Taifas Literary Magazine No. 10, April, 2021

tlm 10 v2 - coperta1 titluri - april

2 authors ... p. 2 editorial ... p. 3 poetry ... p. 5 prose ... p. 27 essay ... p. 37 confabulation ... p. 38 3 authors ... 47

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Look at this sadness, Jean C Bertrand

They , In the city of burnt bricks

Port -au -Prince

After a few drops of rain;

Step-by-step Windows and doors open,

The pages of a book are like flying in the air.

Selectable, top-notch

As if the sun were losing its existence,

Springs of gaiety

Crowds of red slum dwellers in a corner of

Shining steps from

evening.

The stars

Even if it burns to ashes

Carefully speeding

It was never deceived.

Running in the rain

In this burning brick city

Peaceable, courageous

There are inside and outside,

Steps

Separation

Stepping with grandeur

slippery slope.

Finest steps

Happiness, burned out of

Merrymaking steps

mind.

Suitable cheers

Don't

Romantically, giggling

responsibility of buying

Such a beauty

happiness.

Nervously, laughing

O dear!

Step-by-step,

If you can, grieve over

beginning

is

impose

still

a

the

your guilt.

to dance

Like it lives in the dark_

Maruf Shaikh

A lamp is burning in your hand.

Let me be it, you give.

Bangladesh

I don't want to be sold happily in solitude or in

The Invincible Mind quiet solitude.

Oh Happiness!

You're a one-day government slum, It doesn't take long for you to swallow.

Happiness,

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What do you claim?

What power do you have? Show me!

If I say - you are nothing.

A deserted field.

No one is inside, no one is outside.

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I don't want to lose the moon like you anymore.

I am sad to be a burning brick slum.

Even after so many years in your love away from ...

I promised myself, I will burn with a happy mind.

Only youAs the cause of condemnation in impossible love...

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

editorial 3-4

in the future of humanity.

At the social level, the organization of social campaigns through the use of various Romania public communication channels involves stimulating inter-institutional cooperation World peace and education and the participation of civil society in initiating, conducting, monitoring and Peace is an aspiration of the peoples, a evaluating anti-violence programs, not only at fundamental imperative of our age and a school and national level. phase globally. priority of education today and tomorrow. We We can talk about the lack of peace, and can say that without peace there is no implicitly, the presence of violence even when development and without development fundamental needs are harmed, such as: human rights are illusory, which implies that survival, personal identity, or freedom of without human rights, peace is considered choice. violence.

Thus, through the Peace education is proposed actions, the surest way to students will be helped to eliminate aggression, understand that peace violence, terrorism and means more than the conflict between mere absence of war and societies. It is a factor more than the silence of capable of contributing to weapons: peace is also a the creation of a planned action, in which democratic society. people commit to resolve Violence is a form of conflicts of any kind by abuse against a person. Its nonviolent means. to existence includes three realize or follow modes of manifestation: physical, verbal and principles such as social justice or democracy. nonverbal violence.

We can say that peace is a wonderful All this can affect the individual's life subject, which you like to talk about and depending on the low or high degree of especially you like to feel. As the great violence. Informing students about what philosophers say, "peace is the most sensitive peace really is, what its opposite means, what connection in the universe." This is our are the ways to achieve peace or avoid original human nature. conflicts of any kind, is becoming increasingly We were created to live in peace with all necessary in a confused world that no longer people, and for this reason we feel the need to respects its principles. fight for peace and for its preservation. Peace Affirming our confidence in the capacity is, in general, the most precious masterpiece of of peace education in general, for the reason. But our original nature was infected preparation of generations in formation in the by the onset of violence. Let's be united to say spirit of cooperation, participation and STOP VIOLENCE. democracy, we are in fact expressing our Peace is first and foremost an inner confidence in the success of peace actions and year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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Lenuș Lungu

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

state; for there to be peace, all the inner and outer functions and activities of man must be perfectly balanced and harmonized. In order to have peace of mind, all its elements must vibrate in unison, without selfishness, without disagreements, without preconceived ideas.

but not least the social, cultural and economic development of each individual. But true peace must spring from the depths of everyone's heart despite the fact that it is quite difficult to maintain. How to dream of peace on earth if you have a black soul and only heavy Peace is a higher state of consciousness, thoughts? being dependent on the health of our body.

