member of Parliament at the Pan Africa Parliament, 2010 – 2012, and served in the Finance and Monetary Committee, and acted briefly as its chairman in 2012. Dr. Pelpuo started writing Poetry in 1981 while he was in secondary School. He contributed extensively in his school magazine. He carried his poetry into his adult life and published his first book of poetry in 2017. His writings are often leaned towards politics and human freedom and development and the philosophy side of life. He has a vision to project poetry into real life of addressing the ills of society and exposing corruption at high places. He has an unalloyed love for poetry and loves to associate with poets of all description.

THE COUGHING GUNS The sound of guns arrested the silence A mother is lost in her confusion Drown in her tears Beholding a dismembered limb Of a young corpse she once called a son Yet the guns cough on The buildings succumbed In resistant compliance Heavy concrete fall from buildings Pressing on trapped bodies And crimson blood rushing out Shocked by a world it had never known Held spellbound in an unfamiliar terrain Consumed by an absorbing black hole As more bombs fly from engines above Into a bewildered city.

SYRIA TELLS THE STORY Syria tells the story Of lost freedoms Of gruesome perilous life Outplays the Gaza pain Men bred for lethal confusion Descend the land Put a prize on the head of Asad Adamant to rebellion in concert And the guns multiple And the deaths swell And men cue in dire desire To fire and be fired a shot As the guns grew lauder.

TO LIFT THE FALLENâ&#x20AC;Ś Men in naked trot Lock out of the free world Yearning a piece of peace To hurt the defeated is no gain To lift the fallen Is true bravery But the powers keep the course Pounding home the bombs Hurting a sorry soul The flying stars crisscrossing the sky Are not gentle comets Nor on cursory errands They are bombs on mission To take another life In the silence of the dawn They fly in to grow more widows To breed more orphans To bath more souls with tears Lift the fallen from the mud Lets brave the winds To cure our haughty greed.

Alicja Maria Kuberska ( Poland) Alicja Maria Kuberska – awarded Polish poetess, novelist, journalist, editor. In 2011 she published her first volume of poems entitled: “The Glass Reality”. Her second volume “ Analysis of Feelings”, was published in 2012. The third collection “ Moments” was published in English in 2014, both in Poland and in the USA. In 2014,she also published the novel - “ Virtual roses” and volume of poems “ On the border of dream”. Next year her volume entitled “ Girl in the Mirror” was published in the UK and “ Love me” , “ (Not ) my poem” in the USA. In 2015 she also edited anthology entitled “The Other Side of the Screen”. In 2016 she edited two volumes: “ Taste of Love” ( USA), “Thief of Dreams” ( Poland) and international anthology entitled “ Love is like Air” (USA).In 2017 she edited “View from the window” ( Poland) and “Love like Arabesque” ( USA) She also edits series of anthologies entitled “ Metaphor of Contemporary” ( Poland) Her poems have been published in numerous anthologies and magazines in Poland, Czech Republic, the USA, the UK, Belgium, Albania, Spain, Argentina, Chile, Israel, Canada, India, Italy, Uzbekistan, South Korea and Australia. Alicja Kuberska is a member of the Polish Writers Associations in Warsaw, Poland and IWA Bogdani, Albania. She is also a member of directors’ board of Soflay Literature Foundation.

The train I got onto the train of life With nothing, Without clothes, Without feelings.

A blank sheet of paper. Blotting-paper absorbing everything. I will get out burdened with bundles of Recollections and impressions. I packed them carefully. Some of them faded, like Ink from old letters. I tied them with ribbons of all colors. These white ones are my Inessential remembrances And black ones are heavy and traumatic. I met many passengers, Throughout this long journey And free-riders too, Who were picked up At different stops. Each meeting, Even this, the shortest one, Like a flash of sun or Flutter of butterfly wings Enriched and filled my bag of experiences

The Drawer with Memories In the modern world, full of rush and brilliant inventions, I am a living relic of a bygone age. I keep some strange treasures and a sheaf of yellowed letters inside a sentimental drawer. I impart colours to the faded memories and I allow the past moments to return.

Just for me the lilacs bloom again in a long-gone garden. The dried four-leaf clover foretells good luck. Someone, who is no more, worries about my health. Love spells, from many years ago, return to me and the withered petals of red roses smell intense. From the position of an omniscient being I read the sentences from the old correspondence. I carefully study the art of life and gain respect for these by-gone events.

Tree and I with my body, I am near to the roots with my thoughts, I reach the longest branches I soar towards the sun I caress the green canopy the tree records years in its rings warm-cold, dry-wet and I record emotions on a piece of paper sadness-joy, love-loneliness we are dear to each other often, I embrace its trunk maybe it will remember the touch of my hands rustle with memories.

Dr. Aprilia Zank (Germany) Dr. Aprilia Zank is a freelance lecturer in the Department of Languages and Communication at the Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich, Germany, where she teaches Creative Writing and Translation Theory. She was born in Romania and studied English and French at the University of Bucharest. She then moved to Germany where she received her PhD degree in Literature and Psycholinguistics from the Ludwig Maximilian University for her thesis THE WORD IN THE WORD Literary Text Reception and Linguistic Relativity. The research for her PhD thesis was done in collaboration with six universities from Europe, and as a visiting lecturer at Alberta University of Edmonton, Canada. Aprilia is also a poet and a translator and the editor of two anthologies: the English–German anthology poetry tREnD Eine englisch-deutsche Anthologie zeitgenössischer Lyrik, LIT Verlag, Berlin, 2010, and the anthology POETS IN PERSON at the Glassblower (Indigo Dream Publishing, April, 2014). She writes verse in English and German and was awarded a distinction at the “Vera Piller” Poetry Contest in Zurich. Her poetry collection, TERMINUS ARCADIA, was 2nd Place Winner at the Twowolvz Press Poetry Chapbook Contest 2013.

digging for springs I had to dig deeper for springs this year the ground dry rocks and roots barring my way

dairies bound in buckskin train tickets for cancelled journeys family vows treasured in creaky drawers cobwebs growing to ropes around my ankles blinded by dust at dusk and haze at dawn weary to carry all those registers with fading names and missing addresses while stray dogs snarled in mating games and the owl dived and tore its prey on the velvet moss of the holy stone I had to dig deeper this year beyond layers of soil and layers of skin to catch a glance of the lily shimmering on waters thousand years deep.

echoes I thought Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d heard a child cry for help

when I passed the lake yet, on turning my head all I sensed was snow dust on its frozen mirror weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d take a torch to light our passage through the snow towering the path I was aching with fear at the thought that the white roebuck might cross our steps rumours went about that even the wolves would weasel out of its way only the cursed maid who had dared to cast a glimpse would now roam about moon white in her torn gown I would hear the cry of lambs rent by wolves in the crux of night and the whistle of trains ghosting by never slowing to stop.

Annamaria PECORARO ( Italy) Annamaria PECORARO in art DULCINEA, born in 1981, is a pharmacist, poetess, writer, speaker and freelance journalist since 2014. Author of the book “Le rime del cuore attraverso i passi dell’anima” - The Heart’s rime through the Steps of the Soul (Lettere Animate, 2012) and “Dalla cenere al volo (From ash on the fly) – Augh Edizioni 2016. She has edited the column of creative writing and poetry for the magazine "Domus Aurea Magazine". She collaborates with "Toscana Musiche" and with the magazine "My journal.org" and is a member of the readers' committee of "Aphorism". She is artistic director of cultural events, juror and jury president in poetry competitions. She received national and international mentions. Her works have been translated into English and Spanish. She is coauthor of texts of songs protected in Siae. She has edited forewords and reviews for various authors and poetic anthologies. From June 2013 he is present in the association GAI (Young Italian Artists) circuit. She is director of "Progressive Delusions ... Music Beyond Words", a project of information and cultural promotion. She is a founding member and president of the "Nuovi Occhi sul Mugello" Cultural Artistic Association. Steps Steps, slow steps, Vague steps, Flying steps, looking for reassuring glances. Eyes full of emotion, and warm tender light.

Hands, smiles, games. Tense steps, uncertain steps, threatening steps, elegant and diplomatic steps. First steps, Last steps, firm and incessant. Step by step, small steps, big steps that trace our path. Steps â&#x20AC;Ś

Summer (Stay you here) Stay you here savoring love immortals frames of memory. Breezes in the morning imbued with hopes between barges of lives broken and united by agitating wire in the mysterious sea. Stay you here between bikinis and shreds in tsunamis that shake throwing the keys into the abyss. Season of love at first sight and carefree thoughts.

Summer (Stay you here) between majestic sails on rusted sterns, friendly and enemy guides under an overcast sky of earthly stars.

"A" LETTER Love, Friendship, Soul I’m strugging with peaceful chords and then I’ll include moments always armed and definitely loving. Ancient art: Love, Friendship. Drawing soul, Hearts On… and on! Gasping for breath, recruiting, relying on instead of losing your heart. Oh my soul! Arduous actions again, you venture just getting rough instants. On… and go on! Embracing one another. Stars warning, standing angels, are waiting for dawns and taste arts eager for them. Others assiduously sleeping So I’m opening arches Let’s go! .. Just let’s go! I’m adding boards shaking other Hearts.

Attila Elustun ( Turkey) He is the second son of a teacher mother and civil servant father. He was born on 16/08/1961 in Ankara. He had his primary, secondary and High school education there. He had to postpone his education because of the worst period in Turkey; political, economic and political chaos. Then they moved to Istanbul with his family. Since primary school he was interested in literature, significantly poetry and was involved in various activities and educational studies. Some of his poems were published in various literature magazines e.g.: Sair Cikmazi Dergisi-Dead End Poets Society Magazine, Yalin Ayak Dergisi-Bare Foot Magazine, Yasayan Yarin Edebiyat Dergisi-Living Darling Literature Magazine, because of the economic crises are not making profit he carries on working. He has two sons Halit Dogus and Mustafa Baris and Attila addresses them as his treasures. Attila is a very humble person and leads a modest life. Hit the roads (180°) don’t go wait we’ve got unfinished business fragile days at the courtesan nights with my naked dreams I must come to you don’t go wait we’ve got lots of unfinished business we will gather dreams

mute darling hit the roads (180Â°) if lived without questioning without comments/borderless the past is beautiful and morrow as well...

US when mystery descended to the shores of Erenkoy our dreams are hazy saddened and guiltless the foxes' don't throw satanist javelins into our brains without underestimating we keep alive our moments/memories the rest of our days will be lived preciously we don't intend to walk double-faced on the streets and not to delineate the sadness in our green eyes we beat it in our hearts even if it would hurt every single bit of us we don't repeat words we don't get offended we have no intention of offending the night will pierce the horizon once again. with a warm smile .../our place we know our limit

There isn't a centre of love There isn’t a centre of love “fear and be wrathful of the wine because it is badly red” Attila Ilhan tonight the wine is badly red i have wrapped the stars into my tobacco rainbow in its smoke i am aged she is fresh is it because of that? i don’t understand anything from what I am drinking there are droppings of a thousand fragments of steam, on my table one of which is…my love the moss tastes like fish green like Bogaz i am questioning my past, in the pages of dream is it because of that? i don’t understand anything from what I am drinking my heart is rear, one dark horse wired phosphorescence in his mane stars, sea and the moon on her lips, sorrowful one rosebud can not keep-up is it because of that? tonight the wine is badly red i don’t understand anything from what I am drinking.

Ade Caparas Manilah (Philippine – Australia) She is Publication Executive "Glmpse site" Writers International-Australia…Vice-President World Union of Poets-Australia… President Unione Mondiale Dei Poeti_Australia… Vice-President World Nation Writers Union-Australia… Representative Administrators of over 100 Poetry Groups o Various Groups She was born in Philippine. Currently Resides in Australia and continues to dedicate his time and efforts in publishing literary works with universal values. “I am a no lukewarm, scorpio woman, born 04 november, divorce with 10 children .. my life has always been an alternating rainbow and stormy weather! I am an intellectual, only witty… and to borrow Montaigne’s word, “and so I myself see better than anyone else that these are nothing but reveries of a man who has tasted only the outer crust of science in his childhood, and has retained only a vague general picture of them: a little of everything and nothing thoroughly”.

Rare you… haughty wind and i a flimsy blossom quiet in comfort

watching the silent streams suddenly you… in concert with the surging flood smash crush me! exert forceful velocity whip me carry me and i, like a timid plum willingly bend in an idiotic surrender seemingly in total jouissance unmindful of my future yesterday! ahhhh.. darling i love you don’t you forget that your wind your flood will come and go smashing crushing other blooms but… i am rare!

A wood nail mimics your life? life is a challenge, difficult to live yet challenges can be won swaying trees, running brooks pebbles nails fruits food birds dogs books songs singing anything under the sun is identical to our life

they are models mimics miniatures of our life our challenges… one day, i cooked ‘lengua estofada’ hmmmmmmm yam… 2.5 kilos kaput in one sitting preparation was tedious whole raw lengua boiled to skin; off thick outer skin then simmer with all the ingredients for hours when tender in their natural thick sauce it’s the shining glory… salivated by all ‘lengua estofada’ is life model! hammered fired hammered cut scraped cut before fine gold appears everything… our five senses can seize are examples of life challenges like now…now, a hora mismo i am being challenged to write a poetry without support of an image graphic artwork

the challenge i paint my thoughts in words so my readers won’t fall asleep… they are left challenged… a wood nail mimics your life?

Amy Barry ( Irland) Amy Barry writes poems and short stories. She has worked in the media, hotel and Oil& Gas industries. She is inspired by simply everything. She takes her experiences and colorfully expresses universal themes that seamlessly cross the boundaries of borders and peoples. She explores current issues, love, family, nature, death, famous people and places of interest. She also writes poems on table tennis (being the first poet to have her work published on the Table Tennis Ireland web site which can be found at http://www.tabletennisireland.ie). She is the founder of Global Writers. She is published in anthologies, journals, and press and e-zines, in Ireland and abroad including: Southword Journal, Misty Mountain Review, First Cut, Galway Review, Poetry 24, Mad Swirl, A New Ulster, Knot Magazine. Amy and her work have featured on radio and television in Australia, Canada, Italy and Ireland. When not writing, or gathering inspiration, Amy loves to travel. Trips to India, Nepal, China, Japan, Bali, Paris, Berlin, Budapest and Falkenberg have all infused her work. Amy regularly organizes poetry events in her hometown of Athlone in Ireland. These include an eclectic gathering of local and international poets. She is often invited to read at festivals and literary events both in Ireland and abroad. A Majestic Beauty â&#x20AC;&#x201C; A tribute to a true wonder of the world, Mt. Everest. She lives and breathes in the mountains. She touches the sky, holds her crown above her head.

Clouds swirl and dance around her. A prodigious sight! Sleet beats against the hostel window. Alas! Alone, I plunge into this backpacking experience. A glimpse of her, curls a magical joy in my soul. Sagarmatha! She hears me say her name and smiles. A beauty of elegance, supremacy; triumph in her eyes, rejoicing in my spirit. I stand on the hills of Nepal, silent, still, absorb the unruffled ambiance. I suck jaandh, it sinks into my soul, cries euphoria in my blood. I hail those who have scaled her, and reached the peak!

History and Affection On the high wall, that looks to the sea, there is traditional bathing, Irish at Forty Foot, gentâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s only, often nude.

I spy two men, beach clad. I am careful to listen as you explain, I try not to miss a thing. My beloved and I, here steeped in history, I gaze at Martello Tower, with Ulysses on Bloomsday. Your arms around my shoulders, my face, happiness coloured, whilst sea voices mimic U2 â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Breathe,â&#x20AC;&#x2122; in my ears.

Tomorrow Maybe Love With long, powerful movements, she covers one yard after another, swimming the breaststroke, raises her head above the surface, draws air, then lowers it back down. Weightless, timeless in the water, alone in the swimming pool, thoughts of him haunt, murmur and whisper. Uncertainty plagues, like a toothache.

ABAHN LETH (LE ANH) Vietnam) ABAHN LETH (LE ANH) , true name Lê Thành Bá, was born in 1941 in Xuan An Village, Cho Lau Town, Bac Binh District, Binh Thuan Province, Vietnam. Occupations: teacher, poet, writer. Chief Editor of Organization of Journal Cooperation & International Communication , Phnom Penh, Cambodia. Abahn Leth is one of the pioneers in modern times to take Vietnam Culture to the world. Abahn Leth wrote four long poems, "Say Hello to the World", "Let the Future Tell the Truth", "The Recalling Poems of Spring's Night" and "Critical Remark About Abstract & so on" His work was hugely influential in shaping Vietnam culture and contemporary literature. Abahn Leth's book of poetry : "The Journey towards Peace, Love and Happiness" was published in 2017. This work brought him the honor of becoming Co-President of the World Union of Poets (W. U. P), appointed by Silvano Bortolazzi and being an ambassador for World Institute for Peace with an award of World Icon of Peace, (Vietnam branch, dated 12 February 2018) , in recognition of his exemplary performances in promoting peace and humanitarian services through his profession. I WANT TO BE I want to be A puff of wind in flight Blowing into her innocent deer’s eyes I want to be Drops of morning ‘s dew so good Lightly to fall, softening her hair roots

I want to be A silly person Waiting for lotus frail heels of a beautiful woman. I want to be In the Samara realms with hope To be immersed in worldly love. I want to be The moon of the 16th night of the month Shining light through her window curtain I want my dream Like falls, is set purpose to run into my heart as it rains in buckets. I want she’d be The lover of my desire, My own soul realms of poetry forever… THERE’RE A LOT OF MY OWN INMOST FEELINGS! Original Vietnamese song : “Có Những Niềm Riêng.” There’re a lot of my own inmost feelings. How can I pour out them all, finish saying. Like clouds, the rain and sand in the sea, Immensely and countlessly! A lot of my own inmost feelings with their way How can anyone know as the moon in the sky faraway! A lot of my own inmost feelings through my lifetime Affected by tears in the corners of eyes. As trees after a rain with drops of sadness glistening. There’re a lot of my own inmost feelings To make my heart start sobbing! To make my pretty lips wither my smiles!

O! My own inmost feelings as eyes Bath in tears with a sigh more or less Somewhere about here resound with something endless Like an invitation of sadness forever…

Alas! The freezing sadness toweringly high! Day by day, everyday, thousands of days of sigh. All things never change! A change for the better! There’re inmost feelings I want not to remember But why does my heart always dream to get There’re inmost feelings seem to be a breath That nurture my wait, nurture my solitary life! There’re inmost feelings all my life I hide! As they seem to be the moss or the seaweed wallowed in the ocean. There’re inmost feelings all my life I keep them silence! For my future death I’ll still have some grief being dumb. There’re inmost feelings all my life I keep mum For my future death I ‘ll still have some grief being dumb…

LITTLE-PARIS It’s no use regretting or being sorry for myself dejected. How blue the colour of love was but so soon fast faded ! Crackers of New Year Eve exploded as those of her wedding. The recalling poems of Spring’s Night were presented. Whose dreamland was Dalat the city of dreaming? In my heart a rising melancholy nostalgia started. I wondered why the long-sealed fate thwarted. Should the life be blamed for its transforming? I wondered what the reason was of my wandering in the city so-called the land of Cherry-trees. Weren’t there any schools in Hue the Old Capital? Should I have had to foresee my proposal. Might the reason be in my high aspiration Of what have I thought through meditation? I dreamt on famous schools in my sight On well-known teachers and good students.

BILALL MALIQI ( Presheva) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Bilall Maliqi is a writer, poet and publicist, was born in on 08.04.1969 in a village ElezBAli, municipality of Presheva. He writes poetry and prose for children and adults, h e deals also with literature critics. He is the author of 21 works: poetry for children, for adults, prose for children and adults, journalism and literary critics. Anthologies: the magazine Panorama by the authors of South East Kosova “ Sigh for Earth “ by the author Hysen Keqiku (2004) ; In lexicon “ authors of Albanian Literature for children and adults 1886- 2009” by prof. as.dr. Astrit Bishqemi; in poetical antology Albanian- Swedish “Fllamande Ballad” by Sokol Demaku (2009); In poetical anthology “The Echo of Centuries”by Sokol Demaku, (2010). Maliqi is a founder and editor in chief of the magazine “Qendresa” which is published in Presheva Valley. Maliqi is a president of association of Presheva writers.

OPEN YOUR EYES Open your eyes I get into groan Close your eyes A black shadow Around us

Open your files And take off your masks

Because the fortress of Presheva Is covered by darkness Whereas the Valley is covered by dread Open your eyesâ&#x20AC;Ś

THE MARK Three steps to the mark In pike we have the stone Through the holes of the fence With a little light From this point note Grabovc with two heads And his tail hang up In the old tree From this free dot In a naked mound To revive the loves.

WRITING A POETRY If you want to write a poetry Put your feeling into inspiration Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t hurt the verse

Write down the mark of figures If you couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t find their place You hurt the verse The poetry protests If you want to write a poetry Become a shadow in every verse

Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t stay like stubby Get to that mark With your metaphor tousle your time.

PATCHING MY RAMSHACKLE FATE Let me patch my ramshackle fate In the back of the contempt map Let me count the shouts And with my look to destroy the landmark Let me step down the slope With many repeated groan Let me sit on the top of the landmark And get connected with you my land Let me be on the surface of the rocky ground Just to read the engraved love.

Biljana Z. Biljanovka ( Macedonia) Biljana Z. Biljnovska ( Skopje , 1948 ) is a professional (freelance) translater , journalist , writer- novelist , poet, essayist . Most of schooling followed in the SerboCroatian language, in Belgrade, and finished elementary and high school, and part of university education. She graduated from the State University ” St. Cyril and Methodius ” , Faculty of Philology in Skopje, on the group Romance Philology, where he studied French and Italian languages, letteratur and culture. On several occasions abroad in Italy to improve translation and intrperation on the High School of translators and interpreters in Milan. In her resume but translations from Macedonian on to the Serbian, language, equally represented translations from French and Italian authors in to Macedonian and Serbian languagis, and from Serbian and Macedonian into Franch and Italian languagis.

BETWEEN MY LIPS

Between my lips always rests your name – my love.

Between my hands there is always a place

for a consolation, to build for you a hiding place – my love.

Between my thoughts there are always verses I use to weave a new attire for your freedom – my love.

IN THE LAST CIRCLE I don’t know when, nor how I found myself in that fiery circle where all was burning us the most – deserted lovers. I don’t know when we departed and forever. The blaze of our love was left to burn us turning us into the ashes of remembrance.

PHOENIX

Among those bones and meat of my tired body interweaved are souls of all my ancestors: Forefathers, grandfathers, of mothers and fathers side Among them, many revolutionists. And today, when life closes the door for me, depersonalizes me with undeserved injustices, in me, their blood agitates roars from deep within deprives of sleep motivates me during the day to raise from their ashes Like a Phoenix spreading the wings so that I can scream to the world: ENOUGH PEOPLE, ENOUGH to all the blackmail, threat, injustice and haughtiness, leave us at least with PEACE to have a place to raise our children and to save your souls.

Baki Ymeri (Albania- Romania) Baki Ymeri leads the Albanian-literary magazine of Albanians in Romania Inspired by our fairies, beautiful as a sunrise, Baki Ymeri is the fabulous poet who believes in the love star. He is the one that belongs not only in Romanian and Italian languages, but also German, French, Bulgarian, Macedonian, Slovenian, SerboCroatian, Aromanian, Albanian, up to ten, as a Cantemir returned through Historia Hieroglyphica to poem, as a song that seeks a master Europe. Good thing that the poet does not avoid the springs! How did it stop precisely here, with us, and became a poet! Is it a crossroads? Is it a surprise? Is it something given that chooses us? Alberto Voka is the poet who stirs snow in the Romanian language. He restores an entire way, only to give a definition to his verses in Italian, which bleaches the surprise of the Romanian language.

MONOLOGUE OF A DREAM Quench the thirst On the Light Valley Laugh So that the angels fondle you! Go up, Draw the curtains And turn out the light! Canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t you see that I am Your light! Wait for me!

SUFLETUL VERII Hai să privim în amurg Disperarea Şi marea-n ruină, Pădurea care şi-a apus Cununea de crengi. De câte ori ne-mpăcăm, Suntem mai aproape de Dumnezeu. Hai, vino în sufletul verii – Vom fi Precum doi inşi Aplecaţi tare departe.

SUMMER’S SOUL Let's look at dusk The dispair And the great ruin, The forest that set The crown of branches. Whenever we reconcile We are closer to God. Come, join me in summer’s soul – We will be As two people Bend very far And asleep…

Bam Dev Sharma ( Nepal) Bam Dev Sharma has been teaching at Tribhuvan University Nepal over the last twenty years.He is internationally published poet and children story writer.His poetry collections have come out from the US, Japan, India and Korea.He is a prolific poet whose poems are contributed to many journals and online publication across the globes.He also organizes poetry programs and writes reviews .

BENIGN DELIRIUM Did you hear the symphony of love emitting through my pensive heart spewing fanciful dreams as if gentle breeze would caress tender leaves singing in tune ? Perhaps it pierced through your heart or made you feel numb despite sardonic pain

you wooed for the prolonging spell and never knew that it felt like a bite of flea ejaculating benign delirium ! Never hope for a greater sacrifice but waltz with the soprano in tropes bemused in incantation reverberating sole music of eternity.

IN THE KINGDOM OF LOVE In the kingdom of love There is mellifluous light Which pieces From the staple of hope Reflecting on The intoxicating river of hearts Shining in amber…….. In the flow of ecstasy……. Where rocks like You and me Are submerged Into the bottom To be invincible rock Forever!

TRANCE OF ETERNITY When the humming bees are gone the forlorn daisy is in fidget. It tries to begin coaxing with balmy wind bidding : â&#x20AC;&#x153;Do not be so indifferent to me!â&#x20AC;? The wintry night sprawls passionate love from high hills with glistening snow to envelop speckled settlement on the bank of river. And the glaring moon splashes tender light over the luscious meadows invigorated by fireflies prancing and marinating love with ecstasy to pierce through penitent soul. The dark night eavesdrops gentle caress in deep slumber and human souls get bemused in trance of eternity!

CAROLINE NAZARENO (Philippine) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Caroline Nazareno, Ceri Naz to her friends and followers, is a poet, editor, journalist, public speaker, linguist and educator. She was invited as a featured poet at Vancouver Word On The Street and World Poetry Canada and International. The World Poetry Canada and International (WPCI) honoured Ceri Naz with the “Certificate of Appreciation for the International Peace Festival 2011”. WCPI was founded by Ariadne Sawyer, a distinguished published poet and author whose advocacy of promoting world peace through poetry has fostered brotherhood among peoples of all colors, creeds, and races. In the same year, Poetry Around The Globe, an organization headed by Lucia Gorea, Ph.D., an award-winning poet, widely published writer, literary translator and English/ESL professor, presented Ceri Naz with the “Certificate of Outstanding Achievement in Poetry” as a World Poet. The World Poetry Canada and International Peace Festival 2013, a prestigious gathering of poets from across all continents, adjudged her “World Poetry Empowered Poet 2013”. Currently, she writes for the Philippine Canadian Inquirer, Manila Bulletin and Philippine Star.

trees of dreams i started walking through autumn carpet of leaves from maple trees and dawn redwood,

there were glides and parachutes rescuing people who do not know how to dream, how to explore. at first, fairytales are read as the false cypress grow, thereâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s also an oak tree standing where you can whisper the name of your love, incense cedars blow horns to warn and be ready, Aspen trunks reserve the moments where your best dreams are ever set, the bamboos swaying merrily, how tall have you tried to reach the dream you want to become, the Tree of Life showers mornings, noons and evenings to live the enormous dreams we believe and love.

PoeTree how do you know your roots are the founding rules sipping rhythmic waters from nodules of verbs delivering veined nouns to every branches of new speech this trunk of poetry reminds artisans from avant garde lines embracing evolutionary midribs to powerful rustling leaves because of peaceful wind that breathes from centuries as lovers under the tree of life living the haiku-ing fruits of a generic poem for the human race.

tattoos on the firetree you come and bring me shades to start the ABCâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s of courage the melodious one-two-three in your dandelion fingers lighten up mornings without sun. your leaves waving console and clever pokes as i hide, falling dripping tears from heavenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyes as i sit from your eroded roots. your whistling hums prompting rainbows over the window pane, as i pain for the crayon-twigs fading emptying colors of my written wishes.

the tattoos i etched on the trunk sending me fireflies, even on wheezy and windy days, i will keep on saying, i love you dad!

Claudia Piccinno ( Italy) Claudia Piccinno born in Lecce in 1970, she moved very young in Lombardy and then in Emilia Romagna (north east of Italy) where he she currently lives and teaches in a primary school. Operating in more than sixty anthologies, she’s a former member of the jury in many national and international literary prizes. She has published “La sfinge e il pierrot”, Aletti Editore, 2011 “Potando l’euforbia” in Transiti Diversi, Rupe Mutevole Edizioni, 2012 “Il soffitto, cortometraggi d’altrove”, La Lettera Scarlatta Edizioni, 2013 With english version also “Il soffitto, cortometraggi d’altrove” La Lettera Scarlatta Edizioni maggio 2014 – in serbian “Tabahnha” ed.Majdah luglio 2014. – “Ragnatele Cremisi”- La Lettera Scarlatta Edizioni, settembre 2015.Honorary member of the non-profit “With the eyes of Geggio” association.she chaired the jury of the contest of drawings “From your eyes to the pencil”facing the young patients of the children’s hospitals throughout the country and ended in April 2015.She has participated in numerous poetry readings and marathons, including those held in Bologna for the International 100 poets for change. She has received awards in major national and international competitions of poetry, (including a mention of honour in the Paris 1st Word Literary Prize); her poem “In Blue” is on a majolica stele posted on the seafront in Santa Caterina di Nardo (Le).

The ceiling Elsewhere short films on my ceiling,

as at a silent cinema. Butterfly trapped in the amber… it’s my mind. They weigh as a condemnation to the eternal lack of love those caresses ever bestowed. I stand in my body shortages despite an intimate wandering changes in pollen my thoughts.

Blankets of oblivion Arms lengthen themselves, hands intertwine, fingers that scratch to pierce a melancholy tulle. Sharp and gaunt branches look for the blue of the day buried under blankets of oblivion. Chinese shadows dance reflected in the mirror of a suspended sky between how it is and how it would like to be!

Mare Nostrum Ode to you liquid cradle for the dreamers, “Muse” for painters and for novelists, “Promised land” for seagulls and fishermen! Ode to you

silent mirror for rebels and for pioneers, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Caronteâ&#x20AC;? for the inflatable boats of strangers! Disturbed is your frenetic pulsing because of the dross of the nuclear power plant. Ode to the sparkling laughters of bathers! Ode to the tickle that Grecale and Maestrale test on the innocence of the wave. Deaf and mute are the consciences of the brave nocturnal helmsmen. Ode to you, Mare Nostrum, ode to your improvising yourself pentagram of a several voices chorus, sounding box of quick lullabies, main road of hope, vibrant warning to avoid the mattanza.

©Mar Thieriot ( Canada) “ The fall” ( 50x90) 22-03-2018

Maria Thieriot is a specialist on connecting emotions, philosophy and art, and believe that those connections are helpful to understand and solve human conflicts peacefully. Painting and poetry can express human suffering in a peaceful manner and may help people to deal with emotional conflicts in a creative manner. http://www.marianathieriot.com http://www.marianathieriotloisel.com

Dimitris P. Kraniotis ( Greece) President of WPS Dimitris P. Kraniotis is an award-winning Greek poet. He was born in 1966 in Stomio (Larissa) in central Greece. He studied Medicine at the Aristotle University of Thessaloniki. He lives in Larissa (Greece) and works as a medical doctor (internal medicine specialist physician). He is the author of 9 poetry books: “Traces” (in Greek, Greece 1985), “Clay Faces” (in Greek, Greece 1992), “Fictitious Line” (in Greek, English & French, Greece 2005, “Dunes” (in French and Romanian, Romania 2007), “Endogram” (in Greek, editions Malliaris Paedia, Greece 2010), “Edda” (in French & Romanian, Romania 2010) , “Illusions”(in Albanian, Romania 2010), “Leaves Vowels” (in Italian, Pluriversum Edizioni, Italy 2017) and “Tie of Public Decency” (in Greek, editions Kedros, Greece 2018). Also he is the editor-in-chief of the international anthology in english “World Poetry 2011” (205 poets from 65 countries). He has won many international awards for his poetry which has been translated in 25 languages and published in many countries around the World. He was invited and he has participated in several International Poetry Festivals. He is Academician of Academy Tiberina of Rome and International Academy of Micenei (Italy), Doctor of Literature (Litt.D.), elected President of 22nd World Congress of Poets (Greece 2011) by United Poets Laureate International, President of World Poets Society (W.P.S), Director of Mediterranean Poetry Festival (Larissa, Greece), Ambassador to Greece of “Poetas del Mundo” (Chile), Editor of the greek poetry magazine “Poetics @ GR”, Professor of the University of Applied Sciences of Thessaly (Department of Nursing) and member of several literary organizations (National Society of Greek Literary Writers, Hellenic Literary Society, Greek PEN, World Poetry Movement, International Writers Association, etc). His official website: http://www.dimitriskraniotis.com/

In a flash You violated the borders which buried their know thyself, you destroyed prisons behind curtains turned ablaze by the spark of your anger, without cries, without whispers, in a flash, that simple it was, you gave birth to light when you embraced what isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t told (although written) in darkness.

Moving We â&#x20AC;&#x2122;re naked now, we donned the colors, undressed words and voices, we â&#x20AC;&#x2122;re blind now, we drank the light, swam in death, with alcohol and tobacco in our luggage we testified falsely, forgetting who we are we built our life on a bird and we flew again, simply we moved.

Illusions Noiseless wrinkles on our forehead the frontiers of history, shed oblique glances at Homerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s verses. Illusions full of guilt redeem wounded whispers that became echoes in lighted caves of the fools and the innocent.

The end The savour of fruits still remains in my mouth, but the bitterness of words demolishes the clouds and wrings the snow counting the pebbles. But you never told me why you deceived me, why with pain and injustice did you desire to say that the end always in tears is cast to flames.

Dorin Popa ( Romania) Proposed by International Poets Acdemy (Madras, India) for Nobel prize. 1994-1996- postgraduate studies of journalism, with the disertation Media about the politology in Romania after `89- M.A. in Journalism. He is member of AZRRomanian Journalistic Association, USR- Romanian Association Writers, PEN-Club, INFLAC (Israel, Haifa) president for Romania Amnesty International. He is Member of the Romanian- American Academy, Vicepresident of the Word Congress of Poets Research. Published books : Nine books of Literature (poetry), five in Romania, one in USA, one in France, one in Germany, one in Sweden, two books of Journalism (interviews). Many prizes in Poetry, in and out the country (Italy, France, USA, Slovakia, Korea, Sweden, Germany, Canada). Next to appear : Introduction in the study and the history of mass-media systemuniversity cours.

EVOLVING ON AN UNSUSPECTED SECRET COMMAND Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ve always been thriled by the moment when men lose their little wings, by the moment when they begin to slowly revolve around their own lives with a kind of frenezy with the same amazement Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; ve always watched

intrigued how my fellow creatures plunge into their lives with indifference with indifference and fatigue with a sweet and sad exhaustion – like a stone surreptitiously my friends revolve themselves into silence – some easily, with discrete smiles, as if joking – some others, resolutely, stubbornly hasten to shake their flakes off and in vain do I call out to them, in vain do I shout in despair and pull them back by their feet … they have sunk into their lives to their waist, to their ears they don’ t want, oh, they don’ t want to hear anything but the nourishing sound of their revolving around this world, this life, this death oh, my friends have all disappeared swallowed by their dull, hungry brown – desperate lives and I, strange and immature, see how the possible is narrowing how it turns into a spot, into a trace into the dim breath of a memory, and afterwards nobody can remember anything about it.

CONFESSION IN DECEMBER so many times have I asked the other to take a right view of things but I haven’ t done so! All my condemnations have stayed in front of me for years, but I couldn’ t follow them I didn’ t know to understand them I couldn’ t see them to the end never anything have I known to expiate to the end!

my youth only elapses, joy only elapses, life only elapses, my guilt remains unchanged – never, anything have I known to expiate to the end; I’ ve always been harshly asking the other to take a right view of things, but I haven’ t done so! and now, when I am no longer expecting anything my hope is stronger than ever.