Start with yourself ... it's not enough just Peace can be completely installed in us when to dream. The dream is a world in which we the two organisms, physically and mentally, allow ourselves to live and do what we want. are in harmony. True peace, once installed, can Inner peace is our most precious good, which never be lost. This word has several meanings we seek all our lives; the harmony that such as: situation of good understanding, lack determines us to behave in a certain way, to of disturbances, enmity as well as pure respect our values and beliefs and to have a harmony. perfect balance in life. We stopped keeping peace in The notion of peace our souls so that we could implies only some later offer it to others. For temporal effects of deeds some, peace means done with human loneliness. methods.

There are people with good For others it means intentions, who seek to obedience to God. It is mediate between the said that you can buy parties to the conflict anything with money. You until the fighting is can buy food but not stopped, but there are appetite, medicine but also people who only talk not health, a house but about peace and their intentions do not not a family, soft beds but not sleep, correspond to the words. knowledge but not wisdom, shine but not How well the words of the psalmist fit comfort, fun but not joy, gray hair but no them, saying, "Their mouth is as sweet as honor; quiet days but not peace.

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cream, but they have war in their hearts: their It is essential that we are not only words are slippery than oil, but when they consumers of peace but also producers. The come out of their mouths they are swords." true spirit of peace is manifested only when Although there are many differences peace is cherished and offered. between continents and countries, cultural On a continuous axis, peace and violence and ideological differences, the ends of the oscillate our choices to express who we are, struggle for a better future of the world are the what we want to appear to be. same everywhere. In every corner of the world there is the problem of defending peace, ensuring a basic education for all people, eliminating hunger, protecting health and last

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

poetry 5-24

Insight

Alby Raymond Parackal India

For some reason you are upset with me Reign of love… for a couple of days

Reign of love, seems mysterious in this lifetime, Reigning always blowing hot and cold as prime; Really hate talking it’s stand unknown to blame, Righteous stance on human rights blightesome!

Rarely emotional support of lovely bend regime, Right part with in logical conclusions all aflame; Righteous think about as conclusive in outcome, Rightly seen as human aberrations of lonesome!

Rarefied truth, of earthly living room so sublime, Rectify trances, transcends in life, cumbersome; Ransack trust of hearty thoughtful venturesome, Rational soulful humane treatment take to tame!

Although I don‟t know the reason I guess it right You haven‟t spelled it out I too haven‟t asked you We have taken opposite positions Silence is chatting between us Maybe the conversation is called the battle of nerves Bloodless without arms this is the most difficult battle On earth it is the best person who wins this battle again and again It is the one who ends this silent battle is ever defeated You want to be the winner Me too don‟t want to be the loser

Guna Moran So the distance between us is widening Bio - Guna Moran is an Assamese Poet and critic.

His poems are published in more than hundred international magazines, journals, webzines, blogs, newspapers, anthologies and have been translated into thirty languages around the world. He has three poetry books to his credit. year I, no. 10, 2021, April

(Original Assamese poem titled “Antardarshan”) Tr. Nirendra Nath Thakuria

First Lesson

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India

Sitting hunched at the hearth of useful knowledge she toasted her ashen eyes ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

through the gaps of her fingers and very often said You are my unique achievements of my sacrifice for long ten months and ten days By birth you’ve got a beautiful earth besides the vast sky So you must be generous like the sun and tolerant like the earth At my birth I cried Maybe I got the pains of my mother Since then I have had tears in my eyes in happiness and sorrow of people One can‟t help crying whose only companion at birth was tears That honeyed word „Maa‟ was my first honeyed word Since then I‟ve blurted out „Maa‟ unawares whenever I sit down or stand up My birth is my mother‟s sacrifice I must be made for sacrifice An ingrate I can‟t be

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My happiness lies in my mother‟s happiness My sorrow lies in my mother‟s sorrow Never can I be happy He is the lone custodian of happiness whose main assets are the sun and the earth

Affection for You It was gleaming with the gaze Affection is dumb Affection is deaf Like a speaker it did not speak about the matter like a listener it did not listen to Till the moment of parting it kept waiting in the eyes In the thick green of the desolate woods A tune is ringing faintly Gazing at the eyes I want to see Is it still alive Oh dear No way, no way Cleaving the heart comes out a curious sigh In the teary gaze is it still alive (Original Assamese poem titled “Anurag tomar babe”) Tr. Nirendra Nath Thakuria

(Original Assamese poem titled “Adipath Tr. Nirendra Nath Thakuria

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

What I hear I just let Myself be taken Sweden To be led On the other side of the mirror To the other side Where I will see The silent, bashful morning And re-live Kissed me very softly So much more On my long time longing forhead Than anyone And it whispered in my ear I keep my senses That today would be so special All wide open Yes, a most peculiar day Regardless of It happens very often What others say That I find myself standing Regardless rules Standing on the other side Regardless time On the other side of the I know the other side mirror Do exist Many people really doubt The other side The existense of this Is all my rescue other side And I am often there But on this side where I On the other side stand To regain!

Is where everything is real Kamal Dhungana There is no place for just maybe’s India The unsprung words tell us so The Red What’s unreal in this real world You always disliked it; the RED color Is most real on this other side I found out later, O, mirror of the furute! you had always disliked Where no needs to say those red roses of valentines.

That I’m odd or I am different I wrote to you with my blood.

In any other way You disliked those red love letters.

Where silence sings You even disliked the red sindoor, Its silent, graceful songs I had brought to adorn you.

In a language so vey seldom One day That it actually doesn’t exist You, caught in an accident; But still a language were in need of blood.

That I’ve heard After your relatives' refusal, So many many how come you accepted my blood?

Times before How did you like your colorful life And it’s possible survived with my blood?

Just because After all, that too was RED in color!

I don’t question year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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Joanna Svensson Josefsson

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Swapna Borthakur Jorhat Assam

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland

In rainy day

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Clive Norman

Blood, sweat and tears

There are drops of rain falls with musical Few are willing to listen As humankind’s pathetically preoccupied rhythm While incessantly jostling for a better, nonMy mind also bath in rainy day existent humanoid life and then Relentlessly craving glittering, worthlessly vast of possibility desirable glimmering objects Coming in my eyesight Fairy-tales of self-fulfilling golden pots, Ya, the leafs become turn in to green mysteriously evaporating beneath cloudy with green leafs mystifying rainbows The trees are says about While humankind’s hopeful dreams of the insatiably selfland perpetuating appetites The hard workers Wrangling for individually self-indulgences, of Who are says about materialistically their dream of future accumulated vanities Who are says about their In self-serving, evercrops field evolving fiendishly Who are says about untenable natures of struggle of native people humanity’s present legacy In rainy day Leaving nothing but With perhaps and hopeful destructively weeping dreams carnage, a devastating trail of sore, earthy I am also falls again love bleeding and festering wounds My love with green leafs A far-reaching, diabolical residue of disturbing negligence’s My love with their crops field Irrationally ever-flowing pain and sufferances, My love with the hard workers in a stampeding, relentlessly streaming growth Who has never broken their heart of humankind’s populace again, The populous not ready, to take an everIn rainy day deepening breath, awakening in selfall possibility realisations, of blanketing noxious demonic Coming in my eyesight devastating destruction and I am began fulfill with a dream OF SELF-CREATED, SELF-PERPETUATING With love and purity of mind.

GRATIFICATIONS, RIDICULOUSLY STANDING IN SWEEPING, SEEPING – BLOOD, SWEAT AND ETERNALLY FLOWING UNIMAGINABLY UNWANTED TEARS!