SELF PORTRAIT all that I could touch and I do not all that I could understand and I do not all that I could be and I am not.

Don Beukes (South Africa) Don Beukes is originally from Cape Town, South Africa and is the author of ‘The Salamander Chronicles’ and ‘Icarus Rising – Volume 1’, who only started to have his poetry published since August 2015 in various international literary magazines and journals, after writing poetry part-time over ten years whilst working as a Teacher of English and Geography in both South Africa and the United Kingdom. He also appears in various Anthologies by Creative Talents Unleashed and also featured in ‘In So Many Words : A Collection of Interviews and Poetry from today’s Poets’ by Adam Levon Brown of Madness Muse Press, ‘Selfhood’ by Transcendent Zero Press edited by Dustin Pickering and ‘Apple Fruits of an Old Oak : A Collection of Contemporary Short poems, Micro Poetry, Haiku & Photography’ and ‘Where are you from’ edited by Soodabeh Saeidnia, as well as ‘Headlines and Tragedies edited by Shannon Lynette of Lady Chaos Press. His poems have been translated into Afrikaans, Farsi and Albanian and he has received a ‘Best of the Net 2017’ nomination for his trilogy ‘Esorfo Ygolirt/Triloigy of Rose’ in Scarlet Leaf Review (Canada). He also writes short fiction.

March of the Refugees Our lives stolen our humanity seared our emotions charred – We are the ghost walkers invisible to the global piercing eyes but you do not really see us or believe us – Our

cultures misunderstood our tears burn yet causes no concern – Our ears tremble from singing bombs their deadly symphony our new songs – There are no flowers on our existential journey just bitter memories of our former lives of loved ones lost amidst swirling revolutionary dust leaving only their sacrificial ash – Discarded on a beach a boat a border a road a train, never to be spoken of again by warring factions still holding power over us – So when you bother to see us and wonder how to free us or further imprison us or return us just know this – Our steps will linger on our rhythm creating a sonic wave our melody swelling to silence the tyranny dismantling our humanity – You may even want to archive our histories and possibly join the march of the refugees…

Ghost Walkers We exist in the shadows of cities slipping in and out of concrete crevices – Abandoned dwellings left unguarded now occupied by us the discarded unwillingly lost in urban dust – Surrounded by decay and infestation this is no fleeting vacation as we scramble daily for scraps of nutrition – Battling to survive whilst diamond encrusted fake smiles gleam and glisten from distant skyscrapers – Their waste our forced life saving manna their moth eaten coats our

winter fodder their rhetoric our daily headlines – Our remains their urban waste…

Rainbow Child I am from the same human race as you My feet walk the same earth as you I breathe from the same oxygen layer as you My heart beats the same as yours I feel the same physical pain as you I have empathy too but do you? You who frown at my mixed race brown skin displaying seasonal colour changes adapting to various weather conditions. I make no excuse for my proud intercultural heritage or my unique genetic legacy – It is just that you fail to really look at me or even acknowledge me. You judge my mother tongue accent but my existence is no accident – I am a part of humanity I refuse to mask this ignorant insanity I refuse to hide – For I am proud to be a rainbow child.

Drita Lushi ( Albania) The writer Drita Lushi was born in the city of Librazhd, where she attended the lessons until the secondary school in order to continue then her studies at the Medical University in Tirana, where she got graduated in Pharmaceutics. She started writing her first verses since her childhood in order to continue in the secondary school with essays and compositions in lessons. After building up her family, she dedicated herself again to her passion coming out in 2012 with her poetry book "DREAM", in 2013 she published (brought) her book of short stories "LOVE BLOOMS IN APRIL" for which she won the first prize by the magazine "OBELISK", and in 2014 the poetry book "FLIRT", which were evaluated also by the well-known names of Albanian literature. She publishes regularly in the written Albanian press essays, critical notices, reports, interviews with different personalities, etc. She is in the process of publishing of two new books

I’M LEAVING TO YOU THIS POETRY ON THE TABLE When you are not there, I come and sit on your armchair; I touch the dispersed letters The books left open… A mess I got used to love… Ah, it seems you forgot also today to take your glasses…

I put my fingers on yours, On the buttons where you form so nice words, Or which not rarely tire you, As you join the letters to bring out there spirit (soul) and longing (nostalgia)..! I feel myself you for a moment.. As I make you myself; I close my eyes to imagine the coming… And suddenly, I run to the window to look at the street, And you really show up… I laugh… I laugh…at my premonitions… As true, as the truth Of my feeling for You Ah… I love you also in absence, Loving everything you touch; And when you show up… I feel double in love…! I have few words… And these I’ve never said to you… Not even now… Simply, I’m leaving to you on the table… This poetry…

TO LOVE A WOMAN It’s not easy to love a woman, To grant her words of eyes and kisses; Fondling of the moon, comets and suns To lay them down in hands.` You should know to love a woman! To get an oasis in the middle of a desert, An oasis that dyes blue (only for you) a land of love. It takes guts to love a woman! To find ways and paths (untrodden) to conquer

golden banks (shores). You should know to keep a woman ‘cause she’s put her heart into your hands, More than it – her love, You should know, to know then…

SYMPHONY OF STARS I did not know that also the night, with its silence, Produced these so rare sounds. Well then listen… Listen like I do; Apart from crickets on this spring evening, A music is heard, and a river also flows, An accordion in the lips of the night, Reminds me that also the stars make a noise. They look at each other, face each other, push each other, Then, they watch the moon frontally, surround it, And want to draw its attention. Like boys they play the dance of heaven, Snap (crack) with shiny rhythms their feet, Completely like dancers of old times, Who were born out of the stomach of Bing-Bang. I didn’t know the night was so noisy, I didn’t… Tonight, I saw and heard the symphony of Son And the moon, conducted with a face of a woman.

David Chukwudi Njoku (Nigeria) David Chukwudi Njoku is a Nigerian faith preacher, a poet and writer, a spoken artist and lover of music. His first publication is with Spectrum House, UK a Flip book titled: Pick up that Pen. His poems and prose were published in group Anthologies such as: HARMONY, OUR POETRY ARCHIVE, RAVEN CAGE ZINE, TUCK MAGAZINE, ETC. He received awards are from THE POETRY WALL, WORLD PROSE AND POETRY, UNPLUGGED POETRY, COLOURS OF LIFE, ETC Being a clergy has helped David in getting revealed mysteries to churn out poetry.

THE PURITY OF FRIENDSHIP Friendship is a rare virtue Virtue that breed sacrifice Sacrifice of pleasure Pleasure that harmonize all. Friendship is beyond family It binds up even your enemy To be at peace with you It's a character of truth Truth thrives trust. Friendship goes beyond malice, It is a great responsibility

That will bring out your best Or worst as the case maybe. Friendship accommodates, It does not segregates It opens arms for mutuality That breed in integrity. Friendship thrives on Love Love cements friends Friends that desire good of another Not minding the womb-mother.

THE DEAD CAN'T RULE Away with the dead They stink They're rotten Full of maggots Away with the dead How come they lead humans When they're dead How bewitched we are.. They can't rule. They can't move nor speak they're full of non actions. Away with these dead In the ivory tower... They're chameleon, These politicians are just dead They stink with corruption, Away with them.

LOVE Love is not mere expression of feelings Love's not about how you give Neither how you appear Nor show how good you are. Love's everyday word used wrongly Wrongly with negative intentions Intentions that breed evil creeds. Love's not sex Love's not materialism Love don't hate nor backbite Love's not ashamed and selfish. Love's a person of God Love's an expression of sacrifice Sacrifice that involves giving all. Love's great responsibility Responsibility that's of bond Bond with the virtues of God Love's character of God. Love is eternally gracious Love murders violence Love is God.

DR. Epitacio R. Tongohan (Philippine) President of PENTASI B World Friendship Poetry Doctor in Medicine, University of Ramon Magsaysay Memorial Medical College, 1984. Specialized in Anatomic Pathology, University of Santo Tomas, 1988; Bachelor of Science in Medical Technology, University of Santo Tomas, 1979. Conferred in the Philippines as “The Father of Philippine Visual Poetry”, 2011; Known and recognized in British Columbia, Canada, as “The Father of Visual Poetry”, 2013; Proclaimed in Vancouver, Canada as “Visionary Poet”, 2013; Honored in Turkey as “Görsel Şiir Babası”(Father of Visual Poetry), 2014; Honored and recognized in Italy as “IL PADRE DELLA POESIA VISUALE” (Father of Visual Poetry), 2016; Honored and recognized Ghana, Africa, as “ANYUINSEM AGYA” (Father of Modern Visual Poetry), 2016; (King of Visual Poetry) on the 14th of October 2017 (reference link of the official announcement: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4pcP5f4ZjgQ&t=3s ). PENTASI B VISION: “NO COLORS NO RACES ALL COLORS ALL RACES ALL LOVES EMBRACES”

yes! I am yes i am free yes free for all i am beyond the walls beyond the pages beyond the bitterness of man i am the best of all the best of all dreams of all hopes of all wishes i am the greatest revelation of all-unending- self-discoveries i am the core of every infinite evolution of existence for perfection i simply live fr e e l y in every birth in every death in every breath of the universe.

of so manyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s I for I have blamed so many for I have fooled so many for I have killed so many for I have brought so many so many doubts so many pains so many fears of mysteries for I have died a million times in my lifetime so many times just for a day â&#x20AC;&#x153;Iâ&#x20AC;? choose to live.

We shall wait when earth rotates Walk with me in the path of the sorrows & pains When the days are betrayed by the rage of the night Walk with me under the boiling heat of a lonely sun When the long mournful cry of the wolf ticktack & bite Climb with me to reach the peak of the highest mountain And we shall shout out loud the language of our dreams Don’t say no to our quitting feet, no to our gasping breaths And we shall read, recite the verses of Love like pure overflowing streams If WE cannot climb, we shall wait, …tilt the earth to rotate And one by one, together, at the right time, at the ripe time There’s no more need to climb, no aching legs, no shaking knees, A loud yesssSSS we can jump & slide, smooth & easy, To reach the tip of our dreams.

*** write far its growth words glow shall last more million words shall mix and add it multiplies some shall recast the new and old have has and had are shall be is and all a wast after a while the words grow mad rains fire below thunders above i end in silence. i pause. i stop. just hear the sound of word called Love!

Eftichia Kapardeli ( Greece) Member of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Eftichia Kapardeli was born in Athens and lives in Patras. She writes poetry, stories, haiku, essays, and novels. She participates in chorus as a soprano. She graduated from the journalism department at the A.K.E.M. (Athenian Center Vocational Education). She participates in many education seminars. She knows H/Y 7 programs, English and Italian, and classic Kithara. She was a guide for the Hellenic Girl Scouts. She is an active volunteer fire-woman and participates as an auditing student in the Department of Philology at the University of Patras. She has awards in Panhellenics competitive essays, topics, stories, novels, fables, and haiku. She takes earned recognition for her novel Secret March from D.E.E.L. and “Sikeliana 2006” from UNESCO. Her work is published in various magazines. Her first poetry collections are “Confindings of Secrets” and “Light.” She has one paper, “The Creek Civilication” in the University of Cyprus. She is a member in the World Poets Society (W.P.S.) at http://world-poets.blogspot.com/ and the International Writer’s Association (IWA).

At flapping wings Three angels with excess peacefulness on one virgin dome a simplistic church hanging

Flowers measure forces on stone slits The people grow in loneliness hungry for love The deserted streets Hold the calcined sun of summer birds waiting In the long journey promise roots stretching at flapping wings in the cities of the world colors awaken to light.

Days of blessing Days of blessing In silver leaves her Poplar flooded The Immovable roofs and windows of homes with secret wishes The road of my life In a small universe from light In the righteousness of the soul Oh! what calculus mystic.

Mryrrh Purple Oh !!! the mind, It is not going to come on time Before the rays of the Sun golden horizon the kissing of light on that long sleep eternal separation the whisper of stars All alone heart, thou *** And I, in sorrow the pain the number of bonds the hymns and dance hours hermit land I pass in silence In anguish Jasmine the fate of people you unknown myrrh purple.

Enertin Dheskali ( Albania)

Secretary General of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Enertin Dhiskali was born on March 31, 1976 in the city of Fier, Albania. First, he graduated at the "Perikli Ikonomi" gymnasium in 1994, and then in 2001, he learnt at Tirana University. He majored in Language and Literature, with very high scores (averaging over 9.5). Also in 2006, he did the two years -post university degree program for Foreign Literature and Aesthetics. He Graduated the PhD School in Albanian Literature and Aesthetics profile, and got another Masters Degree at “UFO” University, "Administrative Science". After, he completed his studies and graduated, he has been working as an external lecturer at the University of Vlora, teaching Foreign Literature, Standard English and Aesthetics courses. He also handled the field of journalism, where he worked as editor-in-chief and director of local television "Apollon". He is well acquainted with several foreign languages, certified with a maximum grade at the Faculty of Foreign Languages, Tirana University. So far he has published three poetic works, titled “Gjurmë zemre nëpër kohë”(Heartbeats Through Time)," Përtej ëndrrave dhe përjetësisë",(Beyond Dreams and Eternity,)" and ““Gjak në kozmos”.(Blood in the Cosmos.).

The History must be written down, everyday… The History must be written down, everyday… Following in the footprints up in the universe, Now and then, remaing blood on the “leaves” of the time…. Now and then, dead-dreams in the tree of life. The History must be written down, everyday… Following in the footprints up in the universe, Singing the praises of the heroes, The betrayers are shrivelling…, and.. The ash of the Bones’s turned on the dribbling… The History must be written down, everyday… Following in the footprints up in the universe, Hearing the cries of the centuries from far, Staying in the deadcalm of the sneaky waiting…

The silent autumn The silent autumn, the rowdy autumn, It’s coming slowly with sweet smile, Striping the rinds of the wooden “army trees”, Frightening the migratory birds, flying off… Silent autumn with fragile shoulders, Rustling and strewning with gold leaves, Shedding heart- tears on the glass windows, Arousing the lovers from the morning sleepy…. The rowdy autumn, filled with flash of lightnings, The grief farewell, the tenderness that sleeps in the memoirs, Subduing the feelings to the power forgiveness, From the deep of a rainy season, towards the journey of life…

The dawning love ….. A new beautiful day is coming…., A sun-beam warming me up, As a fearful lover, breathing deeply, I still keep saying: I Love you..! Wanting to feel the magical secrets, Eyes crossing our sight….., Not fearing the dizzling light, and… Eagerly waiting to caress your beautiful eyes…! Feeling the passion of hotness love, Through the lightnings of the day and night, Flaming passion sparkling all over your body, Bringing light to your heart…. And with the butterflies of kisses my dear, Breathing out of my lungs , Sinning and murmurizing just a word; I love you Forever and Always..!

ELVIRA KUJOVIC ( Germany) Elvira Kujović, is bilingual poet. She was born in Serbia, but she has been living in Germany since 1992 and since 2013 she successfully writes poetry. The first book in German »A poem screaming out of my chest« was published in Berlin in 2016. The second book in Serbian language entitled "Love and fear" is published in Belgrade in 2017 and also in Italian language under the name "L`Amore e la paura" in 2018. The third book is titled "The Last Coffee" and is published in the USA in 2018. Her poems are now translated into several languages, also including Spanish, Turkish, Chinese. Darling Only I know the secret closed behind your perfect lips. Words written in your eyes only I can understand my love .. On the power of your love which like the ocean waves comes back again and again to beguile me, I wait patiently. I'm waiting for you. The magic of your Hands, to turn me into yearning, into a firefly,

that shines only in the darkness of your absence and craves for even more pain belongs only to me, I know. I`m your eternal fireplace to which you return again and again, to prove your male power once more time and to count each of my sighs anewand to tame me, without grieving to love me. I'm waiting for you my darling, because we defy the wind and water life and death, we are dust and ashes we are the fire we are the life.

Peace Peace has become too cheap You can buy it in every corner for just a few pennies and even easier to sell. Peace is such a nice word and does not want to scare anyone but it always fears for its life. Peace is light, but it always lives in the shadow of the wars. Peace, is the food for our souls and we are so hungry for it.

We seek peace everywhere but always by someone else, and we forget. that it lives inside us it lives in each one of us, in each one of us lives peace in our world.

My homeland I have no homeland. Not here where I fled and not there I was born. My homeland is my heart and my mind. And if these two do not harbor n me well, than I am just the lost one in the erased soul universe, only a shadow of life, a long ago extinguished light infinitely travelling to its end.

Eliza Segiet (Poland) Eliza Segiet â&#x20AC;&#x201C; graduate with a Master's Degree in Philosophy, completed postgraduate studies in Cultural Knowledge, Philosophy, Arts and Literature at Jagiellonian University, as well as Film and Television Production in Lodz. Torn between poetry and drama. Likes to look into the clouds, but keeps both feet on the ground. Her heart is close to the thought of Schopenhauer: "Ordinary people merely think how they shall 'spend' their time; a man of talent tries to 'use' it". She is an author of books, poetry Collections etc. Author's works can be found in anthologies and literary magazines in Poland and abroad (Albania, Australia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Canada, India, Kosovo, Scotland, Sweden, USA).

Labyrinth

In the vortex of dance, wandering in the labyrinth of time she saw the ephemerality of existence. Today turns into yesterday as in the Heraklite river fluid, smooth. Although trees live longer than humans, slouching between them one can see the scattered dandelions.

And behind a tall wall of boxwood there is everything one cannot go back to. Every ray of the sun is a hope for existence, even though at some point it will not allow for a gust of life.

Signs of Time Embraced by gentleness of words, aroused by beauty she sets imagination into motion. She didn't know ifâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;as beforeâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; it was just the waves talking to each other. Did she really hear them? I know that she could live in a place, where crystalline sand covers her wet feet, where the signs of time are enshrouded by a wave. The sea could drown out her memories.

She Was Far Away Somewhere in the midst of the theatre of life she sought shelter to not return to the past. She could not. It followed her. She could not forget the pattering of German officers and fear is it today? She hid in her the past time like a stone holds onto eternity.

Entela Safeti-Kasi ( Albania) Albanian PEN President and Ambassador for Peace Albanian poet, novelist, translator and essayist, was born in Korça in 1975. She is graduated for English Language in 1998. She is awarded with scholarships by the Council of Europe and the British Council, in UK, ‘Human rights and education’ in 2004, and by the Council of Europe and the Academy of Bad Wild Bad, ‘Intercultural Education’, in Germany 2008. She is the author of many books into Albanian and foreign languages, actually she is holding the position of the President of the Albanian PEN, and she is also a well known intellectual in the cultural life of Albania. She has worked for the board of IN search Committee of PEN International from 2012-2015. She is awarded national and international awards in literature, and her works are translated in different languages and are published in many literary magazines in Albania and abroad. She is the author of ‘Nameless dreams’, ‘The time for the horse’, ‘Gloomy night’, ’The Harvest of Christmas’, ‘Metaphors cant’ be given”. She is the translator of the contemporary poetry collection, Metaphors can’t be gifted, and she has also translated ‘Memories of Mirrelle’ of Eugene Schoulgin and ‘Musica Mundi’ of Casimiro de Brito. She is awarded with the Certificate of Gratitude from different organizations and municipalities in Albania, Kosovo, Montenegro and Macedonia. Her poetry is translated and published in different anthologies, magazines and reviews into Macedonian, Bulgarian, Turkish, Italian, Spanish, French, English and many other languages.

Not I The seagulls beyond that tiny shining silky tunes Underneath the skin where I am writing the words of the broken dwelling There in a distant island dancing with elves Comming by the grey icy eve on the chamber door A crown of pearls on your stunning head is still raining You take the scent and go Far away from every limit Bounded with the pains Old cities are cold and golden You enter silently in every page But not I, you can't keep my hand you simply can't Its like the feather of that seagull beyond the misty waters of distant islands You can't see beyond the silky words written on the clouds skin You simply can't go the blue paths underneath the soil where all seeds are sleeping Until the spring comes And makes them plants of freedom You simply can't On your head there is always that raven That crying of old times Your guarding master And I remain here in this shelter of grass and pearls made from the grandmother You are forgetting that Lady She created life... You simply can't

TALKING TO THE FLOWER As you canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t keep this forgotten ray This word bounded by flame, cry And the cloud of an empty sky falls wherever raining The unspoken sound of silence plays inside the stone So I silently go off as the raven feather And there I am falling now and then

Insider as I am and not I, Birds are falling every where Now and then “We the next island” (!) Coming with the wind In the Sunday dinner When you see the next island existing We, the deserted island… I talk to my flower The unsaid words of rain Hidden in the limits of nonexistence That watering mouth Waves and waves innocently bone and flesh The grown pain, ancient illness of gloomy steps If I don’t step there is a mirror in my wonderland A lost inch of heaven into yours fallen eyes on every inch of the skin I stay on the same soil and plant another flower of sadness As the wind could come and makes it a poem or a salvation So I said everything naked in front of your lilies When you say and accept love and death the same The beginning of every world and all hidden worlds So I wrote every word every sound of silence By the solid drop of water And if there is no sea or ocean Could I stay paralyzed in any shape?! Could I be not sad, not mad? The most difficult tag song and flame So I send you every form of cloud, every colour of that rainbow Every weigh of sand, soil and stone, every plant, And all the solitude Of words Remaining Not I!!! A poem.

Elena Liliana Popescu ( Romania) Nacida el 20 de julio de 1948 en Turnu Măgurele, Rumania. Poeta, ensayista, traductora y editora. Elena Liliana Popescu es licenciada y Doctora en Matemáticas, por la Universidad de Bucarest, de la que actualmente, es profesora. Después de 1989, inicia una actividad en el periodismo rumano con ensayos de interés general, así como artículos contemporáneos sobre temas sociales y políticos. Miembro de la Unión de Escritores de Rumania, sección de Poesía. Su actividad literaria se orienta sobre todo hacia la poesía original y la traducción de literatura poética, filosófica y espiritual del mundo. Tiene publicados cuarenta libros de poesía y traducciones del inglés, francés y el español, y sus trabajos están publicados en Rumania y en el extranjero. Sus poemas traducidos al inglés, español, chino, francés, portugués, serbo – croata, árabe, estonio, polonés, italiano, latino, catalán, sardo, turco, urdu, hindi, bengalí, húngaro han sido publicados en varias revistas impresas y de Internet, tanto en Rumania como en el exterior. Se puede visitar su página Web personal www.elenaliliana-popescu.ro. Ha traducido al rumano de la obra de más de noventa autores clásicos y contemporáneos, poetas y narradores. Poet, essayist, translator and editor. Elena Liliana Popescu is a graduate and PhD in Mathematics, from the University of Bucharest, of which she is currently a professor. After 1989, she started an activity in Romanian journalism with essays of general interest, as well as contemporary articles on social and political issues. Member of the Union of Writers of Romania, Poetry section. Her literary activity is oriented mainly towards the original poetry and translation of poetic, philosophical and spiritual literature of the world. She has published forty books of poetry and translations from English.

YOU NEVER TOLD ME You told me Poetry is like nothing ever beforeâ&#x20AC;Ś A miracle found in the silent moment lying hidden in the common fact. You told me Poetry is Wonderment hiding despair of not knowing to unravel the Mystery. But you never told me Poetry calls you Where you can find the Question-Answer.

TELL ME To my husband, Nicolae You never believed you could win by giving up weapons, and would find your freedom only by fighting your own image. You will no longer look at yourself in mirrors that show you weak or arrogant, brave or coward, when you wish itâ&#x20AC;Ś

You heard that before but never believed it… What can your image be in a mirror-less country? You will ask yourself, again, and will find out only if you let the answer come by itself. What can you lose when the only possible reality is your quest? Which way to go— the traveler asks, unaware it is the only road to follow... And where to go if he is already there— even if he doesn’t know yet who will win... What competition is more feared than when you are the only stubborn player? But how can you keep fighting when your opponent wears only your image as his lucky charm? “Abandon all hope” you were told— so you really can hope! But tell me, what good is hope for one who has everything, or knows the way back when he has already arrived?

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Elida Rusta (Albania) Elida Rusta is an Albanian author who bases her poetic idea on the combination of the epic elements that came from the oldest Albanian mythology with postmodernization and contemporary literary tedences today. After graduating from the University of Shkodra, the "Language - Literature" Faculty, she worked as a teacher of Albanian Language. The profile of education, but also the passion for poetry have made this author create her own unique style that identifies her for the aesthetic values and the universal message she conveys. She is a participant and winner of various literary competitions, with her poetry being valued amongst others. Winner of : First Prize Michigan, Detroit, from the "Assembly" magazine. Winner of the first prize, Përmet "Gjurmët Naimiane" Her poetry is periodically published in literary magazines: Poetic Anthology, and continues to attract the attention of both literary criticism and readers. She is the author of the poetic volume "1000 Years of Ajkunë" and has been publishing other volumes of poetry and prose in the genre of the novel. She lives and works in Shkodra

*** In today's analysis, you appeared in my blood, wholeheartedly, in astonishment. Well done! I thought before you left. I waited for you to celebrate. I wrote a book without you coming. Just touch me and I'm happy,

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I just kissed you and I'm upset. You are now made of dreams! Go down and drop the slowly to your beloved, like thoughts. Ooh! My tongue stops me writing what I feel, because I feel more. It happens to want to be fancy, only for you. I see that I can not show what I have in my mind, soul, the soul of a child who sees the adventures meets the handsome. No one deserves more than you, you found our door. Shake me, I should find the heart. God save us, as you need me! I have your name everywhere, in any place called love, you are made of desire. You, the man of my life, it teaches me willingly. When you love me, the Lord loves me. You lovs like a man and do not know how long I want you, because are not you woman. Writing,I feel you within me, you just pull out your hand, From my white chest, reads the heart where he finds himself the madman of happiness. I kiss the flames, where it burns ashore of a future day ...

Another God They sent her on battles again, the snow of her hair

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as in Andersen's fairytales, and she ruined their deep sleep. They do not know their endless map without an end, without a beginning, wears her cheeks in purple, that her song draws her into meadows, where spring plays and the sun does not give you weary eyes. Because that where the rivers divide, on the skeletons, you can live without a head, You sign up to the white eye, new loves convey it as the devil's sacrifice, and takes the road to another GOD.

And of poeme I do not know on which flower lawn I bloomed, nor how many times you walked there. Under the linden today nothing was left. Your pale farewell runs away, with the vapor of the ivory spirit, over us and over the dreams. We lose again and again, one night, two, three ... The end of a poem is around me, The rows get destructed On the weather of coals, of white coals. I told you! I told you not to take me out of this shore, the modern man is with no water, collapses and rises on arrival-departures, faded like flowers on the bones. I know the end of this trail ... It's not an abyss, is a deserved punishment an eloquent soul which grows after every sin.

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Eva Kacanja ( Albania) Eva Kacanja was born on October 7th, 1971 in the city of Kruja, Albania. Her poetries are introduced in several magazines and anthologies and have caught the attention of literary critics. She has published the following volumes of poetry: “The statue of the soul”, 1995 “At the bottom of your heart”, 2004 “Scent of soil”, 2011 Eva’s fourth volume of poetry is in the process of publishing. She lives in Durres, Albania with two children.

WHERE IS MY VERSE? My poetry roaring inside of me. My poetry yelling inside of me, moss of pain and love in the humid walls of my soul. Where I am and where I go, where I get lost through my days, where metaphor strikes, and I, confused in thousands of distractions, lost in thy daily bread ! I beg you God, My verse give me this day.

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A new longing Here comes the fall again, The storks migrate, In my garden a new longing embracing the trees thaws. Through leaves, hair gold wear, Here comes the fall again, This thirsty lip flares, This new longing tortures me. The eye burns this new longing, The white dawn the dream fades out, Here comes the fall again, You’re far with escape, oh how far. Where can I migrate this new longing, To the mountains or to the moon, Here comes the fall again, To sleep my dreams surrender…

Conversation with God Sleeping down a rock, napping light through leaves Awoke in me, While silently praying. Forgive me God, But so lonely I feel, “Pick up a flower, And fold it in your heart” I’m scared God, The clouds hide it all, “There’s no rain without cloud, There’s no flower without it”!

In the wine cup In cup of my wine your bread you dip, I feel your thirst Warm of my trunk,

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Ember from fire stolen This glance of yours. I weep, Don’t know why I recall That last supper Of your crucifixion! Try to talk, But you just hush, Although in your silence The whole forest talks. Suffocates my tear, Breaad, wine dipped, Breaks the pine arm. By breeze corroded… You swore, you say, To yourself you swore, But on your lips I pledged my kiss, Inside my cup Your bread hurts…! I’m scared of you You’re scary sea, You scare me, The only one! You call me, Seem quiet, Amirror, Agreen half moon, Drops, Like eyelids of a baby sleeping, You tempt me, Your noise thrills me, But I can’t come! I’m scared of you Lying in the shore, Your tounge My foot touches!

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Prof. Dr. Fang Yaw-Chien ( Taiwan) Prof. Dr. Fang Yaw-Chien (方耀乾, AKA, Png Iau-khian, born in 1958, Tainan, Taiwan) is a leading poet, writer, scholar, and editor in Taiwan. He obtained his Ph.D. degree in Taiwanese literature, National Cheng-kung University. Currently he is Distinguished Professor & Chair of Department of Taiwanese Languages & Literature, National Taichung University of Education, Taiwan. Fang Yaw-chien is also the Director of Research Center for Taiwanese Languages, and the Draftsman of “National Language Development Law”, General Counsel & International Director of the World Union of Poets, and the Honorary Advisor of Writers’ Capital International Foundation. He has been the presidents, publishers, editors-in-chief of several important associations and magazines. He has published 11 books of poetry, and more than 100 literary treatises & articles. His poetry, written in his mothertongue Taiwanese, mainly reflects love among human beings and between husband & wife, Taiwanese spirit and history, and a perspective of universal and human existence as well. His poetry has been translated into English, Spanish, Chinese, Japanese, Turkish, Mongolian, Bengali, etc., and has had read in International Poetry Recitals in severals Countries around the world.

She is Waiting for Me Bangka is like an arrow Shooting through the golden yearning sea Wind wings are like her lips

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Kissing my face Swift milkfish Racing in the golden water She says milkfish is the spell of love I must return with them full in boat With her under the bamboos tonight We will enjoy them together with the moonlight I must return with the fish full in boat She must be standing at the sea shore When the setting sun lights up her eyes Like two burning fires Waiting for me I must return with the fish full in boat She must be standing at the sea shore Her cocoa skin so smooth and tender On plump breasts blooming two globe amaranths Waiting for me I must return with the fish full in boat To be with her tonight Melted into the moonlight At the bamboos side

The Pan-tsi-hue In the nights in March, I mean to make you hear, Inside my body, the heartfelt sound is blown Out from the horn, Gentle but resolute. The golden will Whirls by the wind. Though the head is falling onto the ground And the limbs are breaking apart,

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I will not let any tear drop. Pain of voicelessness is practicing speaking out From the deepest, deepest belly Again and again, Again and again: I wanted to be called “pan-tsi-hue”. My name is not “mu-mian-hua”. In the days in March, I mean to make you see, Inside my body, the true statue of me Is seated on the throne, Dignified and sturdy. The golden will Shines like the sun. Though the head is falling onto the ground And the limbs are breaking apart, I will not let any tear drop. Pain of namelessness is practicing writing the name With weak fingers, Again and again, Again and again: I wanted to be called “pan-tsi-hue”. My name is not “mu-mian-hua”.

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Flaminia Cruciani ( Italy) Born in Rome, she graduated in "Archeology and History of Ancient Near East Art", at "Sapienza University of Rome" and then received her Ph.D. in "Oriental Archeology" For many years she participated in the annual excavation campaigns at Ebla in Syria, as a member of the "Italian archaeological mission at Ebla". She then obtained a second degree in "History of Art". She is also specialized in Analogical Disciplines. In 2008 she published “Sorso di notte potabile”, ed. LietoColle, and “Dentro”, ed. Pulcinoelefante. In 2013 she published “Frammenti”, ed. Pulcinoelefante. “Lapidarium” was published in 2015 with Puntoacapo. She published in 2016 “Semiotica del male”, Campanotto, while in 2017 Piano di evacuazione, Samuele Editore. In 2018 she published “Chora”, a book written with Ilaria Caffio, with the preface by Carlo Pasi, Spagine publisher, Fondo Verri. An anthology of her poetic texts is being prepared “We were quiet in the same language”, with a preface by Marco Sonzogni, to be published by Gradiva Publications, New York. In 2017 Carlo Pasi wrote a monograph on the book “Semiotica del male”: “Lo scavo dell’origine, Note critico poetiche su “Semiotica del male” di Flaminia Cruciani ", Petrarte Edizioni. Her poetic texts have been translated into English, French, Spanish, Bulgarian, Korean, Mandarin, Arabic, Romanian. She is a member of the Académie Européenne Des Sciences, Des Arts Et Des Lettres of Paris. She is one of the founders and creators of the cultural movement "Poetry and Discovery". She participated in International Poetry Festivals in different countries. Next July she will take part in the 28th Medellin International Poetry Festival.

METAPOEM This evening the sun can’t go down it’s like a noose of wheat hanging from the eyes I touch your back and you arch like a petal into the sea wind eyes trample the infinite in front of us.

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I speak to you like telling a secret of my breath flame wherein I seek the poem hidden in its crypt of veils of my work-weary hands brave and brimful of rebellious words with which to daily draw out the fire of thoughts that crucify and look upwards. You look at me and your eyes change their voice while we cover up with our coats, you’d like to comfort me. I tell you about the orphaned emotions when they want to stay in verse-form like stubborn offerings to the temple of temptations that give neither soul nor respite that take you to hell and aren’t cyphers, or children, or homes. I tell you about dreams mixed with the floods I would secure and anchor, about words when they don’t open yet and are dark alleys, one-way journeys, and at times ultimate beauty pacts open codes for new resurrections when they exhibit galaxies and rivers and time the raptor moves on with kneeling footsteps in the bell without handrails where the bread loaves turn back to my April-filled mouth that kisses your outline in the sun we, suspended on the wing with which I daily try to rise beyond the angels’ helmets as in the sky so on earth. THE BUTTERFLY’S CANTICLE I sleep with you in the wakeful wing-beat of petals that got the wrong flowers and I dream you blowing out the candles of my first birthday over my head and you forget our shared name the painted birds singing on the highlands of my back

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thunderclaps like psalms in my hair while you recite by heart my crown of fire the ash ring caught just in time with eyes flooded by lightning turning into ruins.

*** Hark ye who fall in love with cruel pacts I was overflowing with the truths I learned to withhold. Hark ye whoever wants your tympanums and takes away your acrobatics wants a gift of the planets of your madness, you go back comb time and make short work of dying. I‘ll give birth to a new mother my mother and she’ll be just a voice a single voice like a password without a mouth she will tell about the cardiac nails the Guelph roots where summer unfroze the holy water. And the great mother’s wrinkles will be mine her conspicuous disease will be mine and her muddiness will be my perfection. And I’ll love her, we will love each other as one does in sleep and I’ll take her place in the coffin to let her live without effort we will be a monad and plural love will age us our hands.

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Fatime Kulli (Albania) Fatime Kulli was born on 1957 in Durrës. She finished her higher studies in Social Science for Psychology at University of Tirana. Fatime Kulli, is an author of 20 books, poetry, prose, researches, literary critics, awarded with several prizes inside the country and abroad: Award "Radio Ulcinj" Montenegro (2000). "Golden Pen" for the book “The Sea sinks inside the shell” in Kumanova, Macedonia (2001). First place for the most beautiful lyric poetry about love, on Balkan Poetry meetings in Korça (2003). “Golden Pen” in Athens (2004). Second place, at the poetry meetings in Napoli, Italy (June 2004). First Prize at the Meeting of Women Poets, Vushtri June 2008, Kosovo. “Skampini” Prize on Balkan Poetry Meetings in Elbasan (14 March 2009). First Prize in Balkan Poetry meetings in Korça (2010). She has participated in several international poetic meetings. Author in several anthologies of poetry, in many countries, such as Greece, Germany, France, Macedonia, Kosovo, Croatia, Romania etc. She has been awarded at the Academy of Sciences, Tirana (14 June 2014) with the title "Ambassador of Peace", as the poet of Çameria, by the Universal Federation of Peace.

THE CRASHED MOON… On August of the wild flame I squeeze broken colors… Shadow’s tranquility makes me tremble Hanged on the day fingers. I gather the sun flakes

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A water-flower whisper. The air cord gets cut off On the eye of pain… In the glade of tears I eat the weight of the remaining breath… I feel the breath of shadow It drinks the air of my song And ignites me Cutting the veins Of the broken moon… The sky has gone wild At the disfavor of fruits The Earth-cave Strawberries. I follow the steps of shadow It touches my bones Troubled ones… The leafs of softness Make plants flourish At the steps of the rock That makes the N-I-G-H-T-M-A-R-E flow…

MY WHITE DESPAIR They humiliate me; they call me “queen” They draw my portrait with a paintbrush of nail, They spot me like the black sheep separated from the herd... And accuse me for writing avant-garde poetries, What should I do, that my poetry is what feeds the soul Not only for me, but also for women with childish smiles, That read my poetries secretly from their men Like “The apple of sin” cause of the disgusting moral, That triumphs across the crowd as an honest one.

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But what should I do, that my sinful poetries Scare even the shepherd, Who after reading these poetries with thirsty hunger, Runs with his stick in hands to punish me...! The disgusting moral tries to rip out my veins of feeling To kill my poetic spirit, to change its destination, colours... But I’m not afraid of him, I write screaming, I tack in every verse cell, like a bloody flower For love, for the woman’s eyes crying, wounded, For the tired soul exhausted from the desecration of morality. The angry notes of the preachy crowd tremble, My fingers dive in the metaphors of life, Where the membranes take fire in the verse of poetry... The voice of God, tells me: there is life in darkness, There is hope in the desert, light in the blindness, Spirit of love, there is balance in the universe, Even the wounded sounds pulse in deafness... My white, strong despair doesn’t tremble Even as they insult me, offend my morality... I am a WOMAN, I keep writing poetries for love, The one pure, attractive road that gives me life, The soul scream that in front of the verse makes me die...!

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©Irina Hysi ( Albania) “Sundimi i brireve te fatit” (70x60) Graduated in master's art management, the Mediterranean University of Albania. The veil between deep inspiration, poetic intuition, and appearance and image realization as a painting often accompanies the category of all the artists who possess these types of techniques, but resizing and expressive forms with the language codes and the spirit of the music make this art to touch the highest constellations creatures of the creative spirit.

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Gopal Lahiri ( India) Gopal Lahiri was born and grew up in Kolkata. He currently lives in Mumbai, India. He is a bilingual poet, writer, editor, critic and translator and widely published in Bengali and English language. He has had three collections of poems in English. Anthology appearances (among others) includes National Treasures, Indus Valley, The Silence within, Indo-Australian Anthology, Homebound, The Dance of the Peacock, Illuminations. His works have featured in printed journals like Indian Literature, Taj Mahal Review, CLRI, Haiku Journal and in electronic publications Arts and Letters, Underground Window, Muse India, Setu, Dead Snake, Tuck Magazine, Debug, Eastlit and Coldnoon Diaries. He has jointly edited the anthology of poems: Scaling Heights and is the recipient of the Poet of the year award in Destiny Poets, UK, 2016. He can be reached at glahiri@gmail.com

Wordless Sometimes I hear footsteps, sometimes not you pull the curtain, we invite vanity, not love. when words chose you, not me a meaningless divide, I want to escape baritones in wordless conversations the truth is buried, how do I tell you?

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cloudless evening holds promise wooing our skin, you end up with a spherical smile. what about missing the raspberries? sugarless mouth insulates me from your sweet tongue.

Mindscape Outside the twilight time stays down as if in a primordial soup no water, no land, no life. on the brow of the hill the land drops suddenly, you see miles of sand, rugged cliff, crushing waves drift into enchanting dreams. in the druid heritage you are for scaling the summit now want to land on the silver sand a welcoming space. shadows melt clouds secure every corner of the sky the truth is reversed it seldom is.

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Rainprint With the turn of the season The pigeons look for a new home, Reaching for the grilled balcony Not reading monsoon annuals. Still they want to see something, Cull some angry mages from The glowering clouds Now pause for the break. Before the dreary night Carve out a painful story, Before the morning haze Blankets the fields with dawn Mist all around, First raindrops and stormy winds Usher us in. This only the discourses brewing between the Perched streambeds and crinum ground lilies. This only the way brooks start gushing water And the oriental dwarfs finds rainprint.

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Dr. George Onsy (Egypt) George Onsy, an Egyptian thinker, poet and artist, born in Cairo, Dec 21, 1953, lives in Cairo, serving as a prof. of Tech. Writing at The Egyptian-Russian University and teaches History of Art & Architecture at other academies. His outstanding works of poetry and art have been published in many printed anthologies and websites worldwide. He has been awarded at many international cultural events in Italy, Ghana and India invited by world leading literary organizations. As an active writer for peace, THE WORLD INSTITUTE FOR PEACE (WIP), Nigeria awarded him with THE GLOBAL ICON OF PEACE in Nigeria, 2016. His paintings of mystical themes have been exhibited in USA, Canada, UK, France, Switzerland, Austria, Ghana and India. George is one of the International Directors at the WORLD UNION OF POETS (WUP), and is their world contest Jury Member as also for Galaktika Poetike (Atunis), the Italian International VERBUMLANDIART and Mexican World Contests. H’s also an honorary member for some international advisory boards. VOICES FROM ETERNITY, a joint book of Onsy’s poems and artworks with the great Indian thinker and poet Dr. J. Anand’s poems, was published by the Poetry Society of India in 2014..

THE REFUGEE’S MAP Someone give me a map! I need to find my lost homeland But, if I’d be the lost region Let every indifferent

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So-called human being Wipe the ever-flowing stream Of my tears seasoned With the whispering breezes Of where I once born, Learned how to live, knew how to be! Oh, I’ve come a long long way, Seeking the so called ‘refuge’ Which, I know, will be nothing But an open prison, A skyless exile Where our unwelcoming hosts ‘may’ or ‘may not’ give Just one more chance to survive But, never never, to live! Someone close My eternally-wet eyes! For I don’t want to see A world so proud of its North, South, East and West, A world that has hidden from me That very dear place I still hold Engraved deep Into a map on my chest.

Noël I don’t wish you A “Merry Christmas” I wish you more: One for Christmas Never A Christmas Slave to the market.

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More like a Christmas Who is not only, As we insist on calling it: â&#x20AC;&#x153;season celebrationsâ&#x20AC;? But A Christmas that is Much more than The traditional A Christmas that takes To our life Emmanuel: God is with us Because he wanted to. Living among us In Intertissant Passenger physics To eternal spiritual So that we Jouissions of a pleasure Here and now That nothing will tear us away A jamais This is the real gift That you can never Find under No decorated tree.

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Hasije Selishta – Kryeziu ( Kosova) Member of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS and Publication Executive ATUNIS Hasije Selishta – Kryeziu was born in April 13 of the year 1960 in Kamenica, Kosovo. She sattended the elementary and high education at her birthplace and latter on, she attended the University of Prishtina for Jurisprudence in Prishtina. Hasija has 8 volumes of poetry published and 2 novels. For her creations in prose and poetry she has won with some prizes locally and worldwide. Her poems are included in the Anthology, where many other international authors are presented translated in a few languages. She is member of WPS, IWA and member of Board “ATUNIS” Desire I desire To sit on the grass To be clothed in greenery For a moment to rest To escape even from myself I desire to be a flower And to watch myself as I grow In its pink petals To write my name

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I desire To watch the dove As it flies And I desire to fly To fly, to fly.

Accusation When you become an old oak Don’t you turn your slips Towards my shadow The golden crown Don’t you seek it It has left. In the circles of the trunk Don’t you devour The density of cells The golden crown Don’t let it on the top Of the body wall It stays an innocent Substance

The glass Times empty Times full Seek escape How to escape from From madness

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No one observes The interior A drop of poison A wound that seeks to be healed Empty glass Full glass A world that seeking the change Sometimes The glass Never gets dry The change is nowhere.

Flight of the birds In the sky Birds fly Resolve at the pains Birds fly In the twilight Wander through the fly They are devoured in the sky From the fog In flight they are lost Birds fly Through the sky The flight is eternal.

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Hadaa Sendoo (Mongolia) Hadaa Sendo is Editor - in - Chief and publisher of World Poetry Almanac Sendoo Hadaa (b.1961) is a poet and translator of international renown. Sendoo’s recent collections of poems include The Sweet Smell of Grass (in Persian 2016), Aurora (in Kurdish 2017), Mongolian Long Tone (in Georgian 2017) and Wenn Ich Sterbe, Werde Ich Träumen(bilingual German-Mongolian 2017). and Mongolian Blue Spot (Dutch, 2017). Since 1989, he has published 15 books of poetry and in 2006, he founded the ground-breaking World Poetry Almanac, which he continues to edit. He has won awards for poetry in India, the USA, Canada, Greece, China, and Russia, including the Mongolian Writers’ Union Prize. Sendoo Hadaa’s influence transcends national and ethnic borders and he is recognized as a great poet of the 21th century. He lives in Ulaanbaatar, capital of Mongolia. Mongolian Blue Spot The blue spot, born with a symbol of life Was found in North America The Caucasus And all of Central Asia It’s filled with indigenous colors And like the American Indians Reveals a bright-colored pattern Blue spot, like the Gobi The Orkhon waterfall on the horizon… And the Selenge River – its open waters

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Mild, roundabout, intimate confluence Of a few brilliant rivers Then, these blue flowers Also blooming in Africa Even, Latin America Blue spot, like a piece of sapphire Its quality natural, and the most native As the snow lotus, obsessed with the Tian Shan Mountains And Peruvian highlands, their grazing sheep Babies, they have also a spot, it looks blue Maybe mistaken for a bruise Most probably worried about, that itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s caused, perhaps, by maltreatment But dear friends, I want to tell you more about A palsied blue spot That bit of blue like waves, and like tenacious splendor Grew also on my little ass And my grandma was the first to see it Neither surprised, nor worried Its growth has been good Blue spot, birthmark of highland, native nomadic dream Like the Caribbean, sometimes blue and gray, as the sky Sometimes blueish black, or dark brown Just like the world, irregular in shape And there is a border And like the vast grassland The unbroken Khentii Mountains The clouds of Mexico, itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s slowly swaying Like Spanish-Indian mixed-breed horses Blue spot, primordial color of eternal heaven My descendants will be proud of you The birthmark That was a surprise, as if one meets

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Wild Mongolian horses – Blue spot, the totem of life The heart of the steppes… It never stops beating Note: The Blue Spot, also known as Mongolian blue spot, was called thus in 1883 by the German anthropologist Erwin Bälz.

Traveling Faraway If I’ll travel far away, I don’t want to take more with me than sunglasses, suntan oil and a compass I am not afraid of getting lost, even if I am besieged by a blizzard, like an elk, I won’t struggle any more If I’ll travel faraway, I won’t bring any of my pain with me such as the pain of life, illness, death, and separation I never care about the return; like a wolf even if buried in the snow of the mountain, I won’t howl If I’ll travel faraway, I won’t make merry In my mind, there is a source of sorrow I don’t want a grand feast. While the speeding train is taking me to the end of the earth in the heart of the river, stones always stay quiet and noble If I’ll travel faraway, I won’t miss the earth Feeling neither care nor worries Like pilgrims kneeling towards the sky Fine poems come from a beautiful soul Like pillows forming on a cloud.

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Hélène Cardona ( France, Spain, USA) https://helenecardona.com/ Poet, actor, and literary translator Hélène Cardona was born in Paris and raised all over Europe before settling in the United States. She earned her MA in American literature from the Sorbonne, where she wrote her thesis on Henry James. Cardona is the author of the bilingual collections Life in Suspension (2016), called “a vivid selfportrait as scholar, seer and muse” by John Ashbery; Dreaming My Animal Selves (2013), and The Astonished Universe (2006). David Mason describes Cardona’s poetry as “liminal, mystical and other-worldly,” adding, “this is a poet who writes in a rare light.” The book was included in The London Magazine’s alternative poetry list for 2015, which hailed it as “simultaneously rapturous and lucid.” Cardona’s luminous poetry, hailed as visionary by Richard Wilbur, explores consciousness, the power of place, and ancestral roots. It is poetry of alchemy and healing, a gateway to the unconscious and the dream world. Stephen Yenser calls Life in Suspension “a terrific and singular achievement,” and Joanne Harris declares it deeply spiritual, “a tour de force of language and phonetics.” Exploring language and the psyche, Cardona discussed her poetry in a 2014 interview: “The poem is a gesture, an opening towards a greater truth or understanding. Art brings us to the edge of the incomprehensible. The poems, in their alchemy and geology, are fragments of dreams, enigmas, shafts of light, part myth, and part fable.” Cardona’s translations include Birnam Wood (by José Manuel Cardona, 2018), Beyond Elsewhere (by Gabriel Arnou-Laujeac, 2016), recipient of a Hemingway Grant; Ce que nous portons (Dorianne Laux, 2014); and, with Yves Lambrecht, Walt Whitman’s Civil War Writings for WhitmanWeb (2015). She has also translated Rimbaud, Baudelaire, René Depestre, Ernest Pépin, Aloysius Bertrand, Maram AlMasri, Eric Sarner, Jean-Claude Renard, Nicolas Grenier, and Christiane Singer. Cardona’s work has been translated into 15 languages.

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Peripatetic Gremlin Some days a shadow through The high window shares my Prison. —Geoffrey Hill My life is a slide show projecting the same image again and again, a glimpse into a world full of light from behind bars, a world that escapes North and South as I stare at the Angel, transfixed, blinded by whiteness of time. From Life in Suspension (Salmon Poetry, 2016)

A House Like a Ship I live in a house like a ship at times on land, at times on ocean. I will myself into existence surrender, invite grace in. I heed the call of the siren. On the phantom ship I don’t know if I’m wave or cloud, undine or seagull.

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Lashed by winds, I cling tight to the mast. Few return from the journey. I now wear the memory of nothingness a piece of white sail wrapped like second skin. From Life in Suspension (Salmon Poetry, 2016)

Twisting the Moon Now is the time to know that all you do is sacred. â&#x20AC;&#x201D;Hafiz We shared the coast of Maine in June, hundreds of whales, lobster sandwiches, buttermilk pancakes and a room in Bar Harbor with antique tub. Theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;re now a cloister of shadows loved, goldsmith of the music of time. She left when circumstances met. I dream of offering her strawberries on sacred moons, healed by the beauty of memories, ready to start over as if knowing nothing. From Life in Suspension (Salmon Poetry, 2016)

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Huguette Bertrand ( Canada) Huguette Bertrand is a French-Canadian poet and editor, born in Sherbrooke (QuĂŠbec), Canada. She has published 37 poetry books. Her poems were also published in many poetry journals and anthologies in Canada, France, U.S.A., Romania. India and on many websites the last 20 years. She participated to poetry shows, book shows, exhibition of her poetry on photos in QuĂŠbec and in France, gave workshops in Quebec and France. She is the representative of the international movement Immagine & Poesia in Canada and editor of anthologies for this said group. Official website : http://www.espacepoetique.com/

SPARKLING NIGHT Have you noticed that the night carries all the daylight its most fragile low sounds its most daring high ones

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Fanciful night bursting into laughter while awaiting the day and life within its whispers its passions and all the suitable words gradually unfolding as time goes on.

SEASONS Fall is misfortune for trees showing themselves naked with branches embracing the greyness dripping from the eyes of lost people passing by When spring shows up trees start looking smart drawing smiles on faces of people walking around Since summer is scorched and winter is frozen letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hope for newborn leaves swirling around people drawing cheerful poems in their mind.

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TURNING POINT Break all the walls down and let dreams come out from darkness letting them expand in the wilderness of all memories behind closed doors Break all the walls down to let the flowers grow and all the trees also fragrance and shade will radiate the whole landscape of wounded minds laying on the canvas of dusty times Let's take the bricks of walls to build houses with open smiling doors to let in the wind blowing words crushing dramas of lands with peace on hand.

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Heath Brougher ( USA) Heath Brougher is from York, PA and attended Temple University. He is the copoetry editor of Into the Void Magazine, winner of the 2017 Saboteur Award for Best Magazine. He is a multiple Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Award Nominee and his work has been translated into journals and anthologies in Albania and Kosovo. He was the judge of Into the Voidâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 2016 Poetry Competition and edited the anthology Luminous Echoes, the proceeds of which were donated to an organization that helps prevent suicide/self-harm. He published three chapbooks in 2016, one full-length collection, About Consciousness (Alien Buddha Press) in 2017 and To Burn in Torturous Algorithms (Weasel Press) in 2018,and has 3 collections forthcoming in 2018. His work has appeared in Taj Mahal Review, Chiron Review, MiPOesias, Scarlet Leaf Review, Main Street Rag, MiPOesias,, Setu Bilingual, BlazeVOX, and elsewhere. Self-Consumption I walked to the edge of the pond, knelt down and looked at my reflection staring right back at me.

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I cupped my hands, dipped them into the water, and took a sip of my Self.

Jewels and Germs A society ripped in half nonetheless the psychologist says move onward through these silicon times; modern-day American culture is a mutated cocktail of sunshine and scoundrel. Globs of hearsay hang in the hate-filled air as the Idealist trudges painfully onward. â&#x20AC;&#x153;I am an Idealist within the confines of reality,â&#x20AC;? my father once said.

Requiem for Pluto You stumbled along the edge, little one, smiling that faraway icy smile printed and painted on all the charts and textbooks. For seventy-six years a celestial celebrity, you blinked in and out of sight as we blinked back, sometimes missing you but always aware that you swung in your long frosty circles somewhere far off in the star-studded blackness.

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And you still do! They have merely demoted you for being so turbulent and not playing by their rules. They have changed your status, dwarfed you, but they can never dethrone you. For you still Exist! Only in a different arbitrary man-made category which concerns you nothing at all, not one ounce-worth of an icicle, for you still dance at the solar edge, distant as ever, with your companions Charon and Nix, etched forever into the minds of three generations. You are still very much grand and alive, my cold little one, still spinning in a deformed rotation in the vast distance of the darkness. Let the astronomers scratch their heads at your temperament. For you will do as you please!

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Hilal Karahan ( Turkey) (Layout format edited by pbp for fb presentation) Hilal KARAHAN, was born in 1977, at Gaziantep, Turkey. She has graduated from Kütahya Tavşanlı İstiklal Elementary School in 1988, Balıkesir Sırrı Yırcalı Anatolian High School in 1995, Ankara Hacettepe University English Medical School in 2001 and Ankara Başkent University Medical School, Obstetrics and Gynecology Residency in 2006. Hilal Karahan is an author of books, poetry and prose. Although she has been writing since elementary school, her professional poems, stories, articles about poetry have been published since 2000. She was one of the editors of ÇAMCAK Culture and Literature Magazine, published in Ankara Hacettepe University Poem Club during 2000-2002, ETKEN Poem Magazine, published in Alanya during 2003-2004 and MÜHÜR Poem and Literature Magazine in İstanbul during 2010-2013. She is member of Turkish PEN Centre. She is published in more International Anthologies, journals and magazines around the world. VESPERTİNE 1/ Carefully patting the abdomen of time, the silence, with warty hands, prepares the table for the tired day to turn into evening: 2/

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Pearls are poured on the fields from recently tied waistband of the clouds — 3/ Rushing all day, has the earth stuck to the cliff to fall down from brae to meadow, her knees are mud, moon dust, saffron– 4/ What scoops out the alone stones none of them can understand; dancing grass, stretching thicket, or the wind smelling footprints–

BONE CAGE 1/ February, waiting upon fury, is spilled onto the floor with fettered hands Tongue is venomous and heart is already a restless clock During all these years how the bone cage can fit into the silk skin Every breath hits like a knock to the face of essence 2/ Should love remain as an absolute love, isn’t it enough to be some friends

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and some pals for the sake of years? Look, cinder is put out with fire there is no ash no fume left your words have dried in blaze We forgot the joy of laugh your mouth was crushed under the stoned mornings The golden ring you wore respectfully on my finger hanged my neck in time 3/ Let go, darkness is not destiny Godâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s clemency will shine with dawn certainly Green mercy will be unraveled from the skirts of the grasses, the trees tying their hair will become a giant forest Riparian soil will wash and lay bracing movement onto habit web Let go, finished things will not end by forgetting: past does not change when forgotten but do change when embarrassed 4/ Life does not allot vacancy to human.

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Hana Shishiny ( Lebanon- Egypt) Lebanese living in Cairo Egypt. Birth land north of lebanon ..the homeland of Jibran Khalil" inhaled the wisdom of the same Cedars ,bathed in the same divine river of love and peace he bathed in... Having my primary studies in Tripoli lebanon then went to high school and university in Beirut Writing while in high school Having painting studies in "Alba " college Graduated in interior design from American University of Beirut Having exhibitions in Beirut then in Cairo Had a weekly column in a litterary Lebanese magazine. Moved to Cairo practicing decoration and having my own gallery of furniture. .. Always writing aside poetry in both language Arabic and English. Beside of my second language all Lebanese have French.. Now stopped working giving more time to poetry on peace ..brotherhood against all differences between nations colors and religions. My religion is love no hatred ..no injustice or wars

Finally in peace Let me rest in peace..one of a Swarm Had been haunted by painful scars Bleeding my pride with sacrificed freedom In this calm darkness after loosing home and heart..

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Let me enjoy this peace in collective grave Crowded with many other believers of peace Crushed while hunting for their dreams of sun Fighting to pay life for political fees… So finally this mortal cold of peace Ignoring a life lost in believing zeal leaving home, nation in lifeless breeze Hell brewed our past,our future for faked deals

Let peace enlightens our Christmas tree I came to you my lord Kissing your feet..wallow in your blessing bound You’re still bleeding..you’re still hurt On my lips..The bitter taste of your eternal wound IT IS almost December. .The trees are greener The joy in the Air..filling cities and hearts Carols resonating…shiny stars flicker Flowers and Laughters. .a world of beauty and art How come..My Lord..you’re daily crucified Your blood can’t dry..your heart never stopped With every tear of orphan..you continually cry With every crying widow..your pain reaches the sky.. HELP them..Help those children collect hopes Help refugees hang them on their homeless trees Try to built with them..dreams of home And let peace enlightens our Christmas trees.

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The freedom’s door How far is the freedom’s door When your chains shackle your soul And your ego restrains your steps To go after your heart’s call… Stumbling on a storming ground Autumn moves your desert’s sands Chilly winds push you around Like leaves swirling toward the end.. You sailed far..into the waves Solely on shore i follow your songs and beneath the gloomy clouds I do crave your rays of sun… You made ne live in a world of wonders Dawns sparkle in every night Enjoying endless spring in winter Planting seeds in every light… How would i look for freedom ‘s doors Far from all songs..all birds sky That love Symphony ..is all i care for And joining birds..to freely fly…

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Irina Hysi ( Albania) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS After graduating from high school, she graduated from the Tirana Art Institute for painting. The veil between deep inspiration, poetic intuition, and appearance and image realization as a painting often accompanies the category of all the artists who possess these types of techniques, but resizing and expressive forms with the language codes and the spirit of the music make this art to touch the highest constellations creatures of the creative spirit. Irina Hysi is the author of poetry volumes “Cyclone” and “MrsHeart” volumes that have attracted the attention of literary criticism to postmodern concepts, as a combination of poetic side and painting, but as a cover of the canvas being in the infinite spaces of universal coloration. Irina Hysi is the author of the Logos of the Literary League: The Poetry Galaxy ATUNIS, the cover of the Atunis Literary Magazine, as well as the International Anthology, part of which is the author herself as a poet but also as an interviewee of many personalities in the field of culture. My journey through the maze! “Show me a dream” Dreamer, With the magic of the word, your codes?! Come to design the same osmosis… Wake me up my real dream-irreal?! Oh, talk to me with endless whispering… You’re my most attentive witness! You universe of signs from breath to breath.

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You a pastor of time, understand me reader. ‘m a green “tree ” of hope. Ah, you spirit of my soul, believe me, You who tramp me, invent me in time! My root of truth; Golden foliage… I am sent of deities, your fruit… I came to understand myself, you… What am I? -You, you are He in me, where I want to find, I’m thirsty. My Holy water. Oh my great love! Maybe you will never wake up, but … You were and will be my mirror … Where I found myself! My journey through the maze!

Cyclone Cyclone sends me away, I do not know where. Face-grained, unrooted, overturned. Nearby, ufo … In the brain, a hazelnut core. Bandaged, sterilized, in surgery. Cold, neon illuminated halls. Shadow, by yourself, away. Moon! White blouses, with hood, face covered. Long sleeves . Crucified, in a dark room, locked. Fear, remember! Scientists, disguised, ingested, imitated. The fracture of thought, by anyone, robbed. Extreme people, ready for everything. Risk, for society. Shouting, or screaming me mad? Doctor! One day, on my bed, when the roles come, we will change. Enough and order, to pierce me! Crazy, I’m not! My world is threatened! Of men with big name, people without scruple! Posters and women users.

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Then, the poor, in the basket … Silent! Traditionally, from being spiritually mutilated … This is when the lord is absent! A woman, walking on the ladder, constantly laughing, The same wall. In the end, a glow of fire. Disfigured … I do not remember names. Passport, you got it, for a visa. Doctor, don’t make me any injection! Pills, I don’t want anymore!

Essence Take my silence, perfume. Surprise! Pleasant journey in sunken deepest water drizzle. Whisk! From feelings, I only lack envy. Sound! Attitude activates memory. Line! Hieroglyphs, language traces left in the past. Color! Senses,that are not in great eyes. Without recognition! Reproduce aesthetically! Word! Frame, imagination, fixation of figures. Afraid! Threats, feelings, traces, chase. Focus! What should be done and what not? Feedback! Disappointing, of course, reflection is missing. Sadness! Easily recalls the moments you’ve never forgotten. Nausea! Getting up from bed, falling … in monotony. Imagination! Touching the essence, the gray hair of time. Great!

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Irina Lucia Mihalca (Romania) Academy of Economic Studies, Bucharest - specialization Finance-Banks-Economic Management. Academy of Economic Studies Bucharest - post-graduate course - Women in the business world. 2012-2016 Magazine "Actualitatea irl" - Dublin-Ireland, editor departam. culture 2010-2011 The virtual-literary journal "Stone cliffs" - editor-collaborator, "Prose reader" - editorial secretary 2002-2005 "Era of Communications" IT Revue - Software from A to Z - editor-editor Books: " The Sky from my heart", Eurostampa Publishing House, Timişoara, 2017 " Beyond the Wing of the ", Muşatinia Publishing House, Roman, 2016 " Alliteratia timpului", volume of online poems, Cultural Signs, 2012 Irina Lucia Mihalca is a Romanian poet.Irina’s poetry has been published in various international literary journals, poetry magazines and international anthologys. We are As an uninterrupted dream ever, as a thought pulsing at the end of the street, as a truth always worn in the hearts, like a storm over unbounded plaines, like a nacklace of stars that surround us, as a belt of times through spaces, as a revolt of signs on the celestial vault,

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as a fierceness of heroes in their last deeds war , like a sun that surrounds us among the clouds, as the day that arrived before eternity, We are. We are the rug, the flame, the sparks, smile, tear, dream, thoughts, words in delirium, deeds, beams of sun or moon, zephyr, storm, castle of shadows, corolla of lights, rainbow reflected through parallel mirrors, hidden tunnel in the labyrinth of love, soul looking for soul-mate, never found on the Earth, seeks him in Heaven, walking the angel hierarchy. We are the pieces of the same puzzle, we are YOU, ME, the manifestation of ABSOLUTE through US.

Beyond the dream We're looking until exhaustion Lost letter - road to light Blossoming among the drops of pain. They dawn will also come when We will open the Great Gate of the Clouds, For us angels will sing, For the saints will accompany us At the crossing of the river, without wetting their feet! Seasons inseparable! We'll listen The song of the two coupled voices

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- the child and the old man The word of beginning and end, love. Everything that begins earlier, ends sooner ... Beyond what gathers in us We are lights - souls returned to the beginningThis snowfall of flowers is the great meeting. A world of story in the eyes scattered with great dedication! Everything grows in the sky, a star, a butterfly, A silver breeze is lost in the light of the wave. From moment to moment, day to day, From season to season, we run from the death inside. Cast out the gray clouds off the blue of your sky! Beyond thoughts We will find the wish weeping, its sigh! No driveway to you hurrying the end, Neither the place nor the time What blossoms the flower and the last road to us! We find ourselves in the sky beyond the sky. Let's listen to the wind And the song of the flowers, beyond the dream! After a fruit ripens, it falls, Like leaves, like flowers, like man, The heart breaks more at peace. Raw and ripe green, and dead - the pointers look like No matter from where you look, they all lead to death! To a new, other life ... The other body - a new life!

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John FitzGerald ( USA)

John FitzGerald is a poet, writer, editor, and attorney for the disabled in Los Angeles. A dual citizen of the U.S. and Ireland, he attended the University of West Los Angeles School of Law, where he was editor of the Law Review. He is the author of four books, more recently Favorite Bedtime Stories (Salmon Poetry, 2014), Finalist for the Julie Suk Book Award, and The Mind (Salmon Poetry, 2011) semifinalist for the Alice James Book Award. Other works include Primate, a novel & screenplay, and the non-fiction For All I Know. He has contributed to many anthologies, notably The Plume Anthology of Poetry 5 (2017), Even the Daybreak: 35 Years of Salmon Poetry (2016), Human and Inhuman Monstrous Poems (2015), Rubicon: Words and Art inspired by Oscar Wildeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s De Profundis (2015), From the Four-Chambered Heart: In Tribute to Anais Nin (2013), Dogs Singing: A Tribute Anthology (2011), and Poetry: Reading it, Writing it, Publishing it (2009). Other publications include The Warwick Review, World Literature Today, The Taos Journal of Poetry and Art, December Magazine, From the Fishouse, Mad Hattersâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; Review, Barnwood Mag, and The American Journal of Poetry.

Flying Lessons Too high except for birds to reach, I act like a tune in attempts to confuse them. Problems look smaller, amid the leaves. I might give up this madness to spite me.

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Pay no attention, little birds, I’m just another whistle among singers. No need to poke out my eyes and devour my seed. I’ll not consider your parts, as if quartered. I still see myself in you, flying. Calls don’t sound blue from up here, so much. Such wingspans are common in my mind, lines and spaces leave quite a lot to get away with. I’d just as soon revere the nest in all its emptiness, than peer through a window into some dark hope, and have myself known as wind’s dreamer. For in life, we stay wild when we can’t believe. There’s so much more I’d like to conceal— how I harden like ice, just to melt and flow free, and feel sorry for this primitive truth. God, give it to me! And oh yes, God, I am falling. By two I’m expecting to end the night hammered. I already hate tomorrow, until dark again. I just keep going back to, damn, where I love it, where there’s one thought to go till the hand meets the head.

Lines Leading Nowhere Do I seem down, my resurrected? I’m unintentionally lost in this imagined likelihood of light. Remember, I’m here to punish the dream, you, to honor the lie, not to kid every whim ever known through the ages. How I’ve longed to be mystical being like you were, lacking your shinier halves of faces, with every stinking rule bent by legitimate replacements. Preoccupations can’t be understated.

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There appear to be ends we need to be out there, to maintain stand-by philosophies, but then, whenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s the last time you asked a poet anything? Unwritten law, we wonder into midnight, scribbling. There are things that I think when I see what I see, adjusting goals to conform to the line. You would think such a thing must be true, but it isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t, a mosquito disguised as madness enters the blind. There are different ways of being an animal. Now I stare into the stew, back at the eyes of a potato, whisper to the ears of corn, get into the head of lettuce, break the heart of an artichoke. Cooling favors open space, burning for no other purpose than heat. Prepared to pay our way in smoke, the world is still that way today. The first clock bears the arms of Venus de Milo, but she makes her point much better without them. It just gets me more ticked off as I talk. The so-called quotation marks get a dose of their own medicine. What of the turning aside? Meteoric giants, in the past, debated the relevance of relevance. There was no point, they determined, and no speaker ever content with his thoughts.

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Jeton Kelmendi ( Kosova) Jeton Kelmendi, Poet, player, publicist, translator, publisher and a professor of university. Born in the city of Peja, Kosovo (1978), Jeton Kelmendi completed elementary school in his birth place. Later he continued his studies at the University of Pristina and received the degree of Bachelor of Arts in Mass communication. He completed his graduate studies at the Free University of Brussels, Belgium, specializing in International and Security Studies. He finished his second master degree in diplomacy. Kelmendi did a PhD in the “Influence of media in EU Political Security Issues”. He is professor at AAB University College. He is active member of the European Academy of Science and Arts in Salzburg Austria. For many years he has written poetry, prose, essays and short stories. He is a regular contributor to many newspapers, in Albania and abroad, writing on many cultural and political topics, especially concerning international affairs. Jeton Kelmendi became well known in Kosova, after the publication of his first book entitled: “The Century of Promises” (“Shekulli i Premtimeve”), published in 1999. Later he published a number of other books. His poems are translated in more that twenty-seven languages and published in several international Literature Anthologies. He is the most translated Albanian Poet and well known in Europe. According to a number of literary critics, Kelmendi is the genuine representative of modern Albanian poetry. International critics and poets wrote for him a lot of article, considering him as great European poet. He is a member of many international poetry clubs and is a contributor to many literary and cultural magazines, especially in English, French and Romanian Languages. The wisdom of his work in the field of Literature is based in the attention that he pays to the poetic expression, modern exploration of the text and the depth of the message. His Genre is focused more on love lyrics and elliptical verse intertwined with metaphors and artistic symbolism. Currently resides and works in Brussels, Belgium and in Pristina, Kosovo. Website: www.jetonkelmendi.page.tl http://www.iwabogdani.org

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THE DAYS WILL DEPART ONE TIME How to say a word to you My word, soft and so warm Always towards the good We should speak beautifully Why it is important to our age The opinions that don’t help us Below the hair, over the eyebrows Is appearing a love Under the quietness of the tree shades I hit the veins of thought The days will depart at one point From the beginning.

Keep Your Sky For A Little Time Take a little from your sky Of this day Our skin has remained uncovered I don’t think that I will see The other places Without your sky and mine To stay over us Rest assured my love I will bring the sky outside From my breath of lust I will transform the word into a bird And the birds’ song will wake you up

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Your Face With Golden Eyes Is Appearing Today autumn can get full with the night The moon fell in the window The best Verses I will write for you Maybe you are asleep My best lady friend Before you reached Ten and ten I sing for the verse The word has plenty of night The clock Passed midnight The sky descended on verses And in the sparseness of the stars Your face is appearing With Golden Eyes Just like in ancient times â&#x20AC;&#x153;From that ridge I threw my eyes to youâ&#x20AC;?.

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Juljana Mehmeti ( Albania- Italy) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Juljana Mehmeti was born in the city of Durres, in Albania. Since she was a child she became fond about literature and writing, especially poetry, a genre that in the following years will turn into a real life motive, a way to better express her ideas, her thoughts, her visions and metaphysics , her point of view according to her consciousness but also improving the awareness of the same suggestion that surrounds the human world. The first book “Soft – Poems” published in Italian language attracted the attention of publishers and Italian literary criticism, not only for its particular style, but also for new words, the language used, the philosophical message and the currents present in her poems that go from Hermetism to Surrealism. The second book comes from the field of translation entitled “Vramendje” – (Rimugino “) of the Italian author Alessandro Ferrucci Marcucci Pinoli, which will constitute the first experience in this field, but will also strengthen his long-standing conviction, to know and translate in his language, many popular Italian authors.. The collection of poems “Oltrepassare” is her new book, which presents itself with the new tendencies of Albanian literature, postmodernism and universal consciousness, from experimental currents to absurdity. She currently lives and works in Ancona, Italy. In his light … Sounds of eras In eternal melodies awaken from visions of ancient castles, that reign legendary in mystic colors

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in fluid tones, in the white alley where we stretches our arms … Widespread aromas of musk and migratory birds fleeing that fly away … and they fall suddenly, like a silk veil in a breath of wind, which opens the door to heaven, to the refracted prism of the soul … Cleopatra is wandering through the rooms … On a pale autumn day where time breaks down hieroglyphs and codes reflected in wet walls, with her image … Trampling of distant steps awake sighs in silent woods, bare from sins .. The invisible wanders in sad drifts of an incomprehensible world where the illusion is lost in the silent space .. and stops at the threshold of limbo of a silver mist … envelops the evening air, then it climbs up on the Andromedea armchair in rooms darkened by night … and it turn itself off in his light …

Penumbra On the way to the moon that the sea enlightens, I slowly slip with my eyes, followed by a long white dress,

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in the foggy darkness of the night up to the last border of the waves. You kidnapped me … Also this time… in the mysterious white light … that appears in the image – space, as a pale silhouette of hope … projected … … somewhere here I am… me with my darkness lost in soul storms … climbing in the bent rays … I climb … on beds of stars, where I leave my sadness … and you, wrapped in a black veil of universes, like a point of light on the horizon, you shine … and remote mysteries of existence you enlighten … Perhaps we are meteors in the dark night we burn … Our Thoughts, anxious penumbra among invisible borders, like weak flames of a candle they swing … … we go . Overwhelmed by darkness, moons of hearts we cover … *** On the way to the moon our thoughts slip, hanging by a thread of hope until the last of the senses … Maybe… we lost in the night, we’ll follow our shadows … the only point of hope, up to the light … …up to the dawn…

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©Miradije Ramiqi (Kosova) “'' Near by hearth”, 2011 Miradije Ramiqi, Pozharan, 1953, KOSOVO a poet and painter, is an already wellknown artist. Apart from her participation in numerous fine arts individual and collective exhibitions, she has published the following books of poetry: “Shivering Colors” (1981), “Rain in the Mirror” (1990) and “Kingdom Whisper” (1990), “The return of the broken silence” 2008.