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Prof Dr. Nar Deo Sharma India

Rezauddin Stalin Bangladesh

As a Professor of English, I have taught Days of Crucifixion literature, linguistics, practical criticism in colleges for 20 years. I have two poetry books Translated by: Kushal Bhowmick to my credit and many literary awards for Blood spilled in this Eastern chapter which I attach my bio-file and photo for your How indifferently the history observing perusal. everything.

The residents of old people’s home Open the doors at every knock to Share their eclectic array of agonies.

Here the old people Skeletal scarecrows, fagends of energy Bereft of loving care Prefer the visits by strangers To be caressed with Fine feel of love.

Old people outdo One another when They pour out tormenting wrongs Contrived by their selfish dears and nears: The old people have to wear The tatters of frayed affections Those reek of impiety.

The old people often snuggle In the shrunk quilt of memories Of affectionate past to warm up Ugly cold of old age.

year I, no. 10, 2021, April

The Cursed sun survey the life The rock curved city hear the footsteps Shadow of bustards lying on the wounds of rivers How many night's smiles rot under the moon Life is a wake up silence The emptiness of stinking existence The beach of our nightmares Noon wrapped in sunshine No morning finds a place at the breakfast table Eyes walking with mass on the shoulders of trees Rain cries all on a sudden Nobody cares The noise escapes on the footsteps of citizens There is no saviour The skeleton is coming down from the cross The motionless vehicle splits and splits (2)

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Glimpses of grief

Our abstract freedom ignores partnership Before blood clots, democracy wants to escape And before breakdown The sun knees down in front of hunger ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

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Wheat crushing mill Paddy threshing machine Grinding oil Called for a strike The mystery fell from the peak of labour Wants to suffocate the call of the rooster And wants to spellbound the tigers of the zoo

Advertisements are being woven into women's breast The camera revolves around the devil's tail Abehayat has been mixed with sweat The security seal has been stamped on the back (4)

Life is on the knees of bureaucrats The dream of survival revolves around the (3) So much anger and resentment in the western stomach of the broken alley chapter The feet are stuck in the tears of the clay Hundreds of crores will have to be carried The city of the sky sewn with rain The torn shame is more intense Who hangs opium roots The days of the cross are behind the night more passionate And provocative bribes A non-stop journey of the doors of the brothel pain.

Dash lingers behind the untreated dead Where they go- the Nobody can escape grandpa, father and son Crown of thorns on the The cockroach wants to head of the road be Didolas, the King of the The streets have been sky smashed The state is growing by Amendment news has tearing the history apart been embedded in the wig Philosophy is hidden in Meaningless gossip comes out of the television the garbage of humiliation Violent Africa moving ass from behind Every night the sorrows are being driven out of the city The dead bodies of the trees have not been (5) buried yet The voice of Norther part The coffin nail has been bent with a hammer Will compose the words like lighting The graves are panting The mourners are given torch brand sunlight Now the pet brokers of democracy took People are rushing command over respect The middle class Giving them back, including the embryos The lower class And with the screams of the unknown The landless YouTube, Wall, Twitter They are not addicted to alcohol mixed with Online water Facebook

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Television... are floating They never find paternity The guards have taken away all the tears of the night The statement of the intellectuals is callous in the last column of newspapers The human soul smiles on its knees And cries silently And blows the flute of conscience

And hundreds of terrible snakes are on the way

The martyred trees are honoured without any memorial Clouds play conch over head The Suns makes uludwani Becoming thunders, the Moons strikes the eye The madness of life is prehistoric The stairs of heaven are being dugout of the Standing on the bull's horn, the earth shook abyss The world, sleeping on the tail of a snake Inauguration against death The world revolving around hungry tigers Inauguration against waiting And the Priest are harassed in searching good Inauguration against dreams men at the end of the The eagle of Zeus is world circling The extremist are Over the heads of all conducting a postmortem Prometheus of the world on the tongue of agony Hera has given all the pregnant women a star Hundreds of holes are crucifix covering the shame inside the Cībar Hephaestus is making Jesus himself is in trouble germ weapons by melting Making his own cross swords The red and white Mintor has gathered all particles of blood are rotting incessant the grain in his cave Cyclops chases pets into the abyss All ridiculous comforts are becoming coal And Honuman is covering the Sun The Moon is grabbed by Gandhamadan Now the heat of the motherland is increasing due to mercury Fever is being measured with a huge rainbow thermometer Hundreds of Hallaj are being born from the lava of shame