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Dr. Kairat Duissenov Parman (Kazakhstan) President of the World Nations Writers' Union in Kazakhstan (Qazaqstan) Kairat Duissenov PARMAN (Кайрат Дуйсенов) was born on 7th January, in 1964, at a village called Kokibel, Kazygurt District, in South region Kazakhstan. His Poems have been published in many world anthologies. Awtor to books: “Tugan jer ystyq bәrіnen” (Native Land warmer all), “Serpin – Impulse”. Kairat is a poet, composer, translator, essayist, Songwriter, journalist and public figure. He is also the founder and president of the World Nations Writers' Union in Kazakhstan (Qazaqstan) He is a member Of Seemed (A Copyright Society of Kazakhstan), the Union of Journalists of the Republic of Kazakhstan, the International Union of Writers ("Beybіtshіlіk alemi Planet of the world"), the World Union of Poetry in Italy, and the International Writers Association IWA BOGDANI. In 2016, he was promoted Professor of Humanities and was awarded a medal by the United Nations (for serving his community), he was also made an Ambassador of Peace Mission. "AMBASSADOR IN THE WORLD OF THE WORLD UNION OF POETS (CO-GENERAL DIRECTOR OF THE WORLD UNION OF POETS). Some of his poems have been translated into English, Italian, Spanish, Arabic, Vietnamese, Chinese and Azeri languages. He worked as chairman of the International Union of Writers Association "Beybіtshіlіk alemi - Planet of the World”, from 2010-2014. He was made Director of a publishing house named "Halyqaralyq zhazushylar odagy", in 2011. He has been also a chief editor of the site www.temirqazyq.com, since 2011. On September 18, 2014, he was appointed the President of the World Nation Writers Union and the Chief Editor of World Nations Writers’ Unions Web-sites www.akgo.org and www.wnwu.org.

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AUTUMN Half naked trees are very tired Devastated bank of river is still quiet The man is suffering from the severe cold wind of loneliness Is following his dog Yelling as if he has lost something The poor men are across and over the bridge Roaring cars are racing With rich owners of mercedes and opel Besides iron lattice Looks like they caught each other by the hook There are lovers chit chatting Hugging each other with burning desire This love is so strange You may feel horny if a lady is hot In the night long or day long, You will forget everything but love One lady who is wearing a mini skirt Is passing by without understanding my poor soul What can I do? The autumn is too long a season Better i should back home without any regret

HEY, POETS! Hey, Poets, Listen to me! The world needs «worlds of poems»! Let burning poems will reach to one’s heart S, mankind love the poems

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Hey, Poets, Cheer up with inspiration Let’s start on the way of peace In order to melt ice heart with our burning hot poems Hey, Poets, The world needs all of us! Take a pen by grace of God… I wish I could rescue the world with my bright poems like the bright dew!

I’M AT HOME I’m at home, but my dream is far away No, no, I have not reached to the space yet I'm eager to find keys of the world If I find this, I would never have lost it I’m at home, but my consciousness is traveling the world I keep look for, but it keeping cheating It very fast, I can’t follow it Am I really mesmerized? I’m at home, but my desire is in the sky I have already found out where my lost belongings I almost reached the stairs which contains the keys of world I’m at home.

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Kyung – Nyun Kim Richards (South Korea- USA) Kyung-Nyun Kim Richards is a poet, essayist, and award-winning translator of Korean literature. Born in Seoul, Korea, she has lived in the U.S. since 1967 and writes both in Korean and in English. She has published two volumes of poetry: Snail Draws Thin Lines (달팽이가 그어 놓은 작은 점선) in Korean and Vision Test in bilingual Korean and English. Her most recent publication is an e-book From East to West, a collaboration with Lidia Actis of Italy and Huguette Bertrand of Canada in quadri-lingual (English, French, Italian, and Korean) edition. Her translations include Dictée (by Theresa H-K Cha), Sky, Wind, and Stars (by Yoon Dong-Ju), I Want To Hijack An Airplane (by Kim Seung-Hee), and The Love of Dunhuang (by Yoon Humyong). Her translation of the Classical Writings of Korean Women was published by Literature Translation Institute of Korea as an e-book in 2017.

EVERY HOME A GALLERY "Every home a gallery. Every window a canvas." says the Window Fashions corner at Costco. For an idle poet munching on a 100% beef hot-dog under a red and white beach-parasol with no sun, no sand, no bikinis around, the two lines represented a glimmer of hope.

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The unending procession of shopping carts piled high with paper towels, toilet paper, laundry detergent and dishwashing liquids along with crates of clamshell strawberries, 20-pound bags of dog chow, keeps her wondering what their gallery would look like and what kind of canvases would be hanging. Will they make it all the way to a museum?

DREAM OF HAPPINESS Wake up, all you who dream of happiness, that ever elusive blue bird that dances at the tip of your fingers but will never be caught. See the real world spread out in front of you, the time and place, people, flowers, insects, all beings (including yourself). Leave behind the ideals of your dream home, happy family, good life, and lofty goals that you so carefully nurtured in your mind, the concept of fixed notions, the picture of perfection. Look at the things as they are now and do not question. Get rid of the illusion of self--what you should have been, should or will be, When you have emptied out some of these, you will feel yourself a growing vessel, a large receptacle in your heart, which will be filled with the most unexpected blessings overflowing like a waterfall.

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NATURE IS WASTED ON HUMANS Was it Bernard Shaw who was quoted as having said, "Youth is wasted on the young"? It's not just youth on the young but most everything in the world must be wasted in one way or the other. But I never had a stronger sense of waste than while riding in a tour bus for four days through the Canadian Rockies in the summer of 2015. I could not help but think of how Nature is wasted on us humans. The great snow-capped mountain peaks mile after mile the streams and rivers, the falls and lakes, the amount of water that flows, the hillside trees and grass, the wild berries upon which the black bears feed. All these given to us in such great abundance, free, and do we ever say thank you? The great nature we ignore, abuse and destroy-I hope it stays for us and for our future, for generations of humanity.

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Kinga Fabó (Hungaria) Kinga Fabó is a Hungarian poet. Fabó’s poetry has been published in various international literary journals and poetry magazines including Modern Poetry in Translation (by George Szirtes), Numéro Cinq, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Screech Owl, The Original Van Gogh’s Ear, Deep Water Literary Journal, Osiris, Fixpoetry, lyrikline.org and elsewhere as well as in anthologies like The Significant Anthology, Women in War, The Colours of Refuge, Poetry Against Racism, World Poetry Yearbook 2015, and others. Some of her individual poems have been translated into 17 languages altogether: Albanian, Arabic, Bulgarian, English, Esperanto, French, Galego, German, Greek, Indonesian, Italian, Persian, Romanian, Serbian, Slovenian, Spanish, Tamil. Earlier in her career Fabó was also a linguist dealing with theoretical issues, and an essayist, too, interested in topics from the periphery, from the verge, in suspension. She has also written an essay on Sylvia Plath. – As for fiction, her story translated by Paul Olchvary was published in Numéro Cinq August, 2017 issue. In 2015 Fabó won the Prize of Free Poets Collective International Poetry Contest Middletown (Connecticut, USA). She lives in Budapest, Hungary.

The Transfiguration of the Word Open, the sea appeared asleep. Carrying its waves. A pulse under the muted winter scene. Throwing a smile on the beach.

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A nun-spot on the hot little body. A color on the broken glass. A gesture that was once closed. Lovely as the sea stood up. Throwing a smile on the beach. I wanted to remain an object. But, no, immortality is not mine. I am too strong to defend myself. Waiting for punishment. This and the same happened together. Silently, I sat in the glass. Only the spot wandered on the naked scene. Sounds did not continue. Only an omitted gesture. Happiness like an unmoving dancer. Beatings on naked, bony back. And the sea will no longer be immortal.

Lovers You are free, said the stranger. Before I arrived there. Costume. I had a costume on though. I was curious: what his reaction might be? He closed his other eyes. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll send an ego instead of you. Getting softer, I feel it, he feels it too. Hardly moves. He chokes himself inside me. Now I must live with another dead man.

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It’s not even hopeless. Not vicious. Serves the absence. Delivers the unnecessary.

Charms, discounted Pungent, yellow – seven rays. Hits the eyes. Piercing stench. It is being sterilized. “Act natural!” Secondhand clothes by the kilo. Across the Chinese market and below led by the coloured smell of poverty. The rubber. A condom failure. Use, toss, and let there be heady odorous-orgy. Wealth – is in unconscious pleasure. Holding out another measure. A flashy skirt – perhaps. But as the eye runs down the thighs it’s clear, my tights were bought last year. A ladder in the fabric. As though it were the brand. A streak remains, a stitch unravelled by your gaze.

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Kujtim Morina ( Albania) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Kujtim Morina was born on 1972 in Has district/ Albania. He graduated from the University of Tirana for Maths (1994), the University of Shkodra for Law (2004) and has a Master’s in European studies from the University of Graz/Austria (2008). From 1999 to 2009, he worked with international organisations in Kukes region. Since 2009 and onwards, he works in the Albanian diplomatic service. So far, he has published the poetry books: “Drunk under the fog”, 2007, and “Return of eyes”, 2010 and a short stories book “Next time” (OMSCA-1 2015). From his literary translations, it’s worthy to mention: “The Gulag Archipelago” Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn (Princi Publishings 2012) and the poetry books: “Song for my name” by Linda Hogan, (OMSCA-1 2014); “The soul dances in its cradle” by Niels Hav (Denmark), OMSCA-1, 2016; “Antology of Kuwait poetry” (OMSCA-1,2017) and “Persian Roses- an anthology of Iranian modern poetry”, published by Klubi i Poezisë, Tiranë, 2017. In English, his poems were published by the literary magazines: The Sound of Poetry Review; LAKEVIEW, International Journal of Literature and Arts; The Galway Review”; Prosopisia; etc.

To Syria Oh Holy Land, even your heaven is blackened by the rising smoke of war. Light candles at any corner in memory of the dead,

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and in disobedience to the regime - but no violence. Man cries for falling of a tree, let it alone another human being. Syria, fighting with yourself one arm strikes the other one. Go back to your own. Don’t you listen to the prayer song of Sami Yusuf: “silent words”, heartfelt words for thoughtful children, lonely children and ruined cities. How many people are now dead, deprived of enjoying their lives! How many millions spend overnight without a shelter! How many widows confront their fate every day! How many mutilated, are left with broken dreams! How many! How many! How many! ... Oh Syria! The stems of dead lilies will sprout up again. Cities will awake from the ruins and power held by blood will lose its sway and soon decay. Then the country should be recovered with love for human being and not hate.

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The fire of friendship We should feed it with solid stuff. The lively flame to stand for hours. Then to make and remake it again. The hands can't be warmed in the dry ashes. If either one leaves, the fire isnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t made until they get together, the magic fails, It risks always to be vanished, thus, by divine spirit is furnished.

Vision Blood swashes rise from ground to the sky. What a huge disaster has happened there!?

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Ken Allan Dronsfield ( USA) Ken Allan Dronsfield is a disabled veteran, poet and fabulist originally from New Hampshire, now residing on the plains of Oklahoma. His work can be found in magazines, journals, reviews and anthologies worldwide. His two poetry books, "The Cellaring" a collection of 80 poems of light horror, paranormal, weird and wonderful work and his newest book, "A Taint of Pity", Life Poems Written with a Cracked Inflection, are available through Amazon.com. Ken is a three time Pushcart Prize and twice Best of the Net Nominee for 2016-2017. Ken loves writing, thunderstorms, walking in the woods at night and spending time with his cats Willa and Yumpy. Adieu, A Sonnet to the Rain The raindrops fall with enchanted magic spattering upon that old metal roof a melodious rhythmic sleeping tune my tired lips welcome steeping ginseng tea I crave soft pillows and comforter to carry me off to my sweet restful dreams. The hound is fed and warming by the fire candles now smolder a wispy goodnight. My robe and slippers rest near the bedside. Slide deep into heaven, cat at my feet. Sleep well sings the bashful yawning new moon,

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Tap, tap, tap chant the raindrops on the roof. This evening ends as a cherished sonnet. Stars whisper soft to me, adieu, adieu. The Old Hound Like unblown dust on the floor of seasoned oak, sleeps all curled up next to the old wood stove, laying there dreaming of the many years gone by; days of chasing squirrels, hunting hoodoos and hours of walks through the great pines and birch.. A bit of gray now apparent on his resting face. Walking a little slower on those cold winter days, he gravitates towards the warmth of the wood fire. Heâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s my faithful friend through good times or bad. Listening to my screams at losing games, and all the laughter during some great old comedy shows. A protector on those dark stormy nights, a staunch supporter when others have fallen away by and by. My friend, a part of my soul, my shadow, my Hound.

While the Wind Howls Flames reflected within the catâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eye a glass of spirits await a parched soul wool socks warming my chilled feet the dog listens while the wind howls. Teapot whistles in a shrieking pitch inside a little cabin on a snowy night as loneliness wreaks of rumination a harsh stare from the napping cat. Ink flows smooth on a poets night; imagination tickles a swirling mind image of acute emotional darkness seeking the shadowed voice inside. as the cat now naps with an eye open the mouse creeps on the window sill the snow shovel falls with a clamor everyone jumps as the wind howls.

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Kolec Traboini ( Albania – USA) Kolec Traboini, Albanian - American poet and writer, a journalist by profession, originates from a patriotic family Gojcaj of Traboini of Hoti. His father, Palok Traboini, was a teacher, a publicist, insurgent and secretary to Dede Gjon Luli. Kolec Traboini, after completing his university studies in 1975, worked at the Cinema Center of Albania. On 10 January 1991 he organized an anti-communist rally in front of the Tirana National Stadium in support of democratic processes. On January 16, 1991, he published in RD No. 3, where he demanded the removal of the Communist star from the National Flag. He emigrated to Greece where on April 10, 1993, he founded the Albanian Newspaper "Egnatia". In 1995 he emigrated to the United States, and lived in Philadelphia, Boston, Washington DC. Author of dozens of documentary films, 30 poetry books, prose and journalism. Traboini has won several national awards for books and documentary films. By decree of the President of the Republic of Albania, no. 10653, dated 15.11. 2017, Kolec Traboini awarded the title "Grand Master".

THE WOMEN’S TEARS Don’t cry, my love, don’t cry Though the tears, do have a function They clear the vision They make you feel the fresh air So as to make you fall in love With the tulips and the heavens After the last rain drop has fallen!

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If the temptation or joy, defeat you, And in your chest, there is a mourning squeeze, Wanting to break away like a bird from its cage Then, and if you cry, please tell me, And please, please, save the last tear drop for me I will collect them, From all women of the world With them, then, will make A pearl necklace for the Sun.

DONâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;T LET LOVE DIE! Midnight December slipped down the steps With Her hair down and scrapped face As in a pagan death I am a lonely witness of your death With a lit cigarette That can barely warm the last second that won't go There is no one to witness my lone less Now I can sit alone thinking of you Everyone sleeps The arch of my hand caresses you image The space you take of the darkness is small I feel your slow breathing Just this, only this This is how little love life has allowed us Somewhere in the distance a scrapped chest sings a song A song about something that is long gone And can never return A song of something precious... And then silence comes to steal away words In the eyes your image has shriveled Teeth pull back hatred And the pain of the heart grows They want to take away the beats

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Of your heart and you cannot endure this pain Shoulders feel heavy with burden Eyelids tremble like leafs floating in the water This weight can break trees The way that a bone Broke today from your chest Releasing a blue bird with broken wings from sufferings Flew in the horizon drunk with feelings of freedom He knows to where I am But he falls on the ground breathless In the sidewalk of madness where winds harden the faces of people That feels no love Because they have locked up love in a prison inside their chest I cannot find a path where people can love without fear While I seek to release the pains of my wounds The night is indifferent It wipes away every memory Of yesterday By establishing the rule of silence By putting out lanterns of our souls And adding the constraints of my heart The night drags around the streets of the city I push it away pointless She drags with madness Careless If I anxiously await tomorrow I have a burning rose in my lips Beats ripping through my heart And I have nothing to offer Except a bouquet of stars this night The moon hangs over your head And a kiss for tomorrow As sun comes up Under the burning cry of Neruda Don't die love, don't die Tomorrow you won't hear more than a sad song!

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Lee Kuei-shien 李魁賢 (Taiwan) Lee Kuei-shien（b. 1937）, served as chairman of National Culture and Arts Foundation from 2005 to 2007, now is vice president of Movimiento Poetas del Mundo. He published 24 poetry books, some of them have been translated and published in Japan, Korea, Canada, New Zealand, Netherlands, Yugoslavia, Romania, India, Greece, Lithuania, USA, Spain, Brazil, Mongolia, Russia, Cuba, Chile, Poland, Nicaragua, Bangladesh, Macedonia and Serbia. Awarded with Merit of Asian Poet, Korea（1994）, Rong-hou Taiwanese Poet Prize, Taiwan（1997）, World Poet of the Year 1997, Poets International, India（1998）, Poet of the Millennium Award, International poets Academy, India（2000）, Lai Ho Literature Prize and Premier Culture Prize, both in Taiwan（2001）. He also received the Michael Madhusudan Poet Award from Michael Madhusudan Academy（2002）, Wu San-lien Prize in Literature（2004）, Poet Medal from Mongolian Cultural Foundation（2005）, Chinggis Khaan Golden Medal for 800 Anniversary of Mongolian State（2006）, Oxford Award for Taiwan Writers（2011）, Prize of Corea Literature of Korea（2013）, Kathak Literary Award of Bangladesh（2016）, Literary Prize "Naim Frashëri" of Macedonia（2016）, and "Trilce de Oro" of Peru（2017）, National Culture and Arts Prize（2018）.

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Taiwan Island You emerge as an island from the waves of white satin The dense forest of black hair drifts with longing nostalgia The beach of soft white sands is imprinted with numerous kisses of shells Taking a birds-eye view from the sky the beauty of your texture is so attractive that I am landing onto your body thirstily You are a mermaid in the Pacific Ocean the landmark of my eternal home country.

Parrot “ My master is kind to me！” My master teaches me this word only “ My master is kind to me！” I practice this word by day and night Any visitor comes I shout “ My master is kind to me！” My master is so pleased to give me nice foods and drinks inviting many visitors in appreciation of me being smart and clever

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Occasionally, my master quite elatedly says to me “Speak whatever you think！” I still consistently repeat “ My master is kind to me！”

Transfusion Blood is drawn from my body and transfused into vessel of any other becoming a new harmonious stream My blood begins to circulate within other body within the body of unknown person at somewhere unknown place Just like the fresh flowers blooming on the secluded hillside an unspeakable beauty blossoms in my heart At somewhere unknown place there is also transfusion on a large scale from the bodies of collective massacred Transfusing blood into the waste land a place of no sunshine is in vain to dye the fragmentary map red From Asia, Middle East, Africa to Latin America a drop of splashing blood represents a petal gone with the wind.

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Lidia Chiarelli (Italy) Lidia Chiarelli was born and raised in Turin (Italy), where in 2007, she founded, with Aeronwy Thomas, the Art-literary Movement: Immagine & Poesia. Lidia’s passion for creative writing has motivated her to write poetry and she has become an award winning poet since 2011. Her writing has been translated into more than 20 languages and published in Poetry Reviews and on web-sites in Italy, Great Britain, USA, Israel, Romania, France, South Korea, Israel, India, China, Vietnam and Japan. Her debut poems collection “Immagine & Poesia – The Movement in Progress” was published in New York by Cross-Cultural Communications (August 2013). “Tramonto in una tazza – Sunset in a cup” is a collection of poems and digital collages and was published in Italy by EEE, Moncalieri-Torino in May 2017. After visiting the Museum of Modern Art in New York in 2010, Lidia was inspired to create installations similar to Yoko Ono’s Wish Tree, hanging poems and original art cards on the trees. Lidia Chiarelli’s “Poetry&Art Trees” thus began to appear in different exhibitions in Italy and abroad. She is also an appreciated collage artist. http://lidiachiarelli.jimdo.com/ https://immaginepoesia.jimdo.com/ Contact: immagine.poesia@gmail.com

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Poppy Red I put my hands among the flames Sylvia Plath Of that summer you had no memories only red poppies small flames that burned your soul a thousand poppies open wounds bleeding inside you. Your journey in search of oblivion started in the soundless hours of the day now lost in the barren paths of the mind. Then long sunset strips sad omens stained the sky red slowly surrounding you in deep muffled silence.

May on the Hills I will touch a hundred flowers And not pick one Edna St Vincent Millay The fragrance of spring intoxicating ether envelops you in the wavering light of sunset.

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And as in a dream magenta, purple and red the meadows reveal myriads twinkling flowers: rubies and amethysts an ancient treasure. Your hesitant hands gently touch those precious jewels while the last darting seagulls replay their games in the sky of May.

SISTER TO THE RAIN I am sister to the rain Dorothy Parker The sky is a tattered blanket. The cliffâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s edge heralds rain howling winds blow all their fury I wander through the iridescent paths while farther up uncaring clouds veil the stars. I breathe deeply Aprilâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cold solitude drawing this rainy night towards me.

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Lumo Kolleshi ( Albania) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS He is Born in Mertinj, Permet in January 6, 1961, he has finished his postuniversity studies for Language & Literature in some villages in the northern Albania, Puke. After the graduation he has worked as a teacher of Literature and by the time being he is a teacher in the high school “Sami Frasheri Permet“. He is the president of the writers’ Association, branch of Permet as well member of the Poetic Galaxy “ATUNIS” . He is the director of the publishing house “Fjalët e Qiririt“. His poetries are publicatedin several magazines like: “Zeri i Rinise“, :“Zëri i Rinisë“,“Drita“,“Nëntori“, etc. He has publicated many volumes with poetries like: “Mars“,“The Owl confused“,“Return from the Dead“ with which he has won the first price in the competition “PEGASI“, “Pouring of Thunders“, Resignation of The Tiger“, “Perspiration of The Poet“. Soon will appear is novel: “Time without licence plate“. On March 2007 appeared the Volume with Essays and comments “From one athuor to the other“, assisting the teachers and the students of the high schools. Parts from his creative work have been published in foreign languages like Italian and Greek. He has participated in the international competition on poetry held in the city of Motola, Italy and the competition on fable held in Athems Greece, where he has been honored with the third price for fable.

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Hajk *** The tars weep Bring me a glass To gather these tears

*** Someone whispered: “The bee died” I ran but I never found its grave.

*** Old clock The hands strive to eat each other Time remains in the eyes of the blind.

*** Modern hairdresser’s shop Old heads not far in the distance Push each other in the line for wigs.

*** Split ripen pomegranates In the traffic lights of the boughs Cold rains melt away upon them.

*** One night I slept with the snake I felt terribly cold In the morning I had become Laocoön.

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*** House of a spider The fly comes to deliver official well wishes A house or a grave?

*** Loaded with stars The dateâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s bough broke The stones of the alley get wounded

*** No permissions for building in the offices of spring The swallows Inaugurate the illegal houses.

When you are absent You look for me there where I am not I await your failure to come. Only mountains never meet They separate passes and gorges. I am amazed with my heart How does it not cease beating in solitude? A flower blooms in the cold wind The rainbow opens its door in the rain. In the eclipse of the sun I search for light And I do not know where I shall look off You enter suddenly, and the grudges Melt away like dew in May.

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Luz María López ( Puerto Rico) She is Clustering Executive Director at World Festival of Poetry (WFP) Luz María López is a writer of poetry, narrative, essays, translator, editor and activist from Puerto Rico. Her poetry books are issued in Spanish and English. Editor in chief of “Voces Poéticas de Nuevo Siglo”, international poetry anthology in Spanish (Kafla, 2016); Assistant editor of “XXI Century Literature Book” (Kafla, 2016). Her poems have been translated to Arabic, Italian, Chinese, Turkish, Polish, Catalan, Bangla. She also contributes with essays about feminine topics which are published in journals, newspapers and magazines. Luz María has participated in Poetry Festivals in Colombia, Mexico, Ghana, Turkey, Spain, India and Bangladesh and Puerto Rico. She is recipient of three literary awards: Kathak Literary Award, Dhaka International Poets Summit, Bangladesh 2017; Shaan-E-Adab “Glory of Literature” by Kafla Intercontinental, Udaipur, India 2016; Universal Inspirational Poet, by Pentasi B, Accra, Ghana, 2016. She is Clustering Executive Director at World Festival of Poetry (WFP) and leads the World Poetic Front Defending Women’s Rights (WM); Board Member of the International Writers Association IWABOGDANI; Poets of the World; Director for Spain and Puerto Rico at World Nation Writer's Union; President for Spain and Puerto Rico at Writers Capital Foundation; Board of Directors Member at Soflay Literary Foundation; International Parliament of Writers from Colombia - Ambassador to Puerto Rico; Editor at Galaktika Poetike “ATUNIS” Literary Magazine; International Book Fair “Eugenio María de Hostos” in Puerto Rico - Organizing Committee Member.

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Lovers dance with me to the beat of love where a memory hangs over a cloud and whispers secrets to the night calling to the moon to look at us naked bodies on the sand romancing a lurid waltz turning all silence into passionate cry tongues sealing our salt twirls of flesh tied in one ancient desires blushing anew on the warm carpet of tiny crystal roses bathed by tropical waves lucid dreams romancing the mind where only you can conceive the power of your gravity taking over all my fire until finally subdued into pulsing karma!

Your Eyes roses morning roses the warmness of their passion metaphors spelled within my lips the sweetest delirium ten thousand birds singing in my heart roses only roses! your eyesâ&#x20AC;Ś!

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Lapsus Calami Strange pleasure to challenge emotions throw them to the wind erratic - ardent unsheltering the narrowness glass exorcisms to smile - inaudibly the benevolent certainty digging the chest nurturing new roots migrants - throbbing to conceive an oblivion snatching from the rapt time its dead sores to open the door praise other fires grow in them. Heal.

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Dr. LANKA SIVA RAMA PRASAD ( India) M.B.B.S; M.S. GENERAL SURGERY M.Ch. CARDIOTHORACIC SURGERY Fellow in VASCULAR SURGERY Post graduate Diplomate in Human Rights Post graduate Diplomate in Television Production Cell animation Specialist- Heart Animation Academy Computer Animation Specialist- Pentafour- Chennai Web Engineer and Web Designer- Web City- Hyderabad Fellow of Indo-Asian poetry society and Academy. Dr. LANKA SIVA RAMA PRASAD ( Dr. LSr Prasad) is a Cardio Thoracic and Vascular Surgeon by profession, a popular author of 120 books, cartoonist, painter, critic, Editor and orator par excellence. His knowledge in Telugu and English earned him name. He has translated Homer’s Iliad, Odyssey first time in to Telugu Literature. In that series of Greek literatureEpic cycle and Greek Heroes came as the third book. His other notable translations in to Telugu are John Milton’s Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained; John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress; Virgil’s Aeneid; Dante’s Divine Comedy. Goethe’s Faust. Rumi’s Masnavi; Attar’s – Birds conference; Omar Khayyam’s- Rubaiyat. He was assigned the job of translating selected classic poems of Telugu literature by C.P. Brown’s Acadamy which was published as Telugu songs and poems. Katthi anchu pai- is a collection of noir genre stories. Now his published books have crossed the prestigious hundred land-marks and reached 120. Most of his books are reference books in literature. His poems were translated into Greek, Spanish, Arabic, Hindi, Tamil, Kannada and many other languages. His books are available free at www. Anuvaadham.com

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ANTI-ROMEO SQUADS! Romeo was still on the first step of the fragile love ladder, Juliet was yet to come to the window in makeup re-order, Two households both alike, in biphasic mental disorder, Anti-Romeo squads took up to streets with hate gall bladder! Served chill were the vacant notices to the porticoes and parks, Where lovers loved to smoke with their fumes of sigh sparks, What is in a name? That which we call a rose or prose or tree or poetry, By any other name would smell or taste, as sweet made in the divine pantry! When Romeos borrow Cupidâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s wings and soar in the bounty sky, Juliets wear gossamer wings and fire sparkling eyes to fly very high! Some young goons with loiters itch go mouth shopping at fair malls, Moral policing squads bar them in barrels to teach them in manned walls! When holy wars, crusades, jihads enter the pristine fields of love, What else the real Romeo and Juliet can do except jump from above? They teach the torches to burn bright, and nourish the seas with their tears, Haunted by dreams n hunted by the honor killers of caste, creed and religious fears! O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Why running away like a cat crying meow, meow? Thee used to jest at stars that never felt a bound, Why now bedaubed in blood is thy hideous wound? Like fire and powder in monkeyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hands, the squad squids squirt explosion, I fear, O Juliet! We may not meet again, in the parks and porticoes of passion! Let us throw this poison and dagger of opposition on this society of cruel emotion, And let us both use this love potion, and live happily ever after in that divine ocean!

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THE SECOND COMING! Hand in hand, turning and turning in the closing gyre, The dove whispers to the dove about a beautiful lyre! Things come together; the strings cannot hold; The delicate fingers did dance with the music bold, The black coffee fumed with its pleasant fragrance Lips shivered as the hot-rimmed tide is loosed its incense, And everywhere the ceremony of romance is crowned; The best crack all convictions, while we both drowned, In a playful cup of passionate intensity; Come on! Lift the cup! Surely some dream hangs over the screen; Surely the Second Coming is at hand, me and you! We chase the rainbows and butterflies in no queue! The Second Coming! May be in heart or mind road cover He may suddenly plant a poem in your soul with a red flower When familiar hibiscus images freezes out of Spiritus Mundi A garden grows and you invite him to feast at India mandi,* You leave your singing heart hanging on a wooden chair, It troubles you; the journey to a desert is still fresh and fair. A shape with Zephir where ghosts and guests mingle and leave With a gaze blank and throbbing heart you search for love! When a dream is moving its slow sighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the incessant memories fade into memory pit, Slowly the silence drops again; but now you know as a whole That three days can be centuries to a soul searching for a soul, In the earthen cabin we are bound by time and space May be djinns or angels guide our thoughts with great pace? And by a rocking embrace, And what speed and grace, Our hour come round at last, moves towards final grace!

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Leyla IŞIK (Turkey) Vice President of KIBATEK Leyla IŞIK – Educator-Poet-Writer-Artist She completed the primary and secondary education in İzmir. She studied at the Teacher Training College in Usak. She graduated from the Faculty of Education of Eskişehir Anadolu University and retired from the primary school. Leyla Işık, the Vice President of KIBATEK and International Organization and Project Coordinator, organized the 31st KIBATEK International Litrary Festival in Istanbul / Tuzla in 2003, 34 th KIBATEK International Litrary Festival in 2004 and 39 th KIBATEK International Litrary Festival in 2016 together with the Pablo Neruda Cultural Association in Taranto. Currently, she keeps on her works at the 42nd KIBATEK International Litrary Festival Project in Ortahisar (CAPPADOCIA). Leyla IŞIK has many valuable awards in her literature life. Her Awards; 2003 – İksder-İzmir Culture and Art Association “Halikarnas Fisher Cevat Şakir” First Prize Poetry Award, 2008 – Şaire Mehseti Gencevi (MŞM) Honorary Diploma on behalf of Azerbaijani Baku Poet Mesheti Genjevi for Serving Turkish World Literature. 2013 – Atilla İlhan Friendship and Fidelity Medallion from Platform of Love Izmir 2015 – World Young Writers Association (DGTYB) Litrary Award, 2016 – Rumen Dialect, Poetry, Art, Literature Platform International Literature, Friendship and Peace Prize.

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A CALL TO HUMANITY If I could fly a bird whose wings are Loaded with love to humanity If it could wander over all countries For LOVE is needed To live fraternally If I could hear neither hunger screams Nor gun sounds If I could remove The hearts full of grudges and hate And instead put the ones Full of love for fraternity and humanity. If I could fly a bird whose wings are Loaded with love to humanity If it could take liberty to all countries in the world For PEACE is needed To live fraternally. If all countries could speak a common language, a heart language, Their hands would not touch guns And pull the triggers. For a heart language is needed To live fraternally. Whether in Bosnia-Herzegovina or Iraq Or in another place in the world People should not be killed. Babies And children should not be left orphaned. Stop this savagery, thatâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s enough! Donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t let blood floods run.

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OH MY FACE . . . You are where my shadow gone blind has left you off. It is useless, even if my image, which behind the mirror Has got undressed into its tain, Takes its real face off and turns inside out! I have broken and spent my eyes. My tears pregnant with darkness, You are the aged wine hoping for candle light’s help In the bottle of time. Oh my face . . .

SINCE YOU DID NOT COME I tirelessly waited for you on this beach everyevening The clouds soaringly left the welkin The oleanders wilted and their pinks felt sad The corners of my heart remained desolate, Since you did not come… Without you the sea became turbulent, and the waves got foamed out of their grief The darkness angrily spreaded its skirt and covered everywhere Feelingtired, the seagulls in the sky do not want to fly The sea, the beach and my loving heart are all sad, Since you did not come… The winds are sighing, it’s the sad evening descending The lights that go down to the sea are unamusedly sparkling The flowers are faded, the leaves fell off the weeping willow The blue sand the grens are all offended by you Since you did not come…

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Luan Maloku ( Kosova) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Luan Maloku was born in 1954 in the village of Miratoc (the municipality of Presheva). He completed primary school in his native country and his high school studies in Presheva and Kamenica. He graduated in Albanian language and literature at the University of Tetova. Interested in writing since primary school, his works have been published in Kosovo and Diaspora magazines. His name appears in Leksikoni i shkrimtarëve shqiptarë (The Leksikon of Albanian writers) by Hasan Hasani (2003); in the first and second volume of Psherëtimë për tokën. Panoramë letrare e krijuesve të Kosovë Juglindore (Sigh for the earth. Literary overview of Kosovo’s Southeastern writers) by Hysen Këqiku (2004); in Pasqyra e shpirtit, Engjëjt e frymëzimit, Jam pjesë e qiellit tënd. Antologji poetike (The mirror of the soul, Angels of inspiration, Being part of your heaven. Anthology of Poetry) edited by Baki Ymeri. He is member of Shoqata e Shkrimtarëve “Feniks”, Preshevë (The "Phoenix" Writers Association in Presheva); member of Lidhja e Shkrimtarëve të Kosovës (Kosovo Writers Association); member of Atunis Lugina (Atunis Valley) in Presheva; member of the Albanian Writers Club in Switzerland; chairman of Galaktika Poetike “Atunis” (Atunis-Poetry Galaxy) in Switzerland and member of the board of directors.

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NEITHER I DO NOT KNOWS Today I am like a foreigner In my skin I do not Know Why a fear It enveloped me spirit-deserted From this world Insidious With many faces Today I am not myself As a volcano A commodity It burns my heart Nor myself does not know why...

WE JUMPED THE WALTZ A slight breeze Remember hair mixed Released her face Sea waves Beat here and there The stone coast A murmur Soul stirs us We like in a dream We jumped the waltz

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Of our love With waves grades A Intoxication A kiss A sleepless night.

MY GAZELLE The evening was Fried heaven And sundown In hiding How much beauty Is kissing The day and night We feel A sense Little bite different For a hug For a tightening For a distraction For a love Oh, this beautiful My gazelle The spoiled Never lazy.

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Ljubinko Jelić ( Serbia) Ljubinko Jelić was born in 1932 in the village of Šarani, close to Gornji Milanovac. He graduated from the Faculty of Economy in Belgrade. For some time he lived in Munich. He works in construction and design, and ocasionally publishing. So far he published: Letters to my love, Below the burning hammers, Wastefield, Sower’s gentleness, the Shine of the miraculous, Ravager before the door, The Magic ring, Above-Below, Closer to the glacier, Architect’s phonebook, Bitter seed, On the edge of the ash field, Building in, Tea for the neighbor, Around the dreamy nest, On another heaven, Angel in a greenhouse, Architect’s diary, Building and illusions, Graceful monophony, Collected poems in four books, Epistles of love. His works have been translated into German, Romanian, Italian, English, Macedonian, Russian and Check and can be found in several anthologies of Serbian poetry. He has been awarded and is a member of Serbian Literary Society and European Academy for Culture and Art. The awards he received include: Award of Serbian Literary Society for life’s work; “Ivo Andric” Academy’s International award for life’s work; Recognition of Cultural-educational community of Belgrade for exceptional contribution to the city of Belgrade; “Recognition of Morava” for total contribution to creativity in poetry and award of the Society of Playwrights for total contribution to the culture of Serbia. He lives and works in Belgrade. EPISTLES OF LOVE Old sage and anchorite Isaac Siron said: “Find in your heart the ladders of love and you will climb to heaven. “

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1. From a purple cloud, one morning, after long anticipation, you dawned in my marveling hug and whispered: â&#x20AC;&#x153;Every moment is a breath entirely enlightened from within by godincarnated flame, our only legacy of love and absolute possession in thankful hands. From a purple cloud, one spring morning, alike to a rain of light, you poured on my alreadythirsty garden, and infused spiritual immensity with joyful drips. From a purple cloud, one phantasmagoric morning, you breathed through in me, and asked the mesmerizing air a lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x201C; giving riddle. One morning you became my tiny day. 2. My only love, In this confession hour, I have no one to tell, but you, about mountains of fragile restlessness that pierced deep to the bottom of my lonesome sanctuary, and about a snowstorm, as real as it is unreal, night and day, ever more unsparingly pouring on my front door and skyward windows, and a ruinous wind that flounces and plunders,

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from the youthful frames, pictures of promised future, up to the immense opaque clouds. That nightmarish blizzard, in shapeless ripples, belated remorse, on sinful lips cancels and renounces bastions risen. 3. My love, All the things Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d wish, what can I ignite in myself other than silence, out of incapacity to tell you how much I love you and why I climb up the hill, tall and shaded, what priceless can I bring to the top and place it before our shades into dishes shaped to fit a wistful look and sigh... 4. My love, You are my window, open towards days sunny amid unsparing winter, and my flower that holds the daybreak of salvation when there is no other beam nor amazeful light in me, already advanced down the field of uncertain. You are my window and irreplaceable horizon where I go slowly, with eyes closed.

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Lily Swarn ( India) Lily Swarn is a gold medallist and a University colour holder from Panjab University Chandigarh . A lecturer of English and a poet , author , columnist . Her writing is an outpouring after the sudden demise of her young son .Amongst her achievements are Reuel international Prize for poetry , Global Poet Encomium for Peace and Universal Love ,Global Icon of Peace , Nigeria , Virtuoso Award ,Elizabeth Barrett Browning International award ,An Icon Award by Chandigarh Administration,International Diploma by Temirqazique best writer of the world 2017, Woman Of Substance, Meritorious Poet and Award 2017,Frang Bardhi International poetry special Award . A Radio Show host in U SA . Lily's columns in various subjects are highly appreciated.Her poems have been translated in Italian , Spanish , Kazakh and Urdu .Lily writes in English , Hindi, Urdu and Punjabi. Her writings can be read in numerous print and virtual magazines . The books are - 1. Contemporary Women Poets of India .2.The virtual reality , Colours of Refuge,3.Bouquet of Verse ,4.Love poems 4.Roses and Rhymes 5.Revista Letrare Atunis 6.A Galaxy of Distinguished Poets and Emerging Contemporary Voices7.A Trellis Of Ecstasy her maiden collection of verse is highly applauded by India Today magazine 7.Lilies of the valley is her book of essays 8.Cloudburst 9. Symphony of Peace 10. Dilliwaali . Lily has conducted many shows and is the wife of an army veteran . YES , I AM A DREAMER ( Quote by Oscar Wilde ) I dream of peach roses perched on walls Doused in love and heady with longing I dream of mothers whose sons come home From mindless wars that mean not a thing Of moonlit terraces where whispers mingle with whiffs of frangipani And rocking chairs where grandma snores I dream of valleys where tulips blossom

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And cherries redden without a qualm Where humans don’t care for the cap you wear or the turban you sport I dream of a world where your hand in mine Draws no glares from heartless souls I dream of promises that are kept And loves that last a lifetime I also dream of kids who walk fearlessly through their own homes and streets without predators stalking their tiny feet I dream of a universe where stars say hello to each other without deciding your fates I dream of destinies that are God’s gifts In the city of our hearts that roll and tumble I dream of butterflies that somersault on fragrant tuberoses in fields of peace I also dream of a plush blanket that envelopes me from your cold glares That keeps you safe from nuclear bombs that periodically threaten our tiny world I dream of the look of bliss that creeps into your eyes as I enter a room I also dream of the black saree that you bought me in my dreams For I dream along with Oscar Wilde till the abundant dawn brims over the hedge !

The Cosmos The cosmos that lives in an atom Could well be the secret of life The constant reminder that baby acorns will one day be mighty oaks That dew drops have the power to become oceans One glance through inquisitive eyes could become the love of a lifetime Even if there were obligations and deterrents What has to be will be Tearing through mountains and walls Flood waters of deluge Crashing through zones of time and distance of lifetimes A ship that comes to harbour A rose that nestles in your hands after floating on the stream of consciousness Flotsam and jetsam that roost like ravens in rookeries Let the mighty universe sink into your being Let God be in each particle !

THANK GOD I AM A WOMAN A Rubik’s cube That God created

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Rubbing his hands with glee A Venus statuesque Curvaceous, mysterious Unfathomable Myriad facets intricately woven In silky brocade with gossamer golden threads on a hand crafted wooden loom In the by lanes of Varanasi. Compassionate, tender, like the insides of a baby coconut , dripping the snowy milk of human kindness From her crystalline , benevolent heart Honey tempered, hushed , dulcet tones Muffled and snubbed by masculine brute force Formidable reserves of patience tucked away Beneath mushy sentiments Heaving bubbling emotions Frothing like Macbeth’s witches cauldron Squandered away on insensitive souls A veritable “Durga”,the next moment! Ferocious female of the species More deadly than the male! Tempestuous , turbulent, dancing the “Tandav “ Often astride a roaring lion Eyes ablaze, arms akimbo Suave,untamed, feral,searing Quite unlike Katherine the shrew Who could easily be cowed down. Well,Shakespeare could falter too!! The Diva ,coquette,witch, muse Both the tormenter and the tormented The mother , danseuse, goddess, home maker And the bread winner! The proverbial cash cow! The hues of love The shades of godliness Up with the lark Busy as a bee Woman, thou art Magnificent! Thank God, I am a woman!!

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Prof. Dr. Muhammad Shanazar ( Pakistan) Coordinator of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Muhammad Shanazar is Secretary General of World Institute for Peace Nigeria, he by profession is an associate professor in English Language and Literature, he was born at a village Saib, Tehsil Gujar Khan, District Rawalpindi, Pakistan, on 25th Nov. 1960. In his childhood he did all odd works like ploughing field, harvesting crops, gathering fodder, cutting wood for fuel, building fences, grazing cattle etc. He had keen interest in getting education and his hard work that led him to the height of success. After having done Master in English Literature, he served for three years in Police Department as constable and later on got an opportunity in Higher Education Department. He emerged as a poet and translator in the world and got more than 48 international awards and literary honours from different literary organizations of the world like Poet of Universal Inspiration, World Icon of Peace, The International Best Translator, 1st Four Stars Ambassador in the World, Extraordinary Ambassador for Gratis Culture, Poet of the World, Cross for Peace, Cross for Literature, Pride of Pakistan, Herbert Macaulay Award, World Laureate in Literature 2017, Pride of the Globe, Literaurnost Gold Award, The World Best Poet 2017, Ambassador of Humanity and several other accolades. He has been conferred upon Honourary Doctorate in Peace and Humanitarian Education conferred by Instituto Educando Brazil. His poems have been published in many world anthologies. He has authored four books of poetry ‘Gems’, ‘The Cold Stars’, ‘The Dance of Darkness’, and ‘Cries in the Wilderness’, besides, his translated books from Urdu into English are: The Alien Eyes’, ‘Wrist in the Clutches of Death’ ‘A Tempest In Silence’ ‘Sugar Coated’, ‘Symphony and Other Poems’, ‘Snowy Sunlight’, ‘The Burning Roses’, ‘The Coin of Death’, and ‘Withering Dreams’ . He also has translated individual poems, articles and short stories, their number may exceed more than 1000. He is a life time member of IPTRC China and International Writer Association (IWA), USA, which is a UNESCO recognized body. He is a member of Editorial Advisory Board of Sahitya Anand and 2nd Secretary General of World Union of Poets, Italy. He writes against war, he wishes to see the world sans nuclear and conventional weapons.

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On Bidding Farewell To 2017 For the last several days, I had been impatient, I had cherished a desire in my heart, To have a discourse With the last descending Sun of 2017. Then at last the evening came And I stood on the roof of my rented house, While I was bidding farewell to my friend Who gave us light and warmth the whole year, I saw the gestures of annoyance on His forehead. As I addressed Him, he too heeded to me But I began to hear deafening cries, That reached me wafting on the wings of air. The Sun looked at me as if he was attentive, He was though old yet sanguine, But gasping as our beats began fast While reaching the home in the evening. At the same moment I saw smoke rising up, Spreading into all firmament Polluting the crimson twilight And hung between me and the sun. It was the smoke rising up from the burning Cottages and houses of Rohingya, I bade the Sun farewell, amid smoke and cries Neither speaking nor listening I was hither, he was thither, And in between was hung a smoke screen.

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Hello! In the morn, just before the sunrise, I was busy With my online work, I donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t remember I had the dinner properly, Last night, Nor I had time for the breakfast then, I began to hear the repeated sound, Hello! Very low, Sepulchral, as if it comes from the grave, Or from some world under the world, I checked my mobile lying beside me, It was off, I went back to my own work normally, Then again I heard a sound, Hello! I checked beneath the cushion And turned aside the blanket, There was nothing, I consoled myself There might be some ringing in my ears So I should not be worried, And so resumed my work again, Then after a few minutes I heard the same sound, Hello! Very low as if coming from the abyss, I placed aside my laptop, Bent my head and became attentive, It was silence And I focused my ears and my hearing, Then I listen to the same sound, Hello! Now I exactly located its origin, Yes; it was coming from my belly.

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Marie Miraglia (Italy) Born in Italy, Maria A. Miraglia has an expanded consciousness and considers herself a cosmopolitan. She loves travelling and interact with people from different backgrounds and cultures. A long time member of Amnesty International for the defense of Human Rights, she is also the founder of World Foundation for Peace. She graduated in Foreign Languages and Literatures at the University of Bari, and also got there a Masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree in Evaluation and Assessment; a Masterâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s degree in Teaching of Modern Languages at the University of Rome and the HLC (highestlevel Certification) from Trinity College-UK. Maria taught in public high secondary schools, was lecturer in courses for post-graduate students, in courses for language teachers, was tutor in English, Scottish and Irish colleges for Italian students and collaborated with the Department of Education for studies and projects relating to international language certifications.. Some of her poems are edited in the anthology Petali nelle Nuvole (Petals in the Clouds) published by Rupe Mutevole, Parma, ItalyMaria A. Miraglia is a prolific poet whose poems have found pride of place in World Anthology of English Poetry, Whispering Winds: International Anthology of Poetry; World Anthology of Poems on Global Harmony; Peace and Muse for World Peace; Just for you My Love. She received several Honorary Awards for poetry. WRITE FOR ME Write for me a love poem when the moon

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her maids calls to clothe with shining pearls the dark dome Write for me a love poem when the winds gently move the treetops playing romantic serenades Write for me words of love when the waves like joyful children each other chase And at the first lights of dawn whisper to the finches and sparrows your most beautiful rhymes of love as messengers theyâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll come to my window singing their songs to tell me of you Collect for me the most sweet words of love when the morning dew gently awakens with its light touch the still drowsy flowers in the endless fields And still write for me words of love when the sky on the horizon in its endless embrass the sky kisses.

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AGAIN It was about noon and we were sitting in the shadow of the willow tree on the left side of the house The heat made us talk of the weather and he asked me of the colours of the leaves of the morning light in that season of the year of the sea waves we could faintly hear And the sun what about the sun he asked Fuzzy and blurry his memories for the long time gone by I patiently offered him details and descriptions of the objects and things that one after the other he mentioned veiled his voice by a quite nostalgia I don’t fear death he said unexpectedly when I’m dead I’ll get back to see Again.

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Myrteza Mara ( Albania) President of Albanian Association of Writers “ Petro Marko” President of “ Petro Marko” Myrteza Mara was born i Peschepiof Avlona in Albania at 7th of February 1943. He graduated the Military School of Tirana and he was specified in chemistry in 1968. In the beginning of 1970 he published his first poetical collection:''Where is the paradise''? From that moment,he never stopped writing. His poetical collection includes: 1- Where is the paradise 1998 2- Sin of the world 1999 3- Slow beginning 2000 4- Sun of the kisses 2000 5- At the door of the ideas 2003 6- Blind Witness 2003 7- When will the sun come back? 2004 8- In the shade of our dreams 2005 9- The Footing of the silence 10- Repentant candle

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INEBRIATION I was dead drunk by a half of dream Red wine invites you into the sin Was really honeyed the first glass Honeyed relished even the seventh cup! I queered and the world came around me, I became big mouth as never before, “For you i jump in the fire don’t you believe, I drink seven seas of wine, even more!” You contemplated me quiet as temple :crazy” you called me at that moment! I swore that if i were dead i was able For you to burn myself with sentiment! Where si my fault, tell me i want to know Is sin to be drunk by drinking wine? If you lay down for love sake with glow And Lord lurks in the lap, is not divine?! So i’ll be drunk for all my llife, oh Lord, I will implored for that dream forever! And i’ll dream even in the other world Drunk by your sweet kiss however! I am not going to be the Aesop’s fox We enjoyed that cup paid with our life In that cup is the tears’ taste folks With tears sings our fifth season’s fife!

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FOR THE LIGHT OF THE STARS You couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t sleep tonight I have seasons in your window Letâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s get covered with crib. Come with me to hear secrets The roses of those who are in love Are waiting to blossom in the morning Let the mattress with wrinkles in the night And if you tremble from the coldness I can become the fire for you. Oh please! For the light of the stars try just for once To look at the seasons Everything has the name of the Spring.

TONIGHT I want to stop tonight Let the moon talking,having tears Just like me through the difficult years. I want the stars to get burned tonight Just for me Just like me that I was getting burned for dozens of dark nights. If only the sun got sweat behind the Earth That night should belong to me. I want to lie down to the carpet of the sky in a virgin grass land,where every flower looks like a butterfly. My love, give me just one kiss.

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Milica Jeftimijević Lilić ( Serbia) Vice President of the Association of writers of Serbia Milica Jeftimijević Lilić was born at Lovac near Banjska, Kosovo & Metohija, on August 28, 1953. She graduated at the Faculty of Philosophy in Priština, and won a master's degree in philological sciences at the University of Belgrade. She was a professor at the University of Priština, and editor on Belgrade TV. She has published the following collections of poems: Dark, Salvation (1955), The Hibernation (1998), The Travelogue of the Skin (2003), and a collection of stories The Subject-matter of the Case (2002). She has also published books of criticism: Poetics of the Premonition (2004), The Epsistomlogical Illuminations (2007), Critical Roots and Ranges (2011), The Exactness of the Secret (2012)…Partenon buildings of stars, (poetry) ,Arka Smederevo , Stari Kolašin,Zbin Potok,2015… She also writes stories for children which have been published in Children's Papers, Unity and other newspapers. She is representedin many anthologies and has many literary awards of national importance as international...Her poems and pieces of criticism have been translated into Russian, English, Italian, German, French, Hungarian,Macedonian, Turkish, Swedish, Polish and Arabic....more than 25 lenguages of world. She was vice President of the Association of writers of Serbia, a member of literary society of writers of Kosovo and Metohija and a member of the Association of Journalists of Serbia. Lives in Belgrade since 1999.

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A MOMENT OF REALITY While enveloped by the Moon and grazed by death You dream about a far-away shore that is not Conquered in your absence I have too little of you, More than he has me He who suffers from admonishing longing, From the jealousy that makes him a beast, He sharpens his sense of being threatened And feels the danger like a beast and knows: You have become the center â&#x20AC;&#x201C; You have sheltered all of me, You have pulled me into yourself. You have, like Zeus on Mount Olympus, Assumed all the power and hidden me. In vain does he give birth to me like to Aphrodite I am not where he left me To be waiting for the promised waking. And you just turned up suddenly Like a stray bullet and drove into me, Anchored in my Soul you radiate devastatingly, And the removing of the bullet woukl be fatal. The entire system of existence became distrupted, Everything was changed hit with that shot. My blood flow, poisoned, is clotting up Will I am stumbbing toward myself To come back to the same roadâ&#x20AC;Ś And you wandering under the old walls To reach the new heights Do not turn round For the scene of unbearable emptiness The abysses of my essence Will appall you. Filled with the mercy of the moment Neither you nor I Wonted it.

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THE MAGIC OF THE CREATOR Among countless vanishings I come into being for a while Shaped by letters, exclamation marks, full stops Aware of criticism I rose myself And awkwardly announce my Creed The Last Will is spelled by money lovers They cannot tell of me that I did not Spare others with all my strength I admit: I used to seize the most from myself From dreariness, blackness, transreason The essence hidden behind Would present itself to me now and then By means of a flash, a pang I would catch it like a blind person For myself, for the sightless Seers do not need it. You are not blessed to play a game No matter how hard you try to compose the dice The mosaic is designed by the Creator You are just a tiny part You must practise, toil Until you settle into the scheduled position. SEEING is not a privilege Despite your feeling and being silent You will be obliged to speak To identify others through yourself By means of ethics, poetics By means of clay, of the gloom of consciousness You must tell a story You are just a thin spread On the crust of a loaf of bread Growing from the dark aeons From the throne a command comes: See, comment and send back.

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Mar Thieriot ( Canada) Born in June 1965. Writer, philosopher and painter. Born in Brazil and raised in France she lives in Canada since ten years She published several books of both philosophy and poetry and is a painter as well. You will find her CV and further informationâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s about her research and her philosophy teaching experiences in several countries and different study levels in her blogs. She is a specialist on connecting emotions, philosophy and art, and believe that those connections are helpful to understand and solve human conflicts peacefully. Painting and poetry can express human suffering in a peaceful manner and may help people to deal with emotional conflicts in a creative manner. http://www.marianathieriot.com http://www.marianathieriotloisel.com

AN OPEN WINDOW An open window On spring On our days to come An open window On our calm and decided steps No more doubts Words came along True Rare Surprising

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I accept to live Everything that there is to be lived On an impossible garden An open window On clarity Lifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s coming back From the worst Higher than our words Deeper than our steps Wise because defeated An open window On our eyes Merged with fatigue Feeling warm At last

BEHIND THE CURTAINS Behind the curtains A silent dawn arises Feeling so alive We smile at each other To paint So far so lost Wind blows In our lives Just a black coffee Before starting an open day Find you awake Returning from a dream Empty Enlightened My blue hands Bring news From a distant evening Bring the infinite Bring sunshine

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Bring flowers From an impossible garden

THE VERTICAL DAY There was a day There was an evening And it was his last day The last sourness The last mistrust The full stop There was a day That we learned To close our eyes softly with him To reach another level of reality To cross the difficult path From being sad to become alive To become tender To become vulnerable From our loneliness To a shared humanity A vertical day A glance flies over the nothing From a vertiginous highness Over these nothing That nails us to the ground That keeps our hearts locked That prevents us from believing From trusting one another There was a cold and blue day A big north day In an impossible garden There was a vertical day There was a vertical evening And it was our first day In love again.

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Michela Zanarella ( Italy) Michela Zanarella was born in Cittadella (PD) in 1980. Since 2007 he lives and works in Rome. He published the following collections of poetry: Credo (2006), Awakenings (2008), Life, infinite, havens (2009), Sensuality (2011), Meditations for women (2012), The aesthetics of the beyond (2013), Le identity of the sky (2013), Tragically red (2015), Words next (2017). In Romania it came out in a bilingual edition the collection Imensele coincidenĹŁe (2015). The author of fiction and texts for theater, is editor of Italian Journal and Laici.it. His poems have been translated into English, French, Arabic, Spanish, Romanian, Serbian, greek, Portuguese, Hindi and Japanese. He got the Creativity Prize at the International Prize Naji Naamanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s 2016. Is ambassador for culture and represents Italy in Lebanon for the Foundation Naji Naaman. Is in the direction of Writers Capital International Foundation. Corresponding member of the Academy Cosentina, founded in 1511 by Aulo Giano Parrasio. She is dealing with international relations for EMUI EuroMed University.

Sparks Of Life In these bones I travel and I carry with me the little sparks of life. I unearth heat, take in breath,

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I love. I want to stay in this skin, I want it to still be magic in the future. I want you to erupt out of me and I want to know the taste of the sea.

I Chain Myself to the Origins I chain myself to the origins of light, I undo a sunset, just as poetry touches me, with my lips I create the fate of a horizon that glorifies cemeteries filled with bones. I rest in the sudden vibration of a cloud, intersecting rivers of silence at the whimsical azure of a crowd of instants. Embodied in the exile of earth and water, I bind myself to the wind, I yield to the flames. To eyes permeated by the world surrounding the sun, I make myself eternal like Daphne. I make myself a forest of olive trees.

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Together Beyond Dream an elsewhere, a breathing in of clouds and eternity to nourish the spine, of vapors still intact, still ours. Together, beyond the outlines of the end, we will move winged across timelines, as discovering ourselves naked for the first time, nervous because of love, ready to unearth intimacy of waters, of the universe. The phalanxes will not vanish in flames, the greedy sweat of play will not die, we will consume the sky dripping in love on the sidewalks of destiny. Drenched by sensuality we too will exist where the infinite is absent.

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Munir Mezyed ( Palestina) (By poetry I shall make you fishermen of hearts and souls) Munir Mezyed is a well-known international writer (poet, novelist & translator) who writes in both English and Arabic and his poems have been published worldwide and translated to Romanian, Spanish, French, Italian, Polish, Danish, Greek, German , Portuguese, Serbian, Slovenian, Albanian, Indonesian, Persian, Hindi â&#x20AC;Śetc. He studied in England and U.S.A, traveled all around the world and settled himself in Romania in 2005 where he found his freedom after he had left Jordan where his work was banned there as well as in Middle East due to his liberal thinking and his struggle for democracy and human rights. In the Arab world, one of the great challenges facing the free intellectual is that he has to choose in case he obstinately refused to abandon his persistent faith, one of the three places: exile, tomb or jail. This situation led into cultural crisis and paved the way for radicalization. Therefore, he chooses to be free bird, singing on the branches of eternity. His poetry started to appear in the Middle East after the emerging of Arab Spring. Now he is considered to be a pioneer who brought new ideas, visions and images to the world of poetry. Some critics and poetry readers in the Arab world and Europe believe that he is the greatest poet in the history of Arabic poetry.

Cosmopolitan Dream I contemplate the seaâ&#x20AC;Ś Behold the horses of dreams

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Running over the waves Like heavenly gleams, And angelic sparrows carrying the sun With their silver beaks Singing in divine joy The song of love and freedom, The song of life… I sail with overwhelming joy, With my passion, My dreams, My poesy, Looking at the sky Searching for the face of my one and only… I travel alone like the sea No passport No identity No borders No check points Leaving behind My home My language My sect My skin color My worries My fears My mother's face And the sad song… I wake up with the sounds of aircrafts, tanks, guns, Then I know that I was dreaming…!

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NAY! I love you, Nay, I hate you…! She let me leave for a dream, A dream which turned out to be My nightmare Lost in its swamps, I wandered, Pursuing threads of smoke… No place could embrace my weariness, But cold, dead emptiness Sheltering my soul… Pale, cold and sad, The Moon lost its brilliancy, And night became long and heavy. She planted me in her bosom, Making me dream And live in a different world. I love you, Nay, I hate you…! Nay, I won't surrender to this madness, This madness that drags me into you… I will erase from my memory Your charming eyes, Your lunar face, Your fairy hair, Your pearly breast… I love you, Nay, I hate you…! I'll cast out of my soul Your voice and perfume, Forget the lips The lips that bathed me with fire and nectar, And ask the nest of my hand To let the sparrow of your breast leave… After all, will I be able to forget And reconcile with my spirit. Nay...!

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Maki Starfield (Japan) Poet, Translator. Born in Ehime, 1972. She earned her Master of Arts from Sophia University, and then got the diploma of International business management (post graduate) with Honors from Niagara College and the certificate of TESOL from St.George International College in Canada. She began to make haiku in 2008, where she became recipient of a prize at the 12th annual Mainichi Haiku Contest. On February of 2012, she published a new collection, “Kiss the Dragon.” She has recently been performing as a painter as well as a poet. She is a member of Japan Universal Poets Association. She is also a regular member of Sokyu and Sawa in Japanese haiku associates. Japanese-English Bilingual Books: “Duet of Dots” co-authored with Naran Matos in 2015, “Duet of Lines” co-authored with Luca Benassi, “Trio of Crystals” co-authored with Hélène Cardona and John FitzGerald in 2017. “Trio of Gardens” co-authored with Lidia Chiarelli and Huguette Bertrand, “Duet of Fireflies” (Bill Wolak) in 2018,“Duet of Doors” (Yesim Agaoglu) in 2018. https://immaginepoesia.jimdo.com/ https://makistarfield.wordpress.com/

Rose Vase With your eyes closed, you are a rose, one in a million. You are a rose, intoxicated by the rose named sex. I will kneel down before you. The ecstasy-fragrant rose that my trembling chest embraces In the region of my spreading thighs There is a grassy place filled with scents

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A dewy rosebud is awaiting your invitation. Like a solicitor of dreams, lying easily above me Your fingertips unconcernedly play with the emblem of the rose. The rose of confusion approaches the rose of ecstasy I want to hear the sigh of the rose whose passion cannot be extinguished You are a vase of one million roses. The painting on the vase is panting sensually.

In a Field of Stars something is glistening... the eyes of a snake, perhaps? shadows on the grass playing all day long a butterfly rests on a flower still trembling the clap of wingsâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; a bird flies off into the distance listen! sap rising in the trees tomorrow's silvery dew is not far away and some drops reached the clouds, the heavens and now roam the earth one drop fell on a rose another is on a leafâ&#x20AC;&#x201D; the breath of autumn entering the waterfall of your silence now, the first rays of morning sunlight fall on your body I am the wind that shakes the barley

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clouds hide the moon beloved, where is your face? moonlight softly creeping into a cave sparkling stars above the weight of life I wander in a field of stars one lonely firefly

Tokimeki na Koi no Monogatari The crush of love comes suddenly, somehow or other. Instead of rushing around with melancholy, it is hanging around somewhere. Now a crush on love comes here very lively and thrilled Because itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s full of confidence it resembles the shadow of life's shine rather than The crush of love growing up it seems to be walking In truth, it comes walking alone. No matter where I look there are no words or colors, burning fireflies --They can be expressed by the notation Hugh. There's no doubt that I love you. I whisper that in your ear, When it resonates also to me You will be throbbing Our everlasting exciting feeling I hope we share together.

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Marcela Villar M. ( Chile - USA) Marcela Villar M. is a Chilean-born poet residing in the United States of America since her youth. She considers herself a defender of free verse. Villar is a published poet and her work has been translated into several languages around the world. To her, poetry is alive, and it is a force in and of itself; therefore, the poet is a medium to this energy. She considers herself a vessel, a simple, quiet voice. She enjoys art, gardening, cooking, reading, and having family and friends around. â&#x20AC;&#x153;Poetry is the origin of lifeâ&#x20AC;?

Where the poets live There is a tree beyond life looking at every corner, every forest; every leaf changing seasons. There is cold air; a passing rain that wets our eyes. Sometimes, a tremor breaks all the bones, leaves them vulnerable to a burning and desertic sun. Sometimes, a helpless voice cries hidden between selfish waves and reefs celebrating the emptiness. There are also inexplicable voices, broken chants; regrets. There are hard and indecipherable rocks that wonâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t listen to supplications. There are cliffs between the lines. Petulant and solitary domains. There are territories and a mother-country, created worlds. There is agony. Sometimes, a flower emerges and tells fantastic stories. Sometimes there are planets laughing at the rainbow. And an avalanche of colors impregnated with light falls from the clouds scaring the neophytes. But then again, everything is blue. Everything is blue.

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Life creates. Poetry makes us breathe. A breath deposited in the chest, divine breeze transferring life. Desperate drowning! Then we are. Then we exist. We have been created from the damp earth, from warm water slowly transforming us into snow and rain. We have been born again.

Sometimes I glimpse stillness in time there is a dark fear that disguises itself as calm sometimes when I question myself on the extension of life and about the logical functions of our exhausted humanity I have asked the dining table for more faces for those who have already left and an opaque silence answers me from my own voice arguing not to know the answers.

I look for Sometimes my fingertips touch while I meditate about the things looking at me from afar and I contemplate them in their imperfection of tears and I think if only one could recover a particle of this body or maybe rebuild a broken window of winters.

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Miradije Ramiqi ( Kosova) Miradije Ramiqi, Pozharan, 1953, KOSOVO a poet and painter, is an already wellknown artist. Apart from her participation in numerous fine arts individual and collective exhibitions, she has published the following books of poetry: “Shivering Colors” (1981), “Rain in the Mirror” (1990) and “Kingdom Whisper” (1990), “The return of the broken silence” 2008.

On the Crossroad Now I don’t know yet have I descend within myself Or I have gone out of it With one more tear I have taken this road To get there once Without getting old from waiting On the crossroad From where I ’m being chased thro ugh wrinkles That the longing steadily increases them

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New I don’t know Have I gone out myself Or I’m closed in it.

I’m Undressing the Nightgown From where in this white room Barricades made of cats’ nails At the Studio starts to drip the sadness The blood my first neighbor woke me again From the winter sleep of tanned skin To continue my travel through landscape Which was stopped here many centuries ago Unfinished drawing in black canvas To undress the nightgown The silence to turn into a candle I wonder To go out of the wall that walls me.

Thirsty While I was painting your portrait A tear mixed the colors The glass is dry A tear of pain Love of color Was absorbed by canvas The glass is broken

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While I felt your presence A tear is mixing colors Where is your poor portrait I wonder, what happened with thirsty.

Tomorrow I’ Il die Tomorrow I’ Il die If you say so With the morning’s goodbye I’ll take the goodness of life And with the newspapers Latest news Then the greetings of the books on the shelf I’ Il take by myself with the pain of soul Tomorrow I’ Il take the death with myself.

The first Event Burning In Flames A map of my blood Compiled with pains Wrinkled face through the Time Your portrait (dis) appeared in centuries Freedom My pure craving Burnt color in painting While melting in flames My soul in eternity In expectation With a broken whispering.

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Monsif Beroual (Morocco) He was born in Rabat, Morocco, on October 19th, 1994. He is studying his fourth year of Law Degree at the Sidi Mohammed Ben Adlallah University in Taza, Morocco. Multi awarded poet fom Morocco, winner of the prize - Neruda medal award 2017. Recipient of the Pentasi B. World International Poetry Award in Africa, Ghana 2016 and Pentasi B. World Hyderabad Poetry Award, India 2017. Director of Morocco at the International Writers Capital Literature Foundation established in India. He has been appointed Director of Youth in Morocco. His poems have been translated into Spanish, French and Arabic; read on radio programs in: Canada, Chiacago, Argentina and Mexico. They have been published in different international journals and anthologies.

REFUGEE Bring me back to my town where I belong I missed all my friends my childhood and all the walls. It was so wonderful and now all is destroyed like it never was my town my town my town I try to scream so loud

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but no one hears my tears. I still have just the memories from the past lives on my mind my stories with my neighbors are gone and every innocent kid their dreams were raped children dies and history like never exits. I'm just a number now without identity like a dead man counting the stars in the sky waiting the consciences to hear their cries and their pains to hold them again and lead them to their town.

MIRROR OF HOPE Woke up this morning With the voice's whispers in my ears Led me to that mirror I saw humans Brothers and sisters I saw the wars everywhere I saw the strong eating the weak I saw friend betrays his friends And I saw racism still stand tall between us Terrorists menacing everywhere Where is the bright future for us? I'm not the messenger I'm not an angel I'm not perfect

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I'm just a human who feels the taste of defeat Tries to change the situation through that faint voice I look like a blind who walks in daylight Policy made us enemies And we forgot We are from one race Humans, brothers and sisters I wonder where did the white dove gone!

CARRY ME My feeling grows inside of me Each day her reflection next to me And every night writing our story Dreaming about the first meet First kiss upon her tender lips Long kiss full of love And desires never done Endless like space in sky Did you feel me? From my story you will be jealousy From that's love no eyes seen it before Is like we are born for each other And like a movie since the start to the end Full of love like a winter season That is our love No words can explain it Because we are the love That love carry us to paradise.

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Marian Eikelhof (Netherlands) Marian Eikelhof is a poet who works in her daily life as a psychologist leading her own consultancy firm, named Psychologisch Adviesbureau Ariadne. Her work inspires her to write about the emotional aspects of existence. Not only she describes feelings of love, intimacy and desire, but also she reflects in her poetry on sad, fragile experiences and she criticizes dehumanisation. Marian has recently published the second edition of her collection of poems titled “een nulurencontract met het leven” and is about to publish an English collection of poems titled “a contract of zero hours with life” within a period of two months. She visited poetry festivals in Cuba to defend peace together with other artists and she has published poems in literary magazines like PTYX (Peru) and in the anthology “Salt boundaries”, edited by Malak S. Soufi. Recently Marian participated in a poetry event called “Sotto il cielo di luglio”in Anzio, Italy and she joined an international poetry event with international, befriended poets in Dalaman, Turkey. Marian is active furthermore active in defending human rights with a special emphasis on the empowerment of women internationally. To focus on the peace process with other poets she is continental director of Europe in the World Festival of Poetry.

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Pompeii All of a sudden I am this ancient soul a woman more than four thousand years old carrying nothing on my back but water soon I will be home where my sweetheart waits for me coming out from the bath house fresh, shining and loving me carrying nothing on my back but water I don’t know the lava will come and overflow me don’t know I will be found back in one piece don’t know about wars to come dividing all of us and I am still unaware the earth will be no longer mine within a period of time carrying nothing on my back but water.

Without you The memory of your loving smile lingers on in my life, caressing my soul so deep inside. Only now I understand why you waved at aircrafts

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and butterflies followed you in their fetherlight flight while we were having a reunion about numbers death to come and I am quite sure now I will not meet you anymore neither in my life neither in my life nor in yours I have awaited some stars illuminated visions whether to find out if I could still see you somewhere some time dancing with my heart in your hand leaning on your laugh my memory slowly cooled down it became cold it became night.

Baby, oh my baby Let my tears flow over the earth like a river wash away all dilemmas drown disillusion, furnish empty souls with love songs and hope. Let my tears clean dirty blood of mindless sinners, melt a frozen heart, brainwash assholes and console. Let my tears quench the thirst of a child that has no tears left to cry, take it into my arms and bring it home.