Surrealistic dream is fleeing from the pages of poetry Nature has found refuge on the canvas The bird that knew the artist Never come to earth from Sky The river that knew the name of the poet The page of his flowness turned upside down the mud […]

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(6)

(7)

Across the southern section, fierce leopards

year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Paint your anatomy.

And get a brand new yourself.

Deepika Singh India

The essence of illusion life Short Bio

Deepika Singh from Margherita Assam India, qualification- M.A, B.Ed, teacher by profession.

Much of my writings are reflections, thoughts and observations of my personal journey of self exploration. She believe that right words can change our society. Some of her poems also got featured in Bharata Vision, The Poet Magazine, Web Poesia, Womensweb, The Literary Mirror, Atunis galaxy poetry etc.

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Pave the way The bunker life was blissful.

Cuddling with mother, tight stock and good sleep, Calm nature, chirpy birds, so serene Nature burst with joy.

This limited life made us Pollyanna .

This adverse life taught us to be resilient.

Giving an aid to needy, doting towards animals.

Morning sunbeam made us independent.

Plug into online classes.

Charged up for work from home.

The trapped life made the bonding muscular.

This caged journey made us explore within the limited.

This paralyzed life I gave soul to my ink, And heart to my beloved brushes.

Pain is inescapable, Empower in pain.

Rise in distress, broaden your horizon.

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Like a nimbus cloud, Some thoughts came passing by.

Life is an illusion.

Sometimes it gives us millions of signs, Signs of rainbow happiness.

The heavy rain wash away all our worries, And soon spring rejoice.

Seeing the azure blue sky, We tap our feet, We spread our wings of exhilarating joy, Our flight of joy takes us to another world But as life is an illusion, Soon happiness starts to fade.

And we entangle with our problems, We fight, we struggle, Oh! It’s killing, We struggle to create a place in the society.

A man’s life is like the weather, Sometimes it brings cloud of sadness, Sometimes it brings rays of happiness.

Life is something, We have yet to discover, Joys, sorrows everything, That lives in our fate.

Life is an illusion, Life is a mystery, That we have to solve.

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Italia

Misunderstood tremor fed, lived hung up, never given up.

on marble of memories, but for you love, I would die nonstop just to love Die for love of infinity your eyes looking for me Once again.

Docile deluge of lovers whispers, incomprehensible tangles, tampered with misunderstandings, senseless crimes.

Ancient madness, rough stone of diamond essence, precious breeze of dew bathes in the soul the earth.

Mystical, pressing taciturn, wandering, brooding look of sky drenched and the sea becomes mouth of arrival.

Barefoot and on foot you come out of breath on the threshold of the heart to write about fire every breath and verse.

Mild and stormy you are a caress of skin to die of love in the splendor of the stars.

Ecstatic, dejected six flower crown year I, no. 10, 2021, April

Lightning strike I saw you in the light of angels that evening your face illuminated me with immense, you seem so much the celestial dawn of a clear day.

You fascinated me with the perfume of almond trees in bloom, you are the mirage of an ancient splendor, looks like the darkness of a summer night, where a great peace dwells.

The music of your song lulls me in the desire for a kiss in the wind he plays poetry that creates between you and me a sweet alchemy.

You're a myth or maybe a legend, the man who is born between heaven and earth.

The graceful and pious soul grown in the caress of the sea only of those who still know how to love.

A tear in the rainbow in the storm, love at first sight at the window.

Sigh stolen from silence, nostalgic cry of time.

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Francesca Ghiribelli

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Flying with unrelenting dignity…

Laila Murad

Her heart is wild to human powers.

A heart that never lives ..

Syria (kurd)

The sunlight,

Women You ..

Glow, you are my lady You are fire and light A marine pearl,

The keys to the world You..

Oh man ..

Take her hand ..

Strong castle,

Because she is your mother ..

Soft herb…

Do not be broken My book of Love, Aromatic flower,

Your sister ..

Your Sweetie..

Your lover ..

And your daughter ..

A country inhabited by

Our life

whoever befits you…

Jean C Bertrand

You are the first of the alphabet,

Step-by-step

You are a lush garden, The seed to my life ..

Selectable, top-notch

Life is

Springs of gaiety

You… The

most

Shining steps from

beautiful

The stars

dresses are You… The land is You… You give birth and raise the future…

You are the moon and its light…

Spring and its blossoms…

You cry at joy…

And laugh at the pain…

You are silent in front of those you love ..

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Tolerance seeking peace.

All life is You ..

Carefully speeding Running in the rain Peaceable, courageous Steps Stepping with grandeur Finest steps Merrymaking steps Suitable cheers Romantically, giggling Such a beauty Nervously, laughing Step-by-step, beginning to dance

Women are the sisters of men.

A purebred free bird…

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

The times of pain and days of sorrow I still keep the faith For who has left was no less than a hero Nigeria Someone who carved his own fate I am a brave soldier Don’t sing any song for me As I may not care Don’t cry for me I’m a brave soldier I am a brave soldier with no fear!…

I have got a battle to win And always remember Afrose Saad I have to remain determined I really turned my heart into scare Bangladesh When heard the sound of gun boomed Sapphire blue realm!!!

Dragged my ear in to the atmosphere As if a town was marching to a graveyard We all bobbed up belly Sapphire blue realm in wise the mind „This is not a battle for the There all are reflected the fainthearted” bluish verse We both have to be The azure holds only willing to render the sparkling diamonds sacrifice Reflection of the dreamy Our sacrifice determine zone the life span of being The ground makes the legend crescent zone Far away from abode Royal essence touches Lost in another man’s soul territory The rock makes the bluish staircase of With cold bloodied gemstones No person can hold a father’s fury Blushing all sites within mirror for mind’s All said it was time satisfaction A time to move and search The ocean looks such a wonderful view Searching for a new territory to claim No painful verse only the merriness shower In the midst of our search A long distance the sanguine sun may wait Our banners raised with songs of attack Try to hide but can’t escape No retreat,no surrender Shimmering the golden shades I must be on track Paradise of peaceful birth Because I am a brave soldier Sapphire blue casts such a majestic verse I ask for freedom for the ones that left Dear heart can’t hold back just surrender Everything has to go peacefully one day No I am not in the state of deft So accept it with a graceful say year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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Al-Hassan

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Giovanni Teresi Italy

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The song of love and friendship We sing through the streets of the cities, in the din of the cars, the song that gathers the people in the friendship choir turning off the signs of futility.

We sing, in cheerful notes, the love in unison among the silences of indifference, in the desert of the soul.

We sing the good in chorus that envelops with pure beauty what God willed creating in gentle nature, by the soft colors of the dawns and in the darkness of the nights: men, women and children along the paths of peace.

Let’s sing for it to happen, in joy, the brotherhood of true friendship.

Friendship offered by a simple smile, from a tender caress, from an affectionate kiss to the people of different nations, to old grandparents, to parents, to naive children: our hope, our future.

So let the harmonious notes soar on the staff of a different band.

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Dr. Malak Nora Hammadi Algeria

Black letters Humans love each other, and my love transcends the limits of nature I madly adore black letters who stole myself from me for a while And I stay in that place. Do you remember that, letters?

That vanished corner inside us When the conversation between us was lengthy and not boring, when passion was stealing our eyes. When telepathy was the exchange between us .. reading was a pleasure … and the book was a picnic A second world parallel to ours devoid of all impurities is very pure From the trivialities of human beings … those who ran after the materialities of life carry their barefoot minds inside skulls that rode on bodies devoid of feelings There our beautiful world was absolutely free and everything was realistic It touches the essence of the truth, saturated with sincere feelings, where honesty was our title because there is no room for deceiving ourselves … When love is real, black letters, a phrase is written on his forehead .. sincere, there is no room for treachery ..