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Monika Ajay Kaul ( India) Monika Ajay Kaul is originally from Beautiful Vale of Kashmir, India, and has had her schooling done there. A Post-Graduate in Business Management from New Delhi, she is an Educationist by profession. She is not only passionate about writing poetry and short stories, but also paints ; makes sketches and doodles. An avid reader, mostly biographies and autobiographies of World Artists and Writers. An art aficionado and a critic too. Her poetry and short stories are featured in few Indian and International anthologies plus a regular writer on various prestigious literary e-zines. She is currently a guestacademician and full-time toiling mother. Residing in Delhi. In a nutshell, she is proficiently, giving wings to her imagination through Beautiful Colors and Wuthering Words. As she has rightly put it into words, "Give wings to your imagination..and let your ingenuity fly..!" Spring is in the airâ&#x20AC;Ś!! The full bloom that had been a shy sprout, with a deeper blush of pink and red only days before, had begun to unfurl telling us, Winter has just end. The gentle gust which we seldom feel unless it takes a halt and touch the petals. The silky texture and the scent with a breeze tells us, Winter has just passed.

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My fingers flutter to open the floret faster, to see the beauty that was blossoming inside. But I knew, it wasn’t ready yet, since Nature has its moment and its own way. A few more days of nurture and it would bloom, in the zeal of dawn and spirit of dusk. The shy bloom will upraise her head, calling to the butterflies and the bees.

Tango of the Narcissus!! Whirling came the wind and took each floret into its stride. From there, started the picturesque “ Narcissi Tango ”. Breeze impressed the flowers, for an ecstatic dance. And, like the perfect-partners, together they twirled. Hues added the gusto, moving madly to and fro. They were living only a moment, as if time would die tomorrow. As the breeze came and left, the scene changed magically from still and quiet to stirred and aeolian. Along with the rhythm emanated evident ecstasy. In the aura of the dance; to the desires, proud florets succumbed.

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The trice of the swirling Waltz showered alluring aroma. A rapturous redolence that enliven the moment. Then came the invisible sleight of hand, all the more Paradisiacal. All over, it glossed love into the hiatus to arrive.

Know your Worth..!! The ground below concedes your tread, Whenever you take a step; cheering you up as you immerse your feet in the lush grass..! Tranquil breeze abets you forward as it blows, and Evergreens sway to your hushed hums. And the daylight takes a little longer to fade when you ride the roads..! When the surface of water unveils you to the mirror; And each droplet sacrifices itself to satiate the draught within..! Each and every crumb of the cosmos toil for you and knows your worth. What makes you not to see yourself with your own eyes..!!

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© Gianpiero Actis ( Italy) Dictionaries of light Born in Ivrea, Italy. Eye surgeon at Torino Ophthalmic Hospital. He attended Massimo D’Azeglio secondary school, specializing in classics. His Art teacher was Prof. Riccardo Chicco, a famous painter, who directed him towards the world of painting. Since the ‘80s Gianpiero Actis has created works using different techniques (oil, acrylic colours, collage ) and his paintings have been published on posters and flyers of Ophthalmology Congresses. Two of his paintings appear on the covers of the books: “Torino di luce” (2006) and “Cefalonia: the last witness” (2010). His work Beams of Ice (from the Winter Lights series ) - linked with a poem by the English poet Aeronwy Thomas - has been chosen for the banner and the pennants of WINTER UNIVERSIADE –TORINO 2007. Gianpiero Actis is one of the Charter Members who founded IMMAGINE & POESIA, the international artistic literary movement now spread all around the world. (November 9, 2007, Alfa Teatro, Torino, Italy). In 2008 his solo exhibition “The colour of saying” at the Dylan Thomas Centre, Swansea, Great Britain, was very successful: these paintings are now part of the Dylan Thomas Centre Collection.

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In 2009 he was invited to exhibit in Luxor , Egypt, (Academy of Fine Arts). Since 2010 his painting “Il cavaliere inesistente” (“ The nonexistent knight” – Homage to the Italian writer Italo Calvino) has been part of the permanent collection of “Promotrice delle Belle Arti”, Torino. Some of his paintings are in the permanent exhibition of Hôtel Olympia, Beausoleil, Côte d’Azur, France. Most of his works have been inspired by Aeronwy Thomas’ poems: “moments of cross fertilization”, according to the words of the well known British writer. Web sites: http://gianpieroactis.jimdo.com/ http://www.saatchionline.com/GianpieroActis PORTFOLIO: http://gianpieroactis.jimdo.com/art-gallery/ http://www.saatchionline.com/profiles/portfolio/id/77447 Artist’s Statement Painting, ophthalmology and my life are closely related. My works have often been published on posters and flyers of Ophthalmology Congresses. Colour is the leitmotif of all my work, an opposition of light and dark, warm and cold shapes that—as if through an optical illusion—turn into rays.

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NADIA-CELLA POP ( Romania) NADIA-CELLA POP, a famous Romanian poetess. Born in Ariusd, March 13, 1948, now she lives in the city of Braşov, Romania. Philosophy Bachelor, graduated from ”Babeş-Bolyai University” 1973. After graduation she started to work as a college teacher and several years as senior librarian and newspaper reporter (she continues to publish articles). NADIA-CELLA POP has published her first poems in France, 1980 in the poetry journal ”Presence” from Bordeaux. Many of her poems were published in over 60 titles of poetry journals and wide-distribution magazines edited in France, Italy, Belgium, Poland, Luxemburg, USA, Australia, Canada, India, China, Greece, Serbia, Brazil, Venezuela, Romania (over 300 copies). Her works are also included in 25 anthologies edited in France, Italy, Luxemburg, Australia, India, Mongolia, Romania. NADIA-CELLA POP has received 165 prizes so far, for poetry, in many countries: France, Italy, Belgium, Germany, China, Australia, Luxemburg (only two prizes in Romania). Examples: Grand Prix du vers libre–Breteuil sur Iton, France, 1985; 3ème Prix-Pomezia-Notizie, Italy, 1986; Medaille d’Or – Grand Prix du Forez – HALAF, France, 1990; Medaille de Bronze – A. I. de Lutece, Paris, France, 1992; Medaille d’Argent – A. I. de Lutece, Paris, France, 1995; Premi Speciali “Goccia di Luna” – La Spezia, Italy, 1996; Medaille Grand d’Or – Pleneuf-val-André, Bretagne, France, 2000; Premier Prix – Concours du Prix Athanor, Neris-les-Bains, France, 2002; Prix Européen de poésie POESIAS – Cercle Européen de Poésie Francophone, Royssy-en Brie, France, 2003; Die Goldmedaille und Grossen Internationalen Preis ”Friedrich Hölderlin”-”St. Lukas” Akademie, Germany, 2003; The Best Poet of the Year 2004, IPTRC, Chongqing, China; Menzione d’Onore – A. L. I. A. S. NADIA-CELLA POP has published so far five books of poetry: ”Gînduri de veghe” – 1997, ”Din Simfonia Vieţii” – 2001, ”Avalanche over Impossible” –2006 (poems in English, translated by Dragoş Barbu), ”The Lordship of the Word” – first edition 2007 (multilingual, poems in fourteen languages), ”Shipwrecks Delayed” – 2010 (multilingual).

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TIME’S TRINITY To find the gate to the respiration of the energy rains we open our eyes and close them again across the compass rose, to feel its spur and suffocation. We stay in front of Time’s Cavern, shaken by the passing into symbols we desperately want to sip. But Time’s involvement in life it’s a worrisome process of a trinity. Time will pass over us, through us, or besides us… He will be the partner of our victory or defeat… He will mark barbarian catacombs, or sanctified peaks… Tender, the breeze of seekings will lead us towards that gate, as to an experiment that will amaze every moment of our endeavour and memory.

RESPIRATIONS My eyes are snowing the fir branches’ burden. A disarranged colourless joy leaves at the gate of my thoughts a sparkle from the century’s faith, hanged in the dry stamen of the parting. I respire, with every day the wildest path of the slaves

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from their watchmen, to their doom. The seconds are crawling heavily ahead of the path which is measured but equal, however with all the pages we can’t read. Of that undiscovered or just untamed letter in the primer of happiness, that asks now for a tribute: the clusters of pain, burnt in glances and flesh. But I will respire, once again the new air of a fresh and green spring, from groves and whispers, in my own island of dew.

LONELY NIGHT This night is lonely in the landscape of frozen constellations. I feel the glamour in my glances, in front of the nothingness that absorbs me. The obsession of the fright breaks out of myself anonymous and dual words which I can’t recognize. The clear sky and distance’s innocence make the sharp time of love to increase in me, together with the presentiment of a reconciliation which will make the second to rule eternity, taking the chances of a wild fissure. The song of wandering blood in being is driving away the opacity of sadness always wishing for the living flower from the eyes of your soul.

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NilavroNill Shoovro ( India) Director and Editor bij Our Poetry Archive It was in March 2015 when I was just thinking about one monthly web journal especially for poems around the world. It was my personal dream at that point of time to bring out “Our Poetry Archive”. So I made contact with few of my friends to form a team for this purpose. Throughout my life always I believe in collective works. To build up a team one has to find few like minded people with more or less same vision. At that point of time it was not an easy task to fulfill. Yet I gave it an honest try. It was at that time when poet Anna Zapalska of Poland and poet Carolina Nazareno of Canada stood beside me as real and good friend. They helped me a lot to find out new poets. Although we had tried to build up one executive editorial board, for the purpose, yet it was not possible at that point of time as none of us was sure about the end result. So actually I had to publish the first issue almost single handedly. Yes, with the help of Anna Zapalska and Carolina Nazareno and few other friends, those who helped me a lot contributing with their own poems and by bringing in their personal friends to participate in our poetical journey. So on 1st April 2015, “Our Poetry Archive” was published for the first time. That was just like the fulfillment of any long cherished dream. Yes I was overjoyed to see the first issue of OPA myself.

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IN LOVE IN ANGST Whoever wants to die before his time is not in love. How can it be so true For someone who has seen both sides of the coin from the same distance! War and peace, no matter – You can’t afford to be slipped over. So much to feel within, so much to feel for, so much to feel genuine. Yet you look for the end in itself? Deep intimate theories invading the nights for passion and longingnever switch over to nothingness. Yet you realized few voids in between the lines, not for any specific purpose but as the inherent norms! So much to rejoice, so much to prove, so much to fulfil. Around every single moments of time and dream. The letters of love may collapse one day. May even change every connotationWe achieved so far, still I’ll be their Waiting for the touch, even from the one who wants to put the final break before his time. In angst.

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THE BIRTH I am the only one, all alone With none to be substituted. I am the solace of the sufferers Everywhere around everything. I know the secret numbers To unlock the mind. I know the dark chamber Of the soul in eternity. I overwhelmed the waves of Our history, surviving along The time scale of nuisance Standing erect over the debris Of beliefs from the time past To the time future. Circling Around all the lost hopes. For I alone know the secret. Beneath the surface reality And above the virtual designs Of hopes and aspirations. Of anguish and humiliation. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m the sole witness from the beginningOf the story to the never ending Rituals of Eternity, day in and Day out. All around the inside. Stars will fade out. Time will Pass. Life will stop crying forThe first breath of the fresh- Dawn. Yet I will be there. For you, for you alone in a Lonely world of peace and trust. For the poetry of loveJust in two eyes. For my birth!

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Nuri Can (Turkey- Holland) Poet was born in a small mountain willage of Erzinca in Turkey. He came and settled down to Holland at a young age and acquired citizeship. Poet has accupied with music,theatre, tale, painting and poem more since his childhood. He won international awards with study on tale, poem and painting. Poet held on exhibition in many countries and many of his boks were published. Poet presided international artist Union in three years. Besides,he had active and passive duties in organizations like UNICEF and Amnesty International. He worked as an art consultant teacher in private and goverment schools in Holland and Turkey.

PASSION FOR FREEDOM I loved the sky,interminably I could’t like captivity at all I loved the pigeons in white and White at the sky. I picked flowers in green branches blooming with my feeling by feeling. As far as I ‘ve known myself I want neither a flower pot nor a cage Even if birds in golden cage, I want birds to be free flowers free children free ı don’t like narrow places. I wish earth belonged to flowers

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Sky belonged to pigeons Everywhere fondled by sun smell love like spring. Oh! I wish it were possible Oh! I wish it were possible Oh! İt had been possible I would have made happiness from sorrow I would have made hope from happiness I would have split my hearth into sorrows I would have sold love to all children of the World. I wish it were possible when a child got shot ı would be a mother go into mouring ı would bound up wounds affectionately ı would be a father, I would cry instead of them. Oh! İt were possible I would make peace from war I would make man from peace I would make happiness from sorrow I would make friendship from hope I would throw poem to children every morning instead of bullet.

I AM OUT I am out İf living is so ugly İf labor is ingrate İf profit is every door’s key I am out if love is as worthless as one night stands if friendship is measured by Money if betrayals, fights, darkness isn’t sadden if poverty isn’t embarrassed if virtue is so little

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and if lies is so grand if dreams nonexist if hopes nonexist if love gardens isn’t blooming if clovedoesn’t tellthe yearing what we call life, if killing the time dirtying the blue,eating,sitting back and burping. İf swearing one who doesn’t support you True, my friend,I’m contrarian Let them be yours Duplicities, shammerly, Let them be yours Comfort,luxury, fame, reputation, status A slice of poem A bit of love is enough for me. Enough A warm smile A bunch of dream And seven colours of the rainbow.

LET LIFE BE YOURS Wealth, fame, glory and stature Happiness, beloved,and love A pinch of dream A candid smile A slice of poetry And a bit of affection will suffice me A drop of tranquility will suffice me A bud of hope A twig of grace A salute of a friend And some comfort for this weary heart A fine dream of poetry And the seven colours of the sun will suffice me…

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Nassira Nezzar (Algeria) Nassira Nezzar , a poetess and writer from Algeria, graduated from university of May 8th1945 Guelma ( Bachelor of English Language and Literature).A diploma from CNEPD Annaba ,as superior Technician in Tourism (Choice:Touristic guide). She has attestation of success in Spanish language from a private school (Triki), and an attestation of presence in Italian language (CLS). She worked at the university of May 8th1945- Guelma- as an English language teacher for 8 years. She worked at the cultural directory of Guelma and worked also as an English language teacher at the National Insitute for Vocational training –GuelmaNassira Nezzar has a published work, a book entitled :FAMILIAR STRANGRS , which is a collaboration work with the American author,Rob McBride. She participated in different international anthologies, Love is like air-USA-, The Other Side Of The Screen-Poland-, Women poets-within and beyond shore Vol 1&2India-, Whispers of Softlay, Verses on Racism, Resistance and Refugee Crisis – India-, Metafora Współczesności –PolandNassira Nezzar has her own poems on Youtube plus collaborative poems with the American author John wordslinger on Youtube also. Her website: www.wordsocean.wordpress.com

BLANK PAGES Blank pages were awaitening me on my desk.. I picked up my pen Staring at them gently I tried to hug my wondered thoughts carefully

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A deep breath was taken A part of stress was thrown A wall of hesitation was broken But what’s the hell!!! What’s the hell!! A motion was built up inside of me And I couldn’t recognize the feeling accompanying me Joy or sadness!!...tranquility or rebellion!! Loneliness or congestion!! I stood up in front of the mirror Pondering what’s the error !!.. The clock ... The clock attracted my attention With its tic-toc...tic toc .. The rain was falling on the window’s glass Drop by drop... the midnight shined on the clock and on my heart .. But ...The fear of the world the hesitation of words.. had trembled me again I thought of a break ...but I didn’t take So I came back to my desk again Staring at the blank pages asking myself: Am I the emptiness of hearts? Am I the contradiction of world? Am I the heaviness of earth? A thought with a joyful smile took off all the wonder And hugged my mind...Saying .. I’m your new story... Are you ready to get rid of bad memories And hard circumstances.. Come on … Don’t hesitate … Throw your pains behind you As you need me to fill your emptiness... I need you to take from my fullness the love, the success, and the happiness ....

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I’m like the earth .. I carry the world on my shoulders I always wait that human being irrigates me with love Not blood I would like to see the faces happy not sad But ....what should I say ?!!! I’m your today... Hug me tight without care of what was diminished in yesterday or what will appear in tomorrow.

THEY CALL ME LOVE They call me love I put my cheek on the scent of roses I enter hearts without passing through doors or windowsMy magic is in my power I hold you tight and take you higher With my magical wings I hover here and there.. kissing the stars, the moon, the white clouds and the sun’s rays They call me love I look as the red colour with its contradictions When I knock the doors of hearts I don’t ask for permission I’m not a sacred religion I’m not restricted to something “allowed” or something “forbidden” I’m the wind, I’m the sun, I’m the rain I’m the snow… I’m the owner of all my seasons...

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Niels Hav (Denmark) Niels Hav is a Danish poet and short story writer with awards from The Danish Arts Council. He is the author of six collections of poetry and three books of short fiction. His books have been translated into many languages including English, Arabic, Turkish, Dutch, Farsi, Serbian, Albanian, Kurdish and Chinese. His second English poetry collection, We Are Here, was published by Book Thug in Toronto, and his poems and short stories have been published in a large number of journals, magazines and newspapers in different countries of the world. He has travelled widely and participated in numerous international poetry festivals Europe, Asia, Africa , North and South America. He has frequently been interviewed by the media. Niels Hav was raised on a farm in western Denmark, today he resides in the most colourful and multiethnic part of the capital, Copenhagen. “…Niels Hav's We Are Here, ... brings to us a selection from the works of one of Denmark's most talented living poets and is all the more welcome for that reason….” Frank Hugus, The Literary Review

In Defense of Poets What are we to do about the poets? Life’s rough on them they look so pitiful dressed in black their skin blue from internal blizzards. Poetry is a horrible disease, the infected walk about complaining their screams pollute the atmosphere like leaks from atomic power stations of the mind. It’s so psychotic Poetry is a tyrant it keeps people awake at night and destroys marriages

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it draws people out to desolate cottages in mid-winter where they sit in pain wearing earmuffs and thick scarves. Imagine the torture. Poetry is a pest – worse than gonorrhea, a terrible abomination. But consider poets it’s hard for them bear with them! They are hysterical as if they are expecting twins they gnash their teeth while sleeping, they eat dirt and grass. They stay out in the howling wind for hours tormented by astounding metaphors. Every day is a holy day for them. Oh please, take pity on the poets they are deaf and blind help them through traffic where they stagger about with their invisible handicap remembering all sorts of stuff. Now and then one of them stops to listen for a distant siren. Show consideration for them. Poets are like insane children who’ve been chased from their homes by the entire family. Pray for them they are born unhappy their mothers have cried for them sought the assistance of doctors and lawyers, until they had to give up for fear of loosing their own minds. Oh, cry for the poets! Nothing can save them. Infested with poetry like secret lepers they are incarcerated in their own fantasy world a gruesome ghetto filled with demons and vindictive ghosts. When on a clear summer’s day the sun shining brightly you see a poor poet come wobbling out of the apartment block, looking pale like a cadaver and disfigured by speculations then walk up and help him.

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Tie his shoelaces, lead him to the park and help him sit down on a bench in the sun. Sing to him a little buy him an ice cream and tell him a story because he’s so sad. He’s completely ruined by poetry.

Visit from My Father My dead Father comes to visit and sits down in his chair again, the one I got. “Well, Niels!” he says. He is brown and strong, his hair shines like black lacquer. Once he moved other people’s gravestones around using a steel rod and a wheelbarrow, I helped him. Now he’s moved his own by himself. “How’s it going”? he says. I tell him all of it, my plans, all the unsuccessful attempts. On my bulletin board hang seventeen bills. “Throw them away”, he says, they’ll come back again”! He laughs. “For many years I was hard on myself”, he says, “I lie awake mulling to become a decent person. That’s important”! I offer him a cigarette, but he has stopped smoking now. Outside the sun sets fire to the roofs and chimneys, the garbagemen make noise and yell to each other on the street. My father gets up, goes to the window and looks down at them. “They are busy”, he says, “that’s good. Do something!”

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Nancy Ndeke ( Kenya) Nancy Ndeke lives in Nairobi, Kenya. She had two poetry books published by Amazon, with 100 poems each. One is a children’s book, the other for adults. She has also authored two novels, both published by Amazon. In 2017, her poems were read in Mexico during the World festival of poetry session. Nature inspires her a great deal and though she writes on diverse topics and themes, her closest subject is the plight of the vulnerable in society.

WHAT LOVE CAN DO Is climb a mountain of woes to save a lone stranded stranger, Feed a starving orphan abandoned in the meadows, Dress the wounds of an injured man, Walk a mile in silent commune with the hurting, Listen without judgment of a sinner’s confession, Offer to share little with many, Refuse silence in the midst of injustice, That’s what love can do, A religion pure and divine, Like the faith of a child upon birth, Trusting goodness to birth no offence, That’s what love can do, Heal and restore pieces broken and scattered, Seeking health before wealth, Righting paths with light of justice denied, And each human, Is a universe big enough to give this,

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And then, Some more, For love is life in its entirety.

MEN ARE NOT GODS Another made you to breath, Provisions on earth galore, From the mountain streams, To the salty oceans, Your ground to play fair in living, Splendor of heavens to wow in study, Valleys to grow roots and walk in love, Deserts majestic in dusty storms, Seasons to change perceptions and moods, All for man and beast alike, Each to its species to rhyme and dance, This space wide and deeply tantalizing, Is only game in faire distribute, Not in greed hoarding in stores, Not in famines engineered for gain, Or wars to lord over the weak, Neither for commercializing disease as business, Man! You are man a few years to live, Before the dust you settle after all, You are man for out crying loud.

A CHILD IS A CHILD See them hide behind the doctorâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s chair, Where they sought the oracle of the childâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sex, At the beaming face of the medic with the news good, That announce a girl on the way shortly, The couple quickly takes the matter into hand, She must leave before she arrives, A burden is not welcome as a first born, So the mother to be and never to be has to sign the consent form , Towering over her broken shoulder the husband firm, With a shaky hand she does sign the death warrant, Hoping the next to please culture is gender other,

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Whose hand is bloodied by blood innocent, If not the mother and father who never will know, The fate of the unborn sealed by those better should know, Faithful to a culture of dowry strings attached, They leave their crime and its evidence with the doctor, To dispose of the unwanted with city garbage for a fee, Is a child not a child by God we ask? Is this culture not a war on its own? One that kills the guilty and the innocent? A child is a child never mind the gender.

MOTHER Earth is mother is nurture, Like mother flesh and bones to birth, She gives and gives with complains non, A nurse, a teacher a protector, Till our wings we flex and fly, Proud of careers launched with glee, To find a mate and regale with our sweat, While back in the crumbling home we grew, An old rheumatic one is fetched by red cross, To a home with walls colder than ice, And hands rougher than wood, And tongues sharper than shrapnel, Praying for death in earnest, Till day and night roll into one long nightmare, And when that call finally catch you on vacation, You rush to spend a fortune on her skinny cadaver, To wipe the guilt of neglect of your privileged entry into this world. This one you cannot pay with gifts of camphor coffins, With rings of gold, and a velvet gown to go under with, All she ever needed was your hand when hers got weak, A simple gesture like she did to you once, Guilty is yours to pay in your conscious.

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Naseer Ahmad Khan (India) Naseer Ahmad Khan was born and brought up in Bandipora, Kashmir. He has a Master's Degree in English from Kashmir University. He qualified SET (State Eligibility Test) in English in 2013; and in 2016, he got appointed as Assistant Professor English in the Deptt. of Higher Education.

In Memory of Aasifa I thought the world is fine And grace in it abound Therefore, I went around Carefree yonder tree line I played hide and seek The sun at noon was meek I frolicked round a tree And felt myself free There like a fawn I played in a green lawn Five and half meters I went Near the woods that bent In a city of men There fear is none. The sun was up the stream I went down the stream Along a red, red rose Wherein a white spring close Into a gushing thing Blanched by a ring Of moon struck dial Down drifted the rivulet in a file

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There I played the mock There to gather from a rock Green fern and molten moss Like Maggie on the Floss All is fun of a child An age of eight and bright In innocence, the countenance Chased in allegiance. A Lucy in the wild was born Subdued by the nature sublime On a resounding water torn By sun slitting prime, a horn So sweet and the spot of joy Compelling the heart to recline And capture the bliss of soul, I felt not to hide My visage in a vide Range of reference Nor to tie up my head In a flux of thread I moved a step or two Chasing a butterfly on move Like that Mary from whom To call the cattle home Near the river and more Near the sea or shore Alas! Call the cattle home There and then the hand Camaflouged in the sand A king cobra recoiling A duck in its hood choking Under unmitigated crush So was I under a belly That rolled over me as a trolley And meshed up my flesh in a flash They rip me open like some trash And kept me mum with a thumb On the spot of Adams slip Under the control of his grip Thereby nipped the bud and the tulip They left marks of lust on my hip And placed a seal on my lip Until I was thrown on a maze Inside the temple to gaze As bewildering as a gazelle In thunder struck pine and hazel

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I plaited hope all in vain To more of a brute less of a man All that was there was grim Only the lust at the rim I could but read them out The wink and the wine at brim. They were many and I was one Yet not the last to be done They tossed me up as a toy Suck my lips in animal joy The beast in one was on the run He tore me open there by shun All humanity to a void A thing stuffed in my mouth My stomach too weak to such uncouth Pint of a pink and a narcotic In a split of second I was hypnotic They drugged me down and up he ran As Leda was done by the swan My cries toiled the trumpet bell They turned the temple to a hell Drowning I clutched the straw Held his beard as cried â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;babaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; He kept on and on without remorse Ran up and down like a horse When he finished his blithe and dirt He threw me to wilderness as a flirt He thought a beast will carry The load and head of his savagery Alas! A bear a loin went nearby A wolf awestruck stood thereby The roar of the lion to God Shuddered the heavenly seat of my lord The azure sky turned purple in the wrath And the sea fuming in froth The clouds opened the chest of sky Hail and fog hastily fly Wherefore will you hide your heads? Your daughters not safe in their beds Better to strangulate and end the tale Or burry your daughter in the dale Lest representatives of honour and life are in an open strife and march the streets in enormity to upheld black sins against humanity.

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Odette Beaudry( Canada) Odette Beaudry (pen name: Ode) is a French Canadian sculptor ,painter, graphic designer, poet, novelist and professor of Visual Arts and French. Ode graduated with a Master’s degree in Visual Arts and Education from Université du Québec à Montreal (UQAM). She has been publishing her poetry on her website since 1999. She has won various prestigious literary awards such as Prix de la Francophonie 2010 .She was also the winner of the poetry award Alain- Lefeuvre 2010 for the collection of her poems Le Fleuve Donne Naissance aux Enfants des Etoiles. She was also invited at Société des Poètes Français (SPF) in Paris in 2011and was the chief guest of the city of Nice where the famous poet Alain Lefeuvre lived. She also participated in a conference on Quebec’s literature at the Centre Universitaire Méditerranéen (CUM) in Nice. Her Poetry book Voyage en Cosmogonie was translated into Italian by the poet, Mario Selvaggio and was published as a bilingual book (French-Italian) in 2015. Ode co-authored the poetry book entitled Complicité, Chroniques Amoureuses with the poet Robert Ronnefoy in February 2017. Web page: Dans L’univers Imaginaire de Ode Website: http://zodode.5.50megs.com/Poésie et Arts Visuels *** My spring Sonata, My Music, like the flash of the storm Like love’s marks,

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Like dreamâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s hurricane Like the blue of night Like the abyss of desire Like the horizon is on fire.

*** Do you know that with each "I love you", You hold in your hands a poem ? A star is born in my head A moon turns round The blue and ivory of my pallet Becomes your eyes and opaline eyelids.

*** Some fine leaves remain Between the pages of my dictionary They will dry and on them I will write to you My treasured words, my winters, My country, my heart, I will tell you.

*** If I was a musician I would be a flute, a guitar, a violin For you my friend, a Stradivarius Melody would bewitch you If I was, who knows ?

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*** Thirst taking on the color of flower and its spring Spurted fertile loves In grapes swollen with sunlight. I shall drink the wine at the fire of seconds.

*** Magic moment Creative whisper Gleam of grace Sublime time of imagination.

*** Motionless nature Dying embroidery of desire Did the stars spoiled their rays ? My canvas is blank.

*** Noble gesture and pretty grace We will make a feast of almonds and honey The pear and the tangerine will ripen at the midnight sun So triumphs our desire.

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Dr. Olfa Philo (Drid) - Tunisia Olfa Philo (Drid) is a Tunisian poetess. Her cause as a writer is to voice the buried emotions and phobias of the oppressed and downtrodden and to unmask and expose hidden truths socially considered taboo or shameful. Her poems have appeared in many international anthologies and in literary journals worldwide. Some of her poems have been translated into other languages while other poems were translated into paintings by the painter Nebiha Felah. Some other poems were turned into Italian songs performed by Fabio Martoglio. You can check her recited poems on her youtube channel below.

Dormant Love In your heart lie my roots, even though my flowers were snatched and trodden down on the floor Usurpers can never uproot me, even if they try once more! Your heartâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s soil may seem fertile, ready for anyone to sow her seeds

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yet, once watered, my plant burgeons all of a sudden and condemns them to a life of weeds…

Scrambled Story Nay, mourn me not once gone to glory just my verse re-order and together join then, you’ll come up with a mystical story full of death in life and life out of death born… you’ll then weep for my life not my death… with a freezing weather, seasons full of storms, assassinated dreams, congealed flesh, a love out of breath… won’t you find me safer in the mouths of worms? when evildoers orchestrate your life with an invisible remote control & stab you now and again with their occult knife whenever you come close to a goal, so farewell to a life

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where criminals thrive while the innocent die daily to survive…

Transcendence Two hurdles I overcame; senses and reason For refuting any metaphysical concept Once surpassed, against flesh commit treason And with the sky’s creatures start to connect God, angels and devils, you’ll then perceive : Their entities become crystal clear for you Holy verses, your heart will then receive Of earthly concerns, you’ll alter your view Amid the flesh’s and sky’s calls oscillate For both body and soul shall claim their food Between presence and absence, you’ll vibrate And clear the doubts previously misunderstood Only then, you are likely to transcend the limits of flesh and this world understand.

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Pavol Janik (Slovak) Mgr. art. Pavol Janik, PhD., (magister artis et philosophiae doctor) was born in 1956 in Bratislava, where he also studied film and television dramaturgy and scriptwriting at the Drama Faculty of the Academy of Performing Arts (VSMU). He has worked at the Ministry of Culture (1983-87), in the media and in advertising. He was President of the Slovak Writers' Society (2003-07), Secretary-General of the SWS (1998-2003, 2007-2013) and Editor-in-chief of the literary weekly of the SWS Literarny tyzdennik (2010-2013). He has received a number of awards for his literary and advertising work both in his own country and abroad. This virtuoso of Slovak literature, Pavol Janik, is a poet, dramatist, prose writer, translator, publicist and copywriter. His literary activities focus mainly on poetry. Even his first book of poems, which appeared a quarter of a century ago, attracted the attention of the leading authorities in Slovak literary circles. This style has become typical of all his work, which in spite of its critical character has also acquired a humorous, even bizarre dimension. His manner of expression is becoming terse to the point of being aphoristic. It is thus perfectly natural that Pavol Janik's literary interests should come to embrace aphorisms founded on a shift of meaning in the form of puns. In his work he is gradually raising some very disturbing questions and pointing to serious problems concerning the further development of humankind, while all the time widening his range of themes and styles. Literary experts liken Janik's poetic virtuosity to that in the work of Miroslav Valek, while in the opinion of the Russian poet, translator and literary critic, Natalia Shvedova, Valek is more profound and Janik more inventive. He has translated in poetic form several collections of poetry and written works of drama with elements of the style of the Theatre of the Absurd. Pavol Janikâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s literary works have been published not only in Slovakia, but also in Albania, Belarus, Bulgaria, Canada, Chile, Croatia, the Czech Republic, France, Hungary, India, Israel, Jordan, Macedonia, Romania, the Russian Federation, Serbia, South Korea, Ukraine, United Kingdom, the United States of America and Venezuela.

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NEW YORK In a horizontal mirror of the straightened bay the points of an angular city stabbing directly into the starry sky. In the glittering sea of lamps flirtatious flitting boats tremble marvelously on your agitated legs swimming in the lower deck of a brocade evening dress. Suddenly we are missing persons like needles in a labyrinth of tinfoil. Some things we take personally – stretch limousines, moulting squirrels in Central Park and the metal body of dead freedom. In New York most of all it’s getting dark. The glittering darkness lights up. The thousand-armed luster of the mega city writes Einstein’s message about the speed of light every evening on the gleaming surface of the water. And again before the dusk the silver screen of the New York sky floods with hectoliters of Hollywood blood. Where does the empire of glass and marble reach? Where do the slim rackets of the skyscrapers aim?

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God buys a hot dog at the bottom of a sixty-storey street. God is a black and loves the grey color of concrete. His son was born from himself in a paper box from the newest sort of slave.

AT THE TABLE An infirmary of flowers of the field in a vase. So many of the white that the blood inside our veins stiffens. Thus we wither together torn away from life.

BAD HABIT Every day I go to work for my wife, Olga, so she has enough for shopping. I must make an effort. The weekend approaches and the children would like to eat on Sunday. We still have not succeeded in breaking this bad habit.

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Roula Pollard ( Greece ) CEO, Sharing Friends of the Art's Hollywood International" The writer Roula Pollard was born in Santorini, Greece and has published four books of poetry "Presence", "Silence Points", "The Birth of Beautiful Time" in Greek, and also "Continents of Love" in English, translated into Telugu. As a literary promoter, she promoted 150 poets, writers and artists. She participated in European poetry events and has been included in 30 International poetry anthologies. She has participated in poetry festivals: Patra Poetry Festival 1986, Bradford European Poetry Festival 1989, Leeds International Poetry Festival 1990, Manchester International Poetry Festival 1990, Otley Literary Festival 1992, Bretton Hall Festival, 1995, Dublin-European Poetry, 2001-2004, Hyderabad Poetree Festival, 2017. She has also written literary articles in Greek and English about Sylvia Plath, Henry Moore, Nikiforos Vrettakos, Machi Mouzaki, Dimitris Layios, Angelos Vogasaris e.a., published in Greek and English literary journals. Over the last 30 years she has raised awareness on environmental issues. Her poems have attracted widespread interest and have been published in international e-journals and poetry magazines in the States, Arab countries, India, Spain, France and Greece. Her Poetry, through the themes of love and healing, war, hope and peace, deals with social, environmental, political and humanitarian issues. THE MATERIAL AND IMMATERIAL GARMENT OF LOVE In the plantations of the sky in my heart this is how new the history begins almost silently, beyond contemporary trends two kisses on the bed of my heart two doves fly over my consciousness two deep kisses on the lips of the mind two kisses on the temple of your body

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two flames inside me and you unite without scaring the doves of the world surrounding us, beyond the leftovers of war My love begins with the history of peace after all innocent bodies of young soldiers sleep eternally bellow wildflowers and tears at the edge of past time. Is it, it is where new new love begins changing the history of the world and us extending the dew of my hope beyond all I know? Two kisses on the bed of your heart two doves fly over our consciousness two deep kisses on the lips of your mind two kisses on the temple of your body same flame inside you and me.

CONTINENTS OF LOVE Migratory birds carry on your wings vastness. Ancient ballads narrate the winds arriving at the shore love’s story. Ask the sea’s hidden currents its caves, its stories the sea’s enormity her light, her blueness the waves’ echo Ask the sea to reveal if love fills continents. Does the wind sense love’s breeze between dawn and expectation? In the continent of destiny

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ask time the sand’s voice the rocks’ silence the roundness of the pebbles to strengthen you with the richness of love.

MY ANGEL I met you inside me like a belfry a church tower to hear inside me the sounds of the universe, the voices of your heart to hear your music, messages, warnings a tower bell adorned with bougainvillea blossom housed by bird symphonies day and night Angel I met you inside me like pure Peace before volcanic hate and battles erupted in the world I built you in the center of my heart’s city to record people’s love symphonies, kisses of pairing to hear the Earth’s voice hugging people, voices of affection to hear the symphony of planets in love Angel I met you inside my soul you broke my ego, hate, violence, ignorance and like a clear river of quiet affection you, my first divine experience on earth love multiplied like divine breeze to fill the world with love’s reality

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Raimonda Moisiu ( Albania- USA) President of Albanian American Writers Association (AAWA) Raimonda Moisiu was born, on February, 21st, 1957, in Korca city, Albania,-resident in Hartford, Capital of Connecticut State ,(CT) USA.She studied for English Linguistics & Literature,at University of Tirana,Albania.After, she performed the learnings, she worked as an english teacher,for 19 years-till she left homeland and immigrated to USA.Friendliness of art and literature have made a very productive author.She’s published till now eleven books in prose, publicity and poetry and she is co-author in eight national and international antologies. Her literature contribution is awarded with some prices in journalism, poetry and prose! Friendliness of art and literature have been made her a very productive author.Also she is reporter of albanian-american papers, in USA,"Illyria" and albanian press, in Albania, " Tirana Observer","Panorama", "Ndryshe",'Gazeta Kritika" on line, "Fjala e Lire", London, "Albanian Mail", in London, Kosovo and albanian website on line... Now she is writing a novel titled “ Not telling to anyone!”, and and in advance she is publishing it. Also soon she is publishing the Second book with INTERVIEWS of distinguished people across the Atlantic, and a book with Essays and literary critics. She speaks and writes fluently Albanian, English, Russian, French, Italian and some Greek and Spanish. I can’t anymore... Every day I see women violated, raped, abandoned like cadavers floating on the waters off sinking boat, thrown away from the bed of flash greed, passion, bloody drops. My feeling the same,as if swiming to death,

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As if going through Scribes and Caribes, To meet the duels with the sea beasts. I feel the cracks and bites in my body, all painful! Wondering:bringing me to the eternal silence, To burial place! Feeling every day losing my energy, Like quivering candle to survive its light, in the face of the wind and darkness of violence. Oh Lord!I only wish I had power ! I can’t anymore… endure the deceiving words, sweeping away my body‘s desires, and the depth of my secrets…. How shocking is this fear, rocking my eyes! I can’y anymore .. enjoy the birds tweet, the children sing across streets. Want to breathe, to feel wind’s breeze, coming from the deep breathings, of the spreading scent of sweet basils. I feel everything burning deep in my heart, around my name. Want to get rid of deception of the dark oasis of love’s betrayers, of streams of promises, that beautify the bed of deception. I can’t anymore!

Tweet ... In the gloomy space of my own bed ‘s virginity, In the whitness of chilly sheets, Me, this calm and lonely bird,

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Sometimes crouching aside, sometimes at the bottom, I’ve forgotten tweeting…. Want, Starting up with the force of blood, Want, Flying off, far away the cold cage, Want, Forgetting that I am the slave of the blind ‘guardian” Named; LONELINESS! Want, Breathing the air, breeze, Want, Starting happily the tweet, as being madly in love, and flying off! Want, With the music of birds, Chirping, and disengaged of my beloved one, Saying:”I love you!” With the warble of desires, Like the tears of the spring morning sun, Building up the bridge of the truth, Arousing the sleepy flowers, The wall of the feminine fiery tropic, Growing beautiful the silken petals, and The fragrance of lilies! Want, The sweet caress of my eager lips, Just for a kiss! The chaped ones, like the crevices in desert lands, Feeding with fresh milk, As suckling baby at mom’s breast, The honey-sweetness of springy herbs!

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Rami KAMBERI (Macedonia) Member of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS He was born in 1960 in the village of Gajre in Tetovo. He attended primary and secondary school in Tetovo. Undergraduate and postgraduate studies were attended in Prishtina, at the Faculty of Philology – Branch of Literature and Albanian Language. He writes poetry and prose, and deals with literary criticism, journalism and historiography. She lives and works in Tetovo. He has published: “Eyes Sharri and Kosovo”, “Is aging the freedom? “, “The tombs have clocks?” “Viewpoint “, “The icon of slogan freedom “

ON THE WINGS OF A DREAM On the wings of a dream – Satan has ruined my painting Angry wolves, stirred by centuries – bite my skin. The moon did not sound – dark even more darkness The stars beyond this sky – lay flowers, like jinn of hell I say: I have a lot of tears – like eyes under the hat of the blue sky. I give the skin along with the stature – but the paintbrush and pen don’t get me neither the sun.

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BETWEEN ELECTIONS AND RESOLUTIONS Between elections and resolution – the words frozen the lips After the grille, the scars were scorched – the eyes are eaten by the ravens and the glances get dark People reappeared by the weight of the word – ‘The rich people ‘ cheered, each other told me you were kidding The wolf with the change of the weather in time- require blood The cradles hanging – the lute says the wire is aging .. The Bigmother shake the headscarf with the last will for the earth – save me a handful of clay for the tomb The painter paints Albania-like a hundred years ago The poet begs the Lord to leave me alive – between pens and sheets Births say the word be brave – you are Albanians – do not live as fools.

SOMEONE …?! somebody scrapes my wounds someone kills me patience of patience someone says left someone says right patience is dead someone turns my back on me somebody damages me someone tells me don’t do nothing and live like a dog someone tells me tomorrow you will not be who you are, but a nothing in the new Europe someone tells me to do the freedom someone tells me to do the Albania.

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POETRY SEPULTURE The burden was buried – with the game of the weather Hundreds of crowns – lined behind the first Screams of water – they did not stop tear points They prepared speeches – together and shared They said amongst the people – it also goes to Kastrioti. Some say this man of the homeland – he never dies Even tears on the cheek – they were talking about bravery The funeral sought to cover it – just with a flag They were caught for hair – a poet like this greatest god. Lined walk – the road to the tombs, like an army With the collars for the throat – to prove they have power They opened the funeral – they looked scary Do not again – the poet’s pen will hit them With testament – We live in bondage and not in freedom To the beloved people – stop you walked in the delirium . The words were heard – God hear us we are lucky – no one else has the power to disturb us.

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Rima Re (Singapore) Rima Re ( a.k.a. Ranimah ) was born in Indonesia but have been living in Singapore since marriage with poet/writer Singaporean husband. Born in 1977, Rima Re attended college & a Certified Nurse for many years before turning to writing mainly poetry. To date, Rima Re has had 3 individual & 6 anthologies published namely; -Lukisan Angan Rima Re -Syair Rindu Rima Re -Syair Rindu II Rima Re -Jejak Temasek Anthology-Singapore -Cakar Nanar Anthology-Malaysia -DSN Anthology-Singapore/Indonesia/Malaysia/Thailand. -Ombak Rindu Sonian Anthology-Indonesia -Pulara 6 Anthology-Malaysia -Pulara 7 Anthology-Malaysia -Literare Connexiun Anthology-Romania -Oir Ese Rio Anthology-Columbia/Argentina -A Constellation Of 100 Poetic Stars Anthology-Singapore DSN International. & Rima is still active in many other anthologies. Rima Re had participated in numerous local, Regional & Internatonal Poetry & Cultural Festivals. 2018, Rima Re is anticipated to attend at least 6 International Festivals from more than 1 dozen already received invitations from namely, Romania, Spain, Poland, Greece, Uruguay, Equador, India etc.

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Be Good Let us lend a hand To all our friends Be kind, Be good women and men Show them that we understand; We must protect We must respect To all our friends With kindness we must act When they are troubled; We help to repair Show them that we care If they are worried; We hear and listen too We help them through Give them a smile, Spend some time with them For a while.. Be kind, be good We give to our friendâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s needs And The Almighty Will reward your deeds Peace and love will live For a friend in need Is a friend indeed

A Poetâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s Mind Poetical brain wave Chimerically avant-garde Visionary .. In succulent symphony

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Pleasing.. In soulful melody Picturesque.. Stimulating mellifluously Tasty rich harmony.. In an exquisitely Artistic calmness.. A poet’s mind Charms…….. The way it should be

In Search Of A Blessing From dusk to dawn Working hard without groan For the people I yearn My perspirations are hard earned No sweat is a hindrance His blessings most important Worship Him not in ignorance Committed in our stance We won’t go astray Will stay on to fight another day For future sake, we will pray Hurdles passed in a blessed way..

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Sunita Paul ( India) Publication Executive “Sahitya Anand” Member of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS A poet, novelist, short story writer, painter, graphic designer and motivational speaker Sunita Paul resides in Kolkata, India. She is widely published and anthologized author from USA. She is blessed with multidimensional personality. Sunita is working as the publishing executive in Vishwabharati Research Centre, Maharashtra, India. She is the Managing Editor of Sahitya Anand, an international recognized Ugc approved literary journal. Sunita had worked with Wildfire International Publishing House, Colorado, USA in the past Sunita is the editor of many anthologies of international repute, to name :INFINITY, (ANNUAL ANTHOLOGY OF VISHWABHARATI RESEARCH CENTRE), HARMONY, (INDO AFRICAN COLLABORATION) , EAST MEETS WEST(COLLABORATION BETWEEN AUTHORS OF THE WESTERN COUNTRIES AND INDIA and FRAGRANCE OF ASIA (AUTHORS OF ASIAN ORIGIN) Sunita has several books published in the USA and INDIA. She has been published in different anthologies and websites, blogs, e zines. Sunita had been a columnist in some magazines where her articles were regularly featured. To buy Sunita’s books, you can click on to Amazon and Lulu. E mail: sahityaanand2013@gmail.com

If you If you Could read my unsaid words,

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Hear my loud silence, See my frozen tears, If you, Could kiss me with your fragrance, Caress all over with your thoughts, Make love with your mind, If you, Could touch the bruises of the heart, Heal the deep scars, Leave your fingerprints forever marked on my soul, I would be tamed and caged , Bonded by your love , Imprisoned in your soul .

Dear Pain Dear Pain, By now i am used to you For it is nothing new Your piercing strokes Makes my voice choke Your vague lies My miserable cries Your ignoring me My silence which you cannot see So my dear Pain, Even though you hurt me again and again I can withstand it all With each of your blow I try not to fall Dried tears, aching heart I try to get up and start I hide my pain and shine n smile Coz I know I have to cross many more miles.

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Journey of life Some curves, some bends Few enemies, precious friends Some twists, some turns Errors done, lessons to learn Some times up, many times down Crossing all with smiles and frowns Some thrills, some sorrows Hopes for a better tomorrow Come what may, keep eyes fixed on the final goal Till then walk on, with love in your heart n purity in your soul.

My Durga Your Durga comes with great pomp and joy My Durga (as a poor child) does not get even a broken toy Your Durga is full of lights My Durga (here a prostitute) in the bed only satisfies at night Your Durga is made of mud and clay My Durga (an aborted girl child) sometimes never see the light of day Your Durga is only awesome and grand My Durga(a poor young lady) finds hard a place in this world to stand. Your Durga comes every year only for a week My Durga(the child in poverty)here the whole year is feeble and weak Your Durga is celebrated and worshipped My Durga(the tortured housewives) is only abused and whipped Your Durga comes with divine grace My Durga(an average woman) here struggles in the life's race Your Durga comes with powers to fight the evils My Durga(a raped female)here is torn to pieces by the devils Your Durga is also a girl and a woman But why My Durga is always treated as a bane???

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Satis Shroff ( Germany) Satis Shroff is a prolific German writer and poet and received the Neruda Award 2017 in Crispiano, Italy. He is a published writer, poet and lecturer based in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction) who also writes on ethno-medical, culture-ethnological themes. He has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Science in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and Manchester. He describes himself as a mediator between western and eastern cultures and sees his future as a writer and poet. Satis Shroff was awarded the German Academic Exchange Prize. He is a lecturer in Basle (Switzerland), at the Akademie fĂźr medizinische Berufe (Uniklinik Freiburg)and the VHS, Freiburg. He was awarded a Culture Prize by Green City Freiburg for his social engagement with the asylum seekers and refugees, and also nominated for the German Social Engagement Prize. He sings German and English songs in a menâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s choir (mgv-Kappel) in Freiburg.

A TRAIN JOURNEY A screaming train, Billowing smoke and sparks, As it reaches Ghoom hill, Descends to Darjeeling Looping its way to lessen its speed. What unfurls is a memorable Bergblick: The majestic panorama of the snown peaks, The Kanchenjunga in all its splendour. The summits like a jewelled crown,

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Bathed in golden, yellow and orange light. A moment of revelation in life, Shared on a particular evening, As the sun goes down slowly, The mountain range is glowing, A Himalayan glow. A feast for the eyes of the beholder, The play of lights Evoked by the dying sun, Upon the massif.

GLOOMY AUTUMN Ach, Gloomy Autumn The intensity of the sun Has disappeared. A mellowness shrouds the land. The leaves have turned yellow, russet, crimson and brown Alas, the once rich foliage Has begun to die under the October twilight, A natural end. But there is hope For life begins anew next spring. The fallen leaves Are an exercise in letting go. To think that those very leaves Were so green and gaudy, In the summer months. Now everything seems to be deceasing. Leaves stiff and drooping, Dead leaves, twigs and branches, Are ablaze in the autumnal bonfire, On hillsides, homesteads and gardens. Out of the memories arise wisdom, Like the Sphinx born anew From the ashes of the old, Year in and year out. Doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t power have the stain of blood?

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Ah, my grape vines are gone, Shared by visiting blackbirds and me. So sweet and such a delight, As the juices trickle down your throat. Some elderly storks have lingered in the Schwarzwald, And are seen on the Dreisamtal meadows. Too weak for the long journey with the flock, To far off Africa. A wise decision for survival, As they listen and stare solemnly. The early morning sun Is a thing of the past. No more English breakfasts With scones and jams, confiture on the terrace. A gloomy sky hangs overhead, The white mist rises languidly From the valleys and spurs of the Schwarzwald. The faint blue peaks Hover above the veil of mist. An ever changing scenario in the Black Forest. After the depressing rains, The earth is wet, crunchy and soggy with leaves. People feel sad and depressed, In the months to come. Walks in the countryside, Gemütlichkeit in the cosy living rooms, Time to do creative things, Feel blessed and bless others. ‘Thulo hunu’ the Nepalese words For ‘May you grow big.’ Beautiful wild birds that haven’t been caught, Still hover happily in the sky. With a joy that is universal. The song lives still, Though the poet passes away.

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Stacia Lynn Reynolds ( USA) Stacia Lynn Reynolds’s Biography: Stacia Lynn Reynolds is a Poet, Freelance Writer, Editor, Executive Editor of Our Poetry Archive, and the author of Escape Down the Roman Road. Her life’s goal is to encourage others with her words and actions. Her heart’s desire is peace, harmony, and appreciation of all people, all over the world. You can find Stacia’s book, Escape Down the Roman Road, through her publishing company WestBow Press at: http://bookstore.westbowpress.com/Products/SKU-001010576/Escape-Down-theRoman-Road.aspx Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Escape-Down-Roman-RoadJesus/dp/1512713740/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1449981561&sr=11&keywords=escape+down+the+roman+road Barnes and Noble: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/escape-down-the-romanroad-stacia-lynn-reynolds/1122710823?ean=9781512713749 Books-A-Million: http://www.booksamillion.com/search?id=6499818708862&query=Escape+Down+t he+Roman+Road&where=All

Winds of Change: Sonnet I Winds of change renew the hues of seasons, States of disposition framing the mind. Why art thou bliss when ignoring hues tones? Beauty of state why art thou so blind? Do not the winds restore thou winsomeness? Why thou come not what is appreciative? Does not nature perceive its peacefulness? Does thy mind distort when deflective? Emerging in oneself is forgetting.

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Night or day or spring or fall art visions. Change of wind hues a glow art enthralling. Hues’ inspirations give soul perceptions. Winds of change, due seasons of thy mind’s eye, Art, thou journey to begin, and then fly. Life’s an Enigma: Sonnet II Life’s an enigma, mythological It twists the mind of the songsmith’s lyric The perplexity of a parable. The sphinx proposes her riddles’ havoc. Will the enticement of lure bring its death? A place surrounded by shadow’s color. Small glimpse, vision appears- exhales her breath Why embrace mendacity of dolor? Life’s anthem will rise upon thy depths seen. Passions of sorrow shall not encamp thee, Making clear the melody of the queen Shedding light upon the allegory. A promising hope of lucidity, Bringing to life perfect serenity.

Enchanted Plains: Sonnet To define the land of enchanted plains Where mountain peaks rise into heaven, And seas, rivers, streams drink the rains; Beasts roam the land’s altering leaven. Men armed and battle ready; do patrol The sacred stairs to the king’s grand castle, Set upon the highest hill to control Savages n’ thieves; the kingdom’s hassle. A critical force, is its protection. Perception of one’s eye, is enraptured Of the grand view and water’s reflection Of one’s inner soul’s intention captured. For reasons, obvious, the beasts and king Vigilance due treachery; armies bring Sacred stability for all to cling.

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SUSANA ROBERTS (Argentine) Argentine Contemporary Poet, Writer and Translator, dedicated to the Culture of Peace. Place of living: Patagonia Argentina. Dr. Litt Honoris Causa(World Academy of Arts and Culture .Ca .EEUU). Her activity declared of Cultural Interest by the Government of the province of Chubut-Patagonia Argentina- Awarded at the Women’s Day 03/08/2013, by her dedication to Literature and trajectory and By Deputy of Trelew-Chubut International Day of women 03708/2016. Vice Dir. IFLAC, Ong, (International Forum of Literature and Culture for Peace) in Argentina and Latin America. Ambassador of Peace, by Mil millennia and Pea organizations-(Unesco-Unicef) in the Senate of Argentine Nation. Member of Global Harmony Association, Member Ethical Ecological World Assembly, Member Presidium World Forum Spiritual CultureKazakhstan, Ambassador in Argentina “The Love Foundation” org, Universal Peace Ambassador-Circle Ambassadors Geneve-Suisse. Distinguished Guest in many Latin American countries, also in Spain, Mexico, and Peru. Honored to the trajectory by ASOLAPO, Member of the International Society of European and Latin American writers (SELAE). International publications in literary journals, magazines, web pages and Participation in several Nationals, Internationals and World Anthologies and Congresses. Many National Awards SADE (Argentinian Society of Writers), 1st International Prize -WAAC WCP-Peru 2014. 1st prize in translation by Poetry Institute of Translation Research Centre-China. Many Publications and bilingual books, Books: “Face/faces”-“El Vuelo del Ave/The flight bird” “Arte y Virtud en la evolución Humana/Art and Virtue in human evolution.

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TO GIVE A HAND Always, to give a hand means Be recognize as spiritual beings Understand the permanence And the transcendence Never mind where do you live or you name Or who you are, or who I am Souls understand another language Let me to ask you a question Do you know why you are here? In our common home, so destroyed? Do you know your mission? Let me to say we are equals Don’t let outer issues push you to the wrong place To Give a hand means to help you to think The way we can, together to help this planet to survive. To Give a hand means day by day be united.

VISION I have had a vision Sorry to say it is not a good one burned earth, screaming beneath the earth, “the seed” begging for food, children on the street and my childhood fantasy images crying Again the smoke, colors disappear even the Hope, rich memories, laughter Not only is terrorism, the weapons of hell Are an Industry People without dialogue times of risk, urgency of this century they cannot understand each other, nor the neighbor and the flag of Peace is suffering since each of the miles of threads, which is made of Somebody hear its song of Love, some people are trying to move on with an universal energy

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in a harmonic vibration the clamorous shot of love that should be heard, I have had a vision Sorry to sayâ&#x20AC;Ś people against people Behind the clouds the Symbols Of a noble cry of beauty and truth We are on the way to help humanity not more horror, not war, no more hatred Being in harmonious way of thinking I had a vision Many people building a harmonious era Someone helps someone do not Prayers in harmonic colors They are doing this global change.

Raising dawn Drop by drop Light, more light Inmerse in the horizon hidden trembling eyes the race is a spy of the injustice dawn is raising among violence,hunger ,starvation the voice of the light is weak and my hand is pending down the hill the green is drying in the crossroad with souls claiming the forgotten heaven love I see the hole in the palm Since there, a united brotherhood prayer is giving peace and a new shape to the Hope.

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Scott Thomas Outlar (USA) Scott Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, reviews, live events, and books can be found. His work has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. Scott was a recipient of the 2017 Setu Magazine Award for Excellence in the field of literature. His words has been translated into Albanian, Afrikaans, Persian, Serbian, French, and Italian. His books include: Songs of a Dissident (Transcendent Zero Press, 2015); Chaos Songs (Weasel Press, 2016); Happy Hour Hallelujah (CTU Publishing, 2016); and Poison in Paradise (Alien Buddha Press, 2017).

Across the Pond London lights flash neon blue emblazoned with the phoenix in Piccadilly Circus where energy is manic and creativity burns straight through the heart of a city without fogâ&#x20AC;Ś if only for one night Every language becomes crystal clear in a melting pot where mussels are served with fish and chips

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and wine and wine and wine that flows along the River Thames with accents from regions both near and far… if only for one night Voices from the crowd surface upon the stage of The Poetry Café where society converges around the comforting caress of art that slips carefully off the tips of tongues teasing the promise of renaissance in a culture renewed… if only for one night

Song of Selah This is where the cut goes This is where the stain forms This is how my heart dies This is how the blood flows We’ve all made our mistakes We’ve used up every miracle We’ve all prayed for grace Now the final blessing has run dry All I ever wanted in this world of war

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was a little bit of love We’re all seeking something perfect We’re all shaken from these problems We all need a destination We’re all running toward the fire It’s true I’ve died a time or two So what’s a third added to the script of life This is all a karmic cycle Now I’m spinning through the lessons There is a light beyond salvation Now I forgive my shadow side I will cast off from all this darkness I will embrace this day alone In this world so full of wickedness and war all I ever longed for was a lot of love This is where the bandage goes This is where repairs begin This is how the story changes This is my song of selah Amen.

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Dr. Santosh Bakaya ( India) Dr. Santosh Bakaya is winner of the Reuel Award for writing and literature 2014, for her long poem Oh Hark, the Universal inspirational Poet Award , 2016, [conferred jointly by the Ghana government and Pentasi B Friendship poetry .], Bharat Nirman Award for literary excellence[ 2017 ] , The Poet Laureate Award [ 2017 ] instituted by Poetry Society of India , for Ballad of Bapu, Where are the lilacs? and Flights from my terrace , Dr Santosh Bakaya , an academician- poet - novelist - essayist has been widely published , and critically acclaimed for Ballad of Bapu [ a poetic biography of Mahatma Gandhi ], Where are the lilacs? Under the apple boughs and flights from my terrace .

THE FURY OF A SCORCHING SUN At the crack of every dawn, she sits in her rocking chair, near the gate of her sprawling lawn reminiscing about her sylvan world; Lost and gone. Across her rambling house, a brook babbles on. Yes, a house built up of memories, [yeah, lots of them] Eyes riveted on the waves which shimmer and glimmer in the rays of the rising sun. She misses her son, now rising in a foreign land; covered in gold. Many, many years ago, he splashed merrily in the brook. Her son, ah, her son! The fun she had had with her son under the beaming sun.

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Why does she feel undone? Will he, won’t he? She questions the bumble bee. She hears faltering steps behind her. Ah, it is her arthritic husband waddling from inside the house, hiding his grouse close; Very close to his pacemaker. [Yes, his son had paid for it, ah, love by default!] “Ah there, you are”, she says, beaming. “Come inside, and yes stop dreaming”. Says he, pulling her up from the rocking chair. Hand in gnarled hand, hobbles the sad, old pair. The easterly sun is hot, it is burning scorching her insides with yearning. They walk on towards the cobbled path leading to their house, ears pricked to the sounds of juvenile mirth and chuckles, the pouts, tantrums and friendly brawls still trapped inside the four walls. And life hobbles on, leaning on crutches. They have survived another day in a loveless world gluttonously gorging on memories, and more Ears pricked to that elusive knock on the door.

CHOREOGRAPHIC SYNCHRONICITY She was grimy and disheveled, with poverty bedeviled. I watched her with keen eyes, as she looked around, with mute sighs; then her eyes brightened. Ah, it was a peacock quietly dancing, in a copse. Lo and behold! She threw back her unwashed hair in untrammeled ecstasy, matching step with step, with the vigour of an energetic jive, the frail figure was fully alive. Tiny steps tapping …tapping away. This way and that, merrily swaying away. Morphing into the first ray of the morning sun the thrill of a songster trilling away, warming cold hearts on a chilly day.

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Her body spun, a picture of stunning elegance, an awe- inspiring performance. Diving and floating in sheer exultation A throb of jubilation; a heartbeat of elation. A peacock and a sprite dancing in a copse unseen such chorographic synchronicity never had I seen. From her face soon fell the grime now she was an exquisite rhyme.

HANG ON THERE; TO MY VALENTINE If you have finished with that last puff of gold flake Let me tell you that I love you If you have done hanging on to each word of Devdas’ Dilip Kumar , let me tell you that I love you . Oh hang on there, just let me wash your stinking socks Then, honestly, we will resume our love talks. Let me finish admiring these crazy doodles as you splurge away on oodles of noodles. Hey stop, there are some strands of noodles still hanging from your lips. By the way, what should I call them, pray? Strands or skeins, hey! When you have finished deleting the WhatsApp messages I promise, I will speak the truth in the post- truth world. Snuggle up to you; a perfect example of tender togetherness. But oh no! The maid is absconding, and the kitchen is a mess. Let me hurry, and clear it up first, and put Baldacci’s Hell’s Corner back in the shelf, before I burst. Yes, now I am back, open your eyes a crack, remove those earphones Rein in those groans – oh no! Don’t tell me, you are snoring when from every pore of my being, love is pouring! But, honestly speaking, that smile on your face is cute Despite your snores, you still are a darling absolute.

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Sinan Vaka ( Albania) Member of Board of International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Sinan Vaka was born in PĂŤrmet in 1956. He is a poet, writer and translator of Italian language. From 1993 to 2008 he lived in the province of Cremona, Italy, where he was also the winner of the First Prize "A Lodi vecchio". The poet and translator Sinan Vaka wanders through the labyrinths of a bright literary age, has wandered and revived through their lighthearted, melted and indexed with the art and the magic brought about and with full consciousness and the weight of intellectual conscience gave the phonetics of his letters to the widest discernment and the reverberation of his poetry. He is the author of literary works: 1. Nostalgia of the Southeast. 2. Abandoned Road 3. Anthology of Italian Poetry (translation)

My condemnation Hidden eyes looking out of the temptation, Across my thoughts my condemnation is lifted up. Drink the poisonous cup of your graces, Therefore as the wicked I swear for the lips in blossom, My eyes filled with tears, Make me feel hopeless.

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The devils appear in the depths of anxiety, As a sad song, as a melodious germ... The tempting eyelashes move the anguish From my frozen blood, But my tired soul is on the run. The truth is alive even when the faith is lost, There is no reason why today looks like tomorrow's research And staring at the crowd of clouds in the sky where the spirits lie... The hope makes me feel alive, Because they do not rush their own gods without touching them, And so evil repents for the guilt I wait.

Memory I do not want a moment to appear to me, Your vision that never warms me, The fate decided, or is the casualty, My soul trembling even now that I am a man. Everything has been spotted, time is gray dust, For years on every thread has thrown you, And perhaps what was tempting in the youth, You've hidden it with your own tricks. But the distances I rip into memory, And still remain unanswered What happened to us, or was it timidity, That you remained silent as well.

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Spring Lyrics Spring naturally in silence The green carpet will throw, Her superfluous smile, Will shine like the sun for everyone? And I do not know why the color of Zephyr That blue color gives to your eyes, It gives to me the vibrations of a drunk, Or does it have the same meaning for both of us? Shivering embraces you after silence, I feel it in your turbulence, It is a time to pardon her, I know my soul fools you!

Gray Antique fever of pains, Brings me to the shadow of icy demons. The wind of nostalgia in me does not blow, From the cold night of your escape. My voice in silence cries. My mind is the house of doubts And we look like the devils of an infantile play, Condemned to cross over the bridges of despair. The late mercy is a lie. In my futility the ideas are fading. One day I will rethink peace Despite the emigrant gray of my mind.

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Sunil Sharma ( India) English section editor of SETU Sunil Sharma is Mumbai-based senior academic, critic, literary editor and author with 19 published books: Six collections of poetry; two of short fiction; one novel; a critical study of the novel, and, eight joint anthologies on prose, poetry and criticism, and, one joint poetry collection. He is a recipient of the UK-based Destiny Poetsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; inaugural Poet of the Year awardâ&#x20AC;&#x201D;2012. His poems were published in the prestigious UN project: Happiness: The Delight-Tree: An Anthology of Contemporary International Poetry, in the year 2015. Sunil edits the English section of the monthly bilingual journal Setu published from Pittsburgh, USA: http://www.setumag.com/p/setu-home.html For more details, please visit the blog: http://www.drsunilsharma.blogspot.in/

Ways of looking The clouds chasing each other in the pre-monsoon Mumbai-sky; damsels, dark hues applied on the fair cheeks gamboling lightly in that high vault!

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Outlines Shadows are not moving geometric lines cast on the walls or moon-lit yards by the objects and matter always within and without accompanying them or not but soft dark outlines carrying creature souls inside those mystic circles that are seen dancing on lonely nights.

Eucalyptus trees---summer afternoon Two eucalyptus trees tall and elegant leaning-whispering-bending in that meadow kissed by a playful summer breeze like a pair of lost friends united unexpectedly and talking intimately in an Asian bazaar.

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Siomara España Muñoz ( Ecuador) Born in Ecuador (1976) Poet and teacher of literature, aesthetics, and literary criticism at the university of Arts; Master in literary and artistic studies of culture. Ph.D. student, Universidad Autónoma of Madrid. She won the first place at Floral Game from: Casa de la Cultura Ambato, Ecuador 2012; First place of poesy at “University of Guayaquil” 2008; Finalist in the competition for stories, “Jorge Luis Borges”, Argentina 2008 He has published “Concupiscencia”; “Alivio demente”; “De cara al fuego ”; “Contraluz”; “El regreso de lolita”; “Jardines en el aire”; “Construcción de los sombreros encarnados, música para una muerte inversa”; “Celebración de la memoria”. HER WORK HAS BEEN OBJECT OF IMPORTANT STUDIES AND TRANSLATIONS AS: Poetry Wales - New Poetry From Latin America, Four Latin American poets / (Wendy Guerra, Andrés Neuman, Siomara España y Jorge Fondebrider ) Study and translations of the poet Richard Gwyn.  Great River Review, Number 57. Minnesota EE.UU.  The Evansville Review Volume XXII, University of Evansville, Indiana EE.UU. She has been included in multiplies anthologies from Ecuador, Bolivia, Perú, Mexico, Chile, Argentina, Cuba, Spain, USA, Colombia, France. A piece of her work has been translated to english, arabic, portuguese, japanese and French.

THE RETURN OF LOLITA (del libro, The Return of Lolita 2015) I am Lolita. So the wolves from the steppe tear my braids with their teeth and toss me chewy cyanide sweets.

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I intuited my name that day down at the harbour with the people from the shipwreck. Do you remember? And that battle Vladimir evergreen. I know I’m Lolita I knew it when he offered up his hands lacerated with writing me. That is why when you appeared pleading telling me your fears I let you touch me bite my arms and knees I let you mutilate Charlotte’s fears between my legs. I knew that your old sword would cut my veins one by one and my pupils and a hundred times over I mocked your ageing child’s stupidity crying on my belly and when all the shipwrecked of the world came back to my harbour to offer me gifts that I paid for with colostrum and flesh you leapt across my shadow as I fled as I danced. That’s why I’m Lolita nymphet of motels and anagrams who returns, bag on my shoulder to repossess the past from across the years.

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HE AND I (From “De cara al fuego” ) We were so perfectly inalterable so inevitably honest with one another so humanly inseparable that it was as if we were molded from the same clay. We were so luminously strict that we loved the same gestures the same idols the absolute perfection of the engraved stonc. We were so paradoxically exact that our tongues wore out just before dawn speaking of the same gods and speeches of Copernicus, Fidel, metaphysics and we loved each other without hints without saints or candlesticks. We were so copiously youthful that we enjoyed the same foolishness and at the time of our meeting we knew the exact nook ofthe caresses and the G spot of that which rises before the enjoyment of human ecstasy. We knew of everything against everyone and we argued back against back like differing demons searching for the necessary position for winning battles always together always one always allied elbow to elbow under the roof of a home and its swamps. We were so close and perfect that we looked past a detail … to love each other through the same differencese.

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Sandra Patricia Sajché Sarmiento (Guatemala) Poet, Narrator and screenwriter. I was ghostwriter to Tahilandia, Peru, Mexico, Brazil, Colombia, Venezuela by 6 year´s ACHIEVEMENTS: “Consul honorary in the Parliament International of writers of Cartagena Indian Colombia in representation in the Republic of Guatemala” From 2015 “Members and Chief Representative of WNWU in GUATEMALA one of countries of the World, with presence of WORLD NATION'S WRITER'S UNION” From 2017 “President of the project Pluma de Oro en Mentores Guatemaltecos” From 2016 “Director to The World Festival of Poetry International” 2016-2017” “Activist” Always “Nominated as an Illustrious Guatemalan in Guatemala 2017”. “Nomitated by World Federation For Ladies Grand Masters 2018 Great Women's International Prize 2018 Leaders and Social Leaders in Argentina”.

LULL THE RIFLES I believe in my talents. Calcined in the inert words of your mouth. Free flight, even if i have a chain attached to my feet. I believe in loneliness as a buzzing of my thoughts. Originally i was born to be, today i am what i originally must. From glory to failure and from failure to instinct. Qualifying my dawns of joys caused by my. I am happy, i am happy, i am happy. Even with a lot of storm rumblings. The one that threatens my calm nights.

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But it booms in my senses, the alert. I wait for her, touching my hand, ruffling my skin. I've learned to sleep, while hatreds throw poison. Child, i will be happy, i am happy, without you, only with me. In a war without meaning, transcends a joy. To see you arrive, dear day, dear ant. Take me in your arms tranquility. Please, silence the bombs, lull the rifles. Those bullets cross souls, not only bodies. Those bullets undo families, not just the skin. Who gave the last breath, arrived early to heaven. Shining in the conticium, where hopes flourish. Without storms there is no tranquility. Without death, i do not value life. If only they would give me a chance. Of being a fruitful seed, but not. They pull me out without giving, a single sign of evil. Today i dance in the dark. With a favorite song. That one that my mother sang. While she was alive. My memory is strong, maybe more than me. Keeps aromas from my mother's breast. Of the wise words of my father. Todayi dance in the dark. There, where i still find a light. The light of eternity.

POET FOR THE NATIONS I have left my feet naked in the heat of the earth under the sun. That warmth that enters my gut and revives my energy. Making me feel alive and fruitful. An elemental heat even for my zodiac sign. When I come out clearly, I do not believe in him. I am a woman, I am cold, warm and even warm. Depending on the moment, of anger, laughter or love. So bitter apathy and honey distill empathy. Venom of vipers the hatred of others. He who spits the blackness that springs from your soul. Giving way to war, a dagger and a foolish laugh.

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And it is only until you nail the knife to the innocent. You will understand the pain that you feel, because reflex is to your skin. Brother of lands, of times, you are like him. Rescue and save the brothers who escape so as not to die. So many cry today, for your interests, for your wishes and in your eyes worms. They do not see the pain, they do not see the agony, they fly my country and overcome this veil. Bitter gulp that you have been made to drink. Pardos, bald of soul, cold beings until dawn. I will rejuvenate patience, hope will be mine. I will see you fall, beings without harmony, the day of your departure. May the nations not stop praying. May the old ones give life to the memories. With a natural and blessed light. My Country will shine on the bold gunpowder. It will shine my soul in life, in death and for the eternal

MY MOON Caress my bare back. With your tempting glitter. Of whispers full of loves. In april or may, it could be december. You are always present. I would like to walk through your silver streets. Where lovers hide their secrets. And they leave colorful flowers, in the breeze and the wind. The times have dyed my hair silver. I feel so yours and you are my moon. I've had suns in my belly, but honey, you're always here. You are silent witness of my tears that taste like gall. Like a bird that escapes from its prison and still does not know how to fly. I feel, when the clouds cover your light. Know what freedom is, and be able to see you every night. Maybe the fearful fears look me in the eyes. But next to you, i feel without fogs or locks. On the corrugated coasts of your seas. There my feet feel at home. Between my hair i carry your caress, in a bright blue that lulls. After every evening, with longing i await your arrival. You are mine, crown of old age, of time and soul.