In our world, O letters, loyalty is one of the rules of love, a clause approved and sealed and signed from pure hearts that do not bear the grudge of love and peace whose title is In our world, dear, the letters of justice are prevalent and the master of the situations TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Juli Haque Dacca

I will not leave you Sleeping! Oh my god! woke up with a call to see!

Fear! I’m Kulsum, you think the door is closed, How did I get in! You gave me this opportunity!

If you fall in love at first sight I am so fascinated by my looks that, You can’t hold yourself back – If you get married in just three days!

My father is poor, can’t give anything All told, you don’t want anything, All love is over before the end of the year!

Everyone in the house agrees with the new punishment Dowry is not received. I also have to endure One day he kicked hard to protest, My three-month-old baby did not think anything in the stomach!

Gradually your injury increased Double my protest. Diameter, Kicking you in the stomach and head I fell, bloody in the blood!

When the soul goes to me When poison is poured into the mouth, To save themselves – When I told my father, I had a little argument I committed suicide by consuming poison !!

Fighting all over the area!

Everyone knows, year I, no. 10, 2021, April

Only parents say poor – If you survive on the strength of money!

And notable people in the area To save the honor of his father, Asked to solve the greed of money – Parents did not agree to seek justice from the law!

There was no benefit!

Just stuck for a few days, I don’t need law, I don’t need a court.

I will finish you !!

Busy arranging a new wedding!

Will not fulfill your dream, What do you think? I have no existence, no power?

These are your beliefs !!

You can say I came with that power, You see what it is in my hand – You bought new sari for your new wife!

Yeah Al that sounds pretty crap to me, Looks like BT aint for me either.

To avenge the punishment and suffering of crime, No restrictions – Stay hanging like this until morning!

I see your locals, the people of the house, the law of the land!

How can they prove that I am your murderer!

I know this will also send you to the postmortem as suicide – Wounds will hurt your beautiful body!

Your relatives will cry in the same way!

The way I cried, There will be no solution – Then your beauty and arrogance will continue

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

For love is unjustly vacant and torn, though you represent the grounds I’m yet to walk, and confide I slept in darkness under I see you in my dreams that love provides and your skin so I run towards your beauty bound, yet you fly my love, and my feet won’t leave the I could run through a meadow and never claim ground. the end Dreams like that they always bend – you lay Marivic Nemi with stars in a permanent sleep, and love is an Price tag ocean configured deep I cannot count the starry nights, nor the stars behind your eye’s, I cannot hear your cries What’s matter?

If we don’t care,.. aloud, it comes as no surprise Overthinking Burried in my dearest affection cause of unhappiness..

In the grounds of an Trial and error uncharted place, in the for every beginning.. midst of loves abrevent Snuggle thy amazing faith, though estranged version..

Where has my soul As a soul of responsible.. embraced Let the patience define you The union of our sin, I when you are nothing.. slept in darkness under Let the attitude stay by your skin your side., Still the light of every moon When you have Adjusts in ways the night everything., contours, among the There are certain things dripping taps dismay – and still I find the light of day amongst the shores that you could change.

There is a certain areas, Shall I speak the more of you where you are blind to aspects ., To console the winters brim I touched the face of an asortted angel, and You will have profit., By your own behavior. wished that you were him Some days longing is justified by your You can expand the world., shivering of your death, it leaves the last taste By adopting set of beliefs., It’s OK to be less than perfect. of you upon my dying breath For what was the moment then cannot be of now at least you are doing your best . , But heaven only knows our trouble, in an it’s OK to be yourself. at least you are different., untethered vow What escapes my lips to quoral at the skies, I Make thyself valuable.. etched myself a mountain in your thighs, only Thy price tag is not affordable. wake in a coocoon eternally warm

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Nardine Sanderson

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Madhu Gangopadhyay

Dazzling Diana

India

The Lunar phase in the heart

Cogitation