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Safet Hyseni ( Macedonia) Safet Hyseni-writer - Born: 17/03/1958 Zajaz-Kërçovë Macedonia Literary work: 1996 - "Modern History"- poetry-Skopje 1998 - "The road with one address " -Poetry Kërçovë 2007 - "Education and Albanian schools in Kërçovë " - Kërçovë monograph 2007 - "The mass graves in the Kërçovë and vicinity "- Kërçovë monograph 2009 - "Fate encrypted "- Kërçovë journalism 2010 - "Public kiss "- Tetovo, novel Year 2011 "Dreamers of the Fatherland"- Tetovo, monographs on political prisoners in Macedonia 2011 - "Values of Kërçovë region " -Tetovo, monographs 2011 - "Bride without ring" -Kërçovë novel 2012 - "Hunter beaches" -Tetovo, novel 2013 - "The Curse" Skopje- Novel Year 2015- "Monstrum" -Tirana novel under the pseudonym Steven Harri When I’m not anymore In the summer Don't look for me inside the trees Follow the river I'm hiding in those waved that never sleeps When I reach the ocean I will be wiled wave Tried to cover your body and turn myself into one kiss only

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In the fall Don't look for me through yellow leaves Take a pomegranate and kiss it with your lips I will be there inside that yellow, Dying for you thirst In the winter When every thing stops I am the flame of the fire looking for you To warm your heart and soul When I'm not anymore Don't look for me inside spoken words or through your nest or any other I even made home I am your breath that you breathe Will never be gone will never be gone I died myself inside of you

Be me tonight Be me tonight So you can feel the bitterness of tonight's darkness Be me tonight Maybe you will be able to forgive me and turn the pain into the memory Be me tonight Lose yourself into the red wine knock on my door you will find me inside the power of the red Be me tonight Maybe one more time we can enter the kiss of the past

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I don't â&#x20AC;Ś I don't want to melt by longing you with my eyesight faraway to I don't want To be a fragment of a love Quenching fire with tears, I don't Want The embrace silently dreaming I don' want happines Just in a dream, living!

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Lucia Torricela: Painting of Luigi Stanco ( Italy) Lucia Torricella is an italian poetess and painter. She is the President of an Onlus Association called Arte emozioni and organizes cultural events and art exhibitions. She has published a fiction book called â&#x20AC;&#x153;A Mirage of eternal loveâ&#x20AC;? and some poetry collections, she loves nature and the countryside of Valle d'Itria.

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Shefqete Goslaci ( Kosova) Member of Board of the International Poetical Galaxy ATUNIS Shefqete Gosalci was born in October 3.1970 in Prishtina. Sheattendet the elementary and high school in Prishtina, wherw she also attended her studies at University of Kosova, wherw she was obligated to interrupt them after four years after closing of the University at that time (1990, 1994), by the serbian occupation regime. Shefqete has been writing since her childhood, in addition she sings beautifully, mainly rhapsodies, she has participated in addition she sings beautifully,mainly rhaspodies,she has participated in a few festuvals, in the Folk Festival ”MUJE KRASNIQI” in Kline in the year 2006 as well as many musical and literary activities in Kosovo and aboad.She published her first writimgs in the magazines ;”Çlirimi”, ”Pionieri”,”Zëri i Rinise”, ”Shkëndija”,”Mollëkuqja” as well as the newspapers ”Epoka e re ” and ”Zëri”,. She has published the summaries with poems; ”Blood answers to the blood”2002, ” I will be a bridge for you in the sky”2006. Shefqete is a member of the Kosovo Writers Association, a member of the ”Carvan of Writers for Children AGIM DEVA”. The book ”BOILING OF DEPTHS” in english, Italian is her fourth book.

Nest on the wave I drank a breakfast s gulp and today, But the day that does not want to come to me, A day before yesterday they shot it to me, ky rresht ishte gabim…. A day before Yesterday they shot it with sharpshooter, Just in vain, some idiots…

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The, who turn the sky into a battle’s horse… I spoke to a swan to come close to me, But she flew in the sky without address, Because they forced her out of paradise yesterday And they poured melted gunpowder to her mouth… And now I understand that I have entered into a world That will never be mine, When the absurd is fed with tears And the happy moments cajole in the abyss Wonder what should my love do with you I have raised my nest on the waves, This time murders all my loves Even though it cost me a mountain of sacrifices I will never raise my hands for life.

Meditation of the dream I spin memories In the looms of the night… The pathways…a fairy tale And a battle with swords. Dreams come and leave When did you remain… Far and close we are On a white horse Beyond the dream.

Open gates Every time the darkness freezes in the corner Surrounded by voices, I call your image loudly, And I sleep with you, my dear Near you I feel so much perfect, Like a moon in the shining sky,

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I forget every single grief in this world I break through every prison and every enclosure Unforgotten is the day, Wrapped up in your embrace, In my eyes you brought the stars, Leaving me for life in the dream I feel cold in the night, As I absorb this night, As I absorb this meaningless air, I had better died under your breath Than without you my dear.

Boiling of depths The spring used to come lifeless I remained without the years In search of something absent In my tender rosy lips A desperate flash in my rainbow An inexhaustible waterfall of love Running from verdure to verdure The emigration with a toast drank your youth That remained in the streets of Europe I went grey before the yellowed photo Of my dream for YOU You walked with your steps to the world for a whole century Only the moment without you a century had become I lived with the fear of the knife in my back Forgetfulness smiled to me loudly When the memory uncovered the ember The dreams guarded the portrait And heart the key Downwards Of the boiling depths.

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Tersinka Pereira ( USA) President of IWA Teresinka Pereira was born in Brazil.She is the Founder and President of the International Writers and Artists Association (IWA) which has more than 1511 members in five continents of the World. She is also Ambassador and Senator of the International States Parliament for Safety and Peace, and Minister of Human Rights for the World Organization of Indigenous Peoples. Pereira received the title of “Dame of Grace” from the Sovereing Order of St. John of Jerusalem from the Knights of Malta, the title of “Dame of Magistral Grace” from the Prince Dom Waldemar Baroni Santos (of Brazil) for her literary merits, and the title of “Gran Dama della Crisalide”, from Count Giuseppe B. Raddino, Italy. Among other literary titles she has received are: National Prize for Theatre in Brazil, Poet of the Year by the Canadian Society of Poets, Personality of the Year from the Brazilian Writers Union, Gold Laurel Wreath from the United Poets Laureate International, Su-Se-Ru International Literary Prize (Korea), Prize City of Athens, Medal Sergio Vieira de Melo from the ISPSP. Pereira is the Director of International Affairs of the Society of Latin Culture and Member Correspondent of the Royal Spanish Academy. Pereira received the Philosophy Doctor Degree from the University of New Mexico (USA), Doctor Honoris Causa from the University Simon Bolivar (Colombia), Doctor Honoris Causa from Internationale Akademie St. Lukas (Antwerpen), Doctor Honoris Causa from International Academy of Culture and Political Sciences (Moldova), Doctor in Political Sciences from the American International University of Paramaribo, Surimani. Pereira lives in Ohio, USA

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IN SOLITUDE Instead of lamenting let’s liberate ourselves celebrating the triumph of poetry, of the essential word with eternal life. It is possible the dialogue inside the human being, with answers in confirmation that we are alive.

EXOPOLITICS We have seen that Obama is capable of it all, even to be the most important president of the world (…?…) However it is difficult to believe he would be able to invade Mars, one of the friendly planets towards Earth. What would be he looking for? A god with big eyes as a macho without pants? By the photo I saw, the Martian seemed to give him all of the attention he could ever receive from the Earthlings!

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YEAR OF THE MONKEY In the Chinese horoscope 2016 is the year of the monkey, the element of influence is fire and the color is red. We will be influenced by the auspice in activities and adventures, we will have impetus ambitions and aggressiveness. Poetry will be at the pinnacle of our inspiration and, if we dedicate ourselves to verse, we will produce with excellence, deserving and getting recognition. My friend poets: the opportunity is on time: it is good to make use of it! INTERNATIONAL WOMANâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;S DAY I am a woman and I deserve a special day to celebrate my life, for my readiness to care for nature, animals and human beings, for my ability to forgive the mistakes and to be firm in the disillusionmentâ&#x20AC;Ś Even if it is not always possible to fundamentalize hope, it is useful to proclaim it in thoughts and deeds, because that is the greatness of woman.

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Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai ( Taiwan) Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai(蔡澤民博士) was born in Taiwan, Republic of China, in 1957. He holds a Ph.D. in Chemical Engineering and two Masters of Science in Applied Mathematics and Chemical Engineering. He is a scholar with a wide range of expertise, while maintaining a common and positive interest in science, engineering and literaturemember. In addition to being a university professor and freelance writer. Dr. Tsai is not just an accomplished poet, he is an essayist, novelist, columnist, editor, translator, academic, engineer, mathematician, and so many other things. His literary creation specializes and expertise in the description of nature, the anatomy of emotion and humanity, life writing, graphic writing, cross-domain writing and so on. He has carried out a number of educational research with the development of teaching materials in his country. He has won many national literary awards. In addition to his own country, his literary works have been anthologized and published in books, journals, and newspapers in more than 40 countries and have been translated into more than a dozen languages. Dr. Tzemin Ition Tsai is an associate professor at the Asia University(Taiwan), editor of “Reading, Writing and Teaching” academic text. He also writes the long-term columns for Chinese Language Monthly in Taiwan. Many famous poets of the world through his Chinese translations and introductions were able to be recognized by the people of Taiwan.

The smoke of our old home rises curly I squatted down in front of my grandfather. My grandfather was using that burning red hot iron To brand marks on the herds. Every wrinkle on his face, and the white hair atop his head Clearly visible. I asked him Why is that place where smoke spirals at the foot of the mountain

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No longer our home? It was converted into an enemy barrack. He shook his head A gleam of wry smile flickered across his lips. He pointed to the grass way down the hill surrounded by the lakeshore below the valley Like a carpet dotted with colored flowers. It did not miss any terrain It did not stop in front of the lion's heels. The view had been extended to the door of our home-The home we will never go back to again. Although the mountain lives without us Those hidden rough stones on the road And the cold spring water Forge my strong physical strength and I will drink the cold spring Even though my throat has long forgotten the sweet taste of jujube. I canâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t return to our old home And ignite a thriving kitchen fire, I ride on horseback, Lead the bow toward the sky Attempt to shoot down The brightest star in the sky.

My Spiral Shell Sinking into The Sea My beloved spiral shell slipped from my hand Just when I cleaned up my spiral-like thoughts It did not sink straight the seabed It provokes a spiral of water It tries to blow out a last sound Before the sea water engulfed it in a spiraling pose I leaped into the water Made every effort to rescue my beloved spiral shell It was rotating in a rapid manner Went deeper into the sea I did not let my body spin with the waves Held my breath but followed it closely

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Until my hand touched my beloved spiral shell again Cold and rotating pressure Almost knocked me back It murmured to me with melancholy You should go back And ignore me Try to keep your mind from spinning anymore You will understand The sea is my home

Incarnation of The Rainbow In the past I curled body in the corner of the sky Covered colorful colors and hide half of the body Only revealed the most beautiful side to please you Oh! My white cloud When you looked up at me How much praises in that exclamation My heart danced for joy Certified I will never be left out of your passion Prayed silently that the sun light can be slightly weakened Today Looking at your figure gradually drifting away With The rainâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s melancholy and the windâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ruthlessness Feeling of helplessness like a dumb autumn cicada Oh! My white cloud How much I wanted to call you back at that time Only begged the wind which wanted to take you away Let me incarnate those colorful balloons Let me follow you Wherever and forever

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Tatjana Debeljački ( Serbia) Tatjana Debeljački, born on 23.04.1967 in Užice. Writes poetry, short stories, stories and haiku. Member of Association of Writers of Serbia -UKS since 2004 and Haiku Society of Serbia – HDS Serbia, HUSCG – Montenegro and HDPR, Croatia. A member of Writers’ Association Poeta, Belgrade since 2008, member of Croatian Writers’ Association- HKD Croatia since 2009 and a member of Poetry Society ‘Antun Ivanošić’ Osijek since 2011, and a member of “World Haiku Association“ – 2011, Japan. Union of Yugoslav Writers in Homeland and Immigration – Belgrade, Literary Club Yesenin – Belgrade. Member of Writers’ Club “Miroslav – Mika Antić” – Inđija 2013, Writers’ Association “Branko Miljković“ – Niš 2014, and a member of Japan Universal Poets Association (JUNPA). 2013. “Poetic Bridge: AMA-HASHI (天橋） Up to now, she has published four collections of poetry: “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS “, published by ART – Užice in 1996; collection of poems “YOURS“, published by Narodna knjiga Belgrade in 2003; collection of haiku poetry “VOLCANO”, published by Lotos from Valjevo in 2004. A CD book “A HOUSE MADE OF GLASS” published by ART in 2005, bilingual SR-EN with music, AHEH-IH-OH-UH, published by Poeta, Belgrade in 2008.”HIŠA IZ STEKLA” was translated into Slovenian and published by Banatski kulturni centar – Malo Miloševo, in 2013 and also into English, “A House Made of Glass” published by »Hammer & Anvil Books» – American, in2013. Her poetry and haiku have been translated into several languages. The main editor of DIOGEN and POETA

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FOR THOSE, THESE AND FUTURE TIMES Keep this heavy prayer as a secret I ask you to go because I love you Prayers for mercy and salvation I sink into their silence. Passion freezes in us With its honest scream, With a vowel and a consonant, And we would, and weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;d not, Or we would, and would, butâ&#x20AC;Ś Love shoots in its core, Mollified and coddled, Yet I speak about my heart. Meet me. There is the one who will remember And in the silence dare Add, deduct and love again. Meet me, you the first and the last one. What do free acts and thoughts restrict? An image grown from the words hides the rainbow God is the witness of the fragile flow, Slave driver. Jealousy does not sharpen you You are defeated by safety And deceived by the mirror reflecting you as one With a prelude, a quibble Years, years and swallows . Love named by my name, his surname, Thank to your heart and faith. Nothing remains but The mighty anticipation.

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PERFORMANCE “Why are you smiling, my love?” – he asks for a kiss. “Did you thank?” Yes, I did, from the bottom of my heart” “Did you see anything, save for the secret soul? And what do you see now?” “I see us among stars” – and he smiles. And I was illuminated by a beam of sweet love. Burnt by the fire of sweet kisses. In the spring’s dream, lasting loyally.

Close to Me Togetherness disappears. We are lost while leaving ourselves. It's too late for finding symbols. The expression is a form of research at the entrance of voice ventricles. We sacrifice slow reasons to the quick words. Parting is a chronicler with no chronicles. Interpretations are hinted in the meanings of values. Let’s not torture the lions with the inner space of the sky. We have lost the gemstone. The search is wasted effort. We nurture the faith of case circumstances. Cheek shows the traces of palms. For too long we dream the threats of responsibility. Ironic solution of doubting we have left for the end. We demise traces for the orphans. God was praised, unfortunately. From the scriptures we take out when needed. We did not realize that all is prone to cease. And a deep gap between the kisses, We did not admit.

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Dr. Tarana Turan Rahimli (Azerbaijan) Dr. Tarana Turan Rahimli was born into an educated family on February 20, in 1970, in Baku, the capital city of Azerbaijan. During 1977 and 1987 she studied at the secondary school number 48 in Baku and at the secondary school number 1 in the city of Barda. In 1990 she entered the faculty of philology of Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University and graduated from University in 1995. In 2004 she defended candidate of sciences on the theme of “Creative activity of Kamal Talibzade”, and got the degree of candidate of philology. Just during the studentship years (1991-1994) she worked at the newspaper “ Ganj muallim” (Young teacher) of ASPU, after graduating the university she worked as the responsible secretary of that newspaper (1994-2000) ,then she became editor-in-chief ( 2000-2007) of that newspaper. Meanwhile, during 1996-1997 she was the responsible secretary of the newspaper “ Zaman” ( Time) , in 1999 she was the editor-in-chief of the newspaper “ Azerbaijan fighters”, during 2007-2008 she became the editor-in-chief of the newspaper “ Tahsil problemleri” ( Educationional problems) . Since 2003 she is the teacher of the department of “The literature of Azerbaijan and world” of Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University, since 2008 she is in the post of a head teacher at the same department, since 2011 she is assistant professor of that department. Starting from 2012-2015 academic years she is the assistant professor of the department of “World Literature” of ASPU. At the same time she teaches Japan literature at the faculty of Oriental studies of Baku State University. Since 1992 she is the member of Azerbaijan Ashugs Union, (on poetry), since 1994 she is the member of Azerbaijan Union of Journalists, since 1998 she is the member of the Council of Constitutor of World Young Turkish Writers , since 1999 she is the member of Azerbaijan Writers’ Union, since 2007 she is the member of well-known honorable organization in Turkey Cyprys Balkans, – The Organization of Eurasia Turkish Literature . She is the staff member of academic journal of History and thinking” of Turkish World Studying Organization.

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I am a woman I am not a painter But I know a lot of colors Most of painters are unaware of them: Color of love, color of longing, color of grief… I am not a composer But I am able to hear the sounds Of which any composer can’t hear: Sound harmony of parting, joining and hope. I am not a gardener But as I feel the scents of flowers, I also can feel the scent of days and months Fragrant garland of colorful feelings Gives a charm to my life. I am not a painter, I am not a composer, I am not a gardener either… I am a woman Whom the God created In a pleasant hour… There is the light of love of God In my eyes and in my heart…

A poem is a divine word A poem is a divine word It can’t be said at any moment. It can’t come to life At any moment you want. A poem must firstly grow In the uterus of the spirit. Then it must be perfect Then it must either enter the heart Or must turn to ashes. In order to write A drop of poem Your senses and feelings

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Must run like streams A poem must be written With the blood of the heart A poet must be seen Inside of each hemistich.

LIFE IS A FAST TRAIN My God, who is driving me out? Who is making me breathless? Who is hurrying the life? Who is hurrying inside of me? The years are fast train, The month is over as it begins. The weeks shove each other, The days are lost in hurry. The nights and daytime As if fights against me. I am competing with a second, The hours escape out of my hands. The moments soak into the memory. Everything turns and become past. The days break in a hurry, The days are over in a hurry. I don’t know when time passes Because of number of works. The time that I didn’t dear to spend myself Is pulled off me by the time. Today turns to yesterday all of a sudden I am going embracing the next day. I don’t live my own life, I only fly above it.

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Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon ( Nigeria) Timileyin Gabriel Olajuwon is a Nigerian poet and a literary critic. He is an international multi-award winner. Most of his works have been featured in series of international anthologies and journals. He is the brain behind Muse for World Peace Anthology (Canada) and a published author with his first book entitled Call for retreat, 2013. http://worldpoetry.ca/?tag=timileyin-gabriel-olajuwon

A COUNTRY BOY I A country was a stanza of irksome songs, the praises of mocking birds, a void womb – the dead-bones caught up in foxes’ mouths. A country was a shade of dreams, the horizon of dying shadow, an empty tomb – an unborn child who died without a life. II A country is a home of ghosts, the silence in a battlefield, an open book – a script with buried promises – emptiness. A country is a life-given soul,

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the realities of a nightmare, a void – a wandering spirit finding a life to live. III This reminds me of a chorus, an anthem; the fire in the hearts of men whose verses were nothing but “Self with an in-dependent home” This reminds me the struggle of fate, & an unwavering faith of gods – patriots whose bodies were sacrifices for a home, a heaven (you may say a country) – like ours. IV Let us, who know how to prey – pray! there is no end to this beginning This country is the body of a boy, Pierced with ashes, a map of many colors, finding identity in nothingness!

PRESENCE When love finds a root in a heart, the heart becomes an open sky – an horizon of lovers. When love finds a root in a heart, the lover becomes a poem – the song on the lips of nightingale. II Love is the lips of a womb-man, a prayer of every prey – lover, It is a garden of greener pasture, a haven for every sheep. Love is a bottled wine, a comfort in distress, a peace in pieces. It is a heaven – white, pure…. Dove!

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III I am now a prey – a prey without a prayer, caught up with love from nowhere; in this presence, heaven – white, pure…. Dove! I do not pray to leave rather to get lost, this love is an end to a new beginning – ME!

Akanke let me tell you how to see an angel… “in your darkest hour, close your eyes tie my thoughts around your heart; breathe in-out sleep and dream of me!” I am the angel in your dreams the symbol of reality!

Akanke II i am the air blowing in-out of your nostrils i am there right with you, feel my presence then you have me!

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Ugwu Leonard Elvis ( Nigeria) Ugwu Leonard Elvis also known as â&#x20AC;&#x153;Leonard D Greatâ&#x20AC;? is a poet, playwright, short story writer, prose writer, and also a writer of prose-poeta. He is the author of his popular poetic reflection titled "Echoes of the invisible" published 2017 by Author house (USA). He is currently the president and big squire of World Union of Poets (WUP) Enugu chapter Nigeria, and also former co-ordinator Creative Writers Association of Nigeria (CWAN) Enugu state chapter. His poem has been published in many literary magazines, journals, newspapers and websites. He has elevated the world of literature through his lines and stanzas, he goes with the popular quote"look beyond the stars you will see my supernaturalism " A Poem for the Dead Someday we shall sing a song in silence We shall sing this song for our children and their children to come Welcome home ! Welcome home!! Tears and thunder storm shall wail in welcoming arms We are dead in the arc unknown We shall fight for our hope and pride

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To no avail, We are enemies of time We are the life of the dead And This is my poem for the dead. To them living in this home of pain in vain And for our tranquil neighbors with lost hopes We are brothers, in one blood of death Tell the wicked, the greed and the esteemed It can be extemporaneous! We can invoke change lest we join the chain of darkness Hush! The noise is over Where is the light in darkness? Where is our name without our fame? Shame! We remain unknown Even to the fest of termites We are unknown! Memories never die Why can't I write my name on memories To live and not die in to my poem Because!! To no avail, We are enemies of time We are the life of the dead And

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This is my poem for the dead Arise! Oh corpse arise! I invoke you cadaver Stand to your breath Who said the dead can't rise? We can! Yes! Except on roten carcass We arise! Revamped.

Dusted When I slip and fall I stand in shame and dust my wears People aside laugh and jest my fall for greater glory I have fallen I will rise and continue the journey It is a journey of no route, Where lessons whip our knowledge Though they wait for my doom No curses shall prevail. I am only guided by the shield from above Conquer my spy enemies with a dove A wise one will pity and come to my aid Lest I stand and fly cos I am properly made. Dusted it is! I fall with no response but a tease I will rise again to live my spot and continue the journey Some day I shall look back and say itâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s funny.

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Yuan Changming ( China - Canada) Yuan Changming published monographs on translation before leaving China. With a Canadian PhD in English, Yuan currently edits Poetry Pacific with Allen Qing Yuan and hosts Happy Yangsheng in Vancouver; credits include ten Pushcart and three Best of the Net nominations, Best of the Best Canadian Poetry, BestNewPoemsOnline, London Magazine, Threepenny Review and 1,439 other journals/anthologies across 42 countries.

Making Light of Darkness in a world always half in darkness your body may be soaked deep in a nightmare, rotting but your heart can roam like a synchronous satellite in the outer space, leaving the long night far behind as long as your heart flies fast and high enough, you will live in light forever.

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On a Rainy Day I open, you Close, or you Open, I Close, either My umbrella Or yours To keep both Ourselves dry From this cold Rain, we have To share The one The same Umbrella, if we Must walk Hand In hand .

White Crow Perching long in each human heart Is a white crow that no one has Ever seen, but everyone longs To be Always ready To fly out, hoping to bring back A glistening seed or a colorful feather As if determined to festoon its nest.

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Yuleisy Cruz Lezcano (Cuba- Italia) Published works “Pensieri trasognati per un sogno”, 2013. “Fra distruzione e rinascita: la vita” , 2014. “Diario di una ipocrita”, 2014. “Vita su un ponte di legno”, 2014. “Cuori Attorno a una favola”, 2014. “Tracce di semi sonori con i colori della vita”, 2014. “Sensi da sfogliare”, 2014. “Piccoli fermioni d’amore”, 2015; “ Due amanti noi”, 2015, “Credibili incertezze, 2016” “Frammenti di sole e nebbia sull’Appennino, 2016”, “Soffio di anime erranti”, 2017.

I gift you a tear I gift you a tear hardened by time that rolls between old words that reverberates very deep inside. I gift you a tear that narrows in grief, so it shatters in the memory of a poor dream. I gift you a tear in a blow of pollen, in a gallop of birds that does not contain the madness that it remembers. I gift you a tear in an imperfect drop that cries for the universal hunger from the hollow orbits of the eyes. I gift you a tear that goes through the memory

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prisoner in a drop it slides away.

TRAVELING THOUGHT I observe the sky, the grass, The flights of light things From life And its time of pauses. I feel the life that speaks And all the stars become Words, words, words Which illumintae the paths. The smile from all the lips Also become words, The terms approach in deaf steps And in the silence Of the clock licensed by the hours, When nobody spies among the leaves, The sound of the voice Is the strip of the rain that fills Ancient wrecked islands Of words that the feet get wet with the inner streams Of vague brains Who discuss about the utility Of a distant humanity. The men together smile, Without losing hope. Water that carries, water that leaves, Infinite ideas travel In the pushed wave, The wind rolls fast, Brings somethiiing to the world that no longer expects, Are thoughts of love, in a letter, Written words Interprets bits of wind, channeling ideas And among the nation's seas they travel. The mute Universe awakens Cities, towns, without answers

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Where people that wouldn't expect nothing, Marveled, stand at the window And lay down the arms to collect the ideas Of words that open paths For men, women, dumb and blind That they wanted to feel clearly The words that have power To build bridges Between the towns that no longer love.

MOLD OF DREAMS The perfect mold of dreams Is naked in the nest of the bird prophet, And in the passage from parents to children, Man forgets succession; he does not remember The eloquent sounds of ablaze births Which were burning in the wait of a name. Man, man, where did you lose the emotion To contemplate the rain that takes off The flutters of the swallows in the wind? I see in your eyes the absence of feeling, The mental streams asleep And I feel a hand, drags you in lost dreams, Covers the conscience with its fingers, The whole hand brings you the dress of indifference When you see other men suffer And in this humanity without name, crushed Of the pieces of wind, I see you die without suffering because of the death you carry in your eyes And shout the word love, Without comprehending its meaning.

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Yesim Agaoglu ( Turkey) Born in Istanbul. Studied in Istanbul University, Department Of Archaeology and Art History. Got a master’s degree in Arts in Istanbul University, Faculty of Communications, Department of Radio-TV-Cinema. Attended part time film lessons using super 8 camera at the New York School Of Visual Arts. Poems have been published in literary journals since the age of 18. Has seven poetry books published in Turkey and also two poetry books published in Azerbaijan and in 2016 and 2017 two poetry books has published in New York,USA. Poems translated into many different languages such as English, German, Spanish, Russian, etc. For two years used to be a President of Turkish PEN Club ‘‘Women Writers Committee’’. Biographies are in some literature and art encyclopedias and poems in anthologies. Some of her essays are in collective books. Participated in numerous national and international literature and poetry festivals. She has a short theater play named “ forbidden chirpings” staged at Hazar University,Baku,Azerbaijan. Also has been continuing contemporary art activities combining different disciplines ( especially poetry and language ) since 1996. Participated in many solo and group exhibitions and biannales in countries like Germany, Norway, Italy, Bulgaria, Bosnia, Azerbaijan, Georgia, Uzbekistan, Korea, etc.

age of metallic loves ı know you miss me, so ı’ll send you the second me soon.

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ı’ll be all dressed up in iron armour ı’ll record my voice on cds the voice proclaiming my love for you my image on harddiscs so lovely and posed just as you like it we’re in the age of metallic loves wake up already we’re after indestructibleness we will bend death’s wrist yet push the keys of your computer and you’ll get my meaning ı’ve shut us up tight inside it our dnas and rnas belong to it now ask and you’ll get all the answers about us have you been missing my smell soon it too will come to you ıt’ll wing its way to you over the distances flowers did you say, ı’ll be sending you bouqets of roses heavenly smelling roses of iron dont say you dont want them we are ın the age of metallic loves after all.

dressed in time he took off every thing that was on him stark naked his body save for the watch on his arm jet-black wrist watch so he donned that wrist watch, dressed himself up in time like putting on a black cloak the year was the space quarter, the season winter the day tuesday life lived on the spur of the moment as always the watch works ticking on his body works ticking on, forever alert time, ever so abstract

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now melted, dripping as in dali’s painting and where the hands of the watch meet ıs his most punctual spot now.

wish ı could get on trains where would trains take me wish ı could get on them horse racing cars screaming sirens you can not look out of the same window twice nor see again the same trees or houses or anything where would the trains take me to night-misted platforms whose clocks never work and where faces are always half-veiled as if arriving from ghost towns where would trains take me who is the one who sits opposite me the secret ı’ve been keeping all this time the love of a single night is worth a whole life where would trains take me what murder would they make me an accomplice to whose is the blood soiling my hand the pomp of danger’s reign is worthwhile to live where would trains take me, in full gallop and breathless could it be to the sorrow which has no ending.

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Vatsala Radhakeesoon (Mauritius) Vatsala Radhakeesoon was born in the exotic island, Mauritius on 17 October 1977. She started writing poems at the age of 14. In 1995, when she was 18, her poem Loneliness was published in the most prestigious and widely read local newspaper L’Express. She is the author of the poetry books When Solitude Speaks (Ministry of Arts and Culture Mauritius, 2013), Depth of the River (Scarlet Leaf publishing House, Canada, 2017) and Hope (President’s Funds for Creative Writing, Mauritius, 2018). Vatsala Radhakeesoon is one of the representatives of Immagine and Poesia, an Italy based literary movement uniting artists and poets’ works. She has been selected as one of the poets for Guido Gozzano Poetry contest, 2016 and 2017. In December 2017, she was awarded 1 of the 100 most influential women of Mauritius in the category of Arts and Culture for her multi-lingual poetic skills by Train to Gain Ltd. Vatsala currently lives at Rose-Hill and is a freelance translator, interviewer and reviewer.

Breathing Simplicity Why should I wear a mask of matte make-up? Why should I fill my thoughts with materialism?

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God has already blessed me with thin lips a beauty spot on the chin and two dimples I don’t wish to be completely dependent on artificial temporary enhancers God has already blessed me with a mind capable of pondering upon deep philosophy and spiritual writings I don’t wish to be indulged in insatiable orgasmic literature Of course, each human being is free to choose his mode of living You have chosen yours Now I choose mine Up till I live I ‘ll keep on breathing the fresh breeze of simplicity.

Goodbye Fake Love Your attempts to fool me with melting marshmallow-words Your attempts to drag me in labyrinths of lust Your pretending to build protective cozy castles for me To all those lies and selfish acts of yours Now I bid goodbye for good Your love was not genuine but merely suffocation, possessiveness, metaphorical murder of spontaneous emotions Now I’ve recognized the pure breeze

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I’ve met my mind, the philosopher of lofty thoughts I know my heartbeats, the dignity of morality I’m deeply connected to the soul, the song of divine poetic mission So, now I’ve found my true love, the essence of life Goodbye Fake Love!

You Can’t Frame Me Seal me tightly in a cube Chisel me into a square Narrow my path in a triangle Surround me by a circle Whatever you do, I’ll break all the bonds reject all limitations smile beyond all conditions Like air, I’m volatile I’ll fly freely, fearlessly fighting against futility with all my might for eternity.

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Zhang Zhi ( Diablo) - China President of IPTC Diablo is a distinguished poet and critic in contemporary China. His original name is Zhang Zhi, his English name is Arthur Zhang; His other pen name is Wu Yuelou (Moonless Tower); He is a Litt D., Honor Humanities D., was born in Fenghuang Town, Baxian County, Sichuan Province in 1965; his ancestral home is in Nanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;an District, Chongqing City. He has worked a variety of career. He is now president of the International Poetry Translation and Research Centre, executive editor-in-chief of The World Poets Quarterly (multilingual), editor-in-chief of WORLD POETRY YEARBOOK (English Version), and foreign academician of Greek International Literature & Arts and Science Academy. Since 1986, he began to publish his works of literature and translation. His poems and prosework have been translated into over twenty kinds of foreign languages such as English, French, German, Japanese, Russian, Greek, Spanish, Portuguese, Polish, Romanian, Danish, Hungarian, Bengali, Italian, Swedish, Korean, Slavic-Mongolian, Serbian, Rabbinic, Arabic, Slovak, and Bulgarian, etc. His poetry works has won prizes in Greece, Brazil, USA, Israel, France, India, Italy, Austria and Lebanon. His major publications include: RECEITA (Portuguese-English-Chinese); Selected Poems of Diablo (English); Poetry by Zhang Zhi (German-English-Portuguese); Selected Poems of Diablo (Chinese-English) and The Serial Comments on the Vanguard Poets in Contemporary China. He is the compiler of four poetry selections such as Selected Poems of the International Contemporary Poets (English-Chinese); Selection of 20th Century New Chinese Poetry (Chinese-English) , The Book Series of World Poets (Bilingual) , A Dictionary of Contemporary International Poets (Multilingual), and Chinese-English Reader: 300 New Chinese Poems (1917â&#x20AC;&#x201D;2011), etc.

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The Doomsday These years You peddle yourself to the world Like a politician More like an old hand in love affairs These years You and the world flatter one another Like a pair of actors More like a pair of gays Oh, these years You sleep together with the world But you have known nothing about the world Oh, these years The Aeolian bells in heaven are like a drunkard Limping along the tunnel of time.

A Lyric a bout “Ah” Ah, dear cat Please come and eat a famous poem Ah, dear dog Please come and eat a bunch of sweet flowers Ah, dear tiger Please come and eat a white cloud Ah, dear shark Please come and eat a beam of sunlight Ah, dear dinosaur Please come and eat a bit of air Ah, dear motherland Please come and eat a bite of liberty Ah, the ubiquitous “Ah” Ah, the all-pervasive “Ah”

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Rising You are aloft, evil, elegance and gloomy Like a snow leopard, like a crescent moon My witch, my Mona Lisa In your melancholy and mysterious eyes I’m willing to be gracefully cut by your knife I’m willing to turn into a pile of ash Pillowing the green hills and rivers alone Listening to your wordless repent Plum, I’ll stand in the hell or heaven To see how you draw back the cutting edge of your red lips No, in the centre of the storm of time I, a free poet In the instant of falling, will die without a burial place If I refuse to rise.

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Zhuljeta Grabocka (Cina) Albania The poetess, essayist and novelist, Zhuljeta Grabocka (Cina) was born in Korca city, Albania, on 1953-year. She graduated at Tirana University, major Language and Literature, and then she performed the learnings post university course of Linguistic, 1982-1983. The passion of written art has been a collaboration passion of her whole life, the result of which are the poetry volumes "Ditary i Gushtit”(August Diary") and “Bota pa stinë " ("The unseasoned world..”), 2015. Zhuljeta wrote a memory work, titled "Një jetë me Biblën" (A Life With the Bible), 2017. She is also said to be writing a summary book of complete edition’s poetry essays and resyme prose reviews. But Zhuljeta’s poetry is significant for more than the sheer intensity with which she reflects vision of life by rich literal and figurative language, imagination literal language, musically and deep meaning, as aesthetic form and universal literary message.

The language of the stars… The stars are a long way off, up in the sky, Round and round the vastness of the galaxies, The stars light’s pursuing me, That long summer night.., as we said goodbye !

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I keep your hearty words inside me, And you’re still staying in silence, You didn’t hear a word by me, It was just the stamping of our footsteps, That they’re troting in the dead end streets….. It felt to me, like I was walking up in the clouds and stars… And took me up as a fairy under the starry sky, Taking care of me, not suffering by your missing, Till next morning, And carried me to your silent island, Side by side, me and you, dancing the dreams… I am hardly ever ‘in” your dreams, Even when you come in my dreams, The language of stars is tuned peaceful, To the expanding of my heart, and… my love for you, it serenades under the Moonlight..!

Let me Let me love you to the last point When neither the day nor night can see When the tongue of the soul In the blazing fire Shivers and dies without hope! Let me love you For the days are dying The long night will fall upon us We are not like the statues Which remain and can't die Like the dust in the wind Like every dram we have an end.

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The unseasoned world..! No tears anymore, They’re dried up since then, No ache anymore for my first pain, No pain for those, alive and not alive…! No tears anymore, They’re dried up since then, Unfeelingness, the unseasoned world, Unsunny glacers, and storming in the field… It says that the glacers will be melting anyday, No borders anymore, but others, it will be building, And that day, we’re pouring tears like kids’ones. It’s a bitter world, I would love someone knocks on my door, Neither the ring of phone, It doesn’t calm me down, and nor your face in the skype…. I would love, when I open my door, Just watching your smile in your face, I have told you thousands time: This is a bitter world, an unfair one! I do not know how it was, at the glacers’time, Maybe the people were nicest to each other, But only thing that I know: Giving a warm hand and shaking hands with everyone..!

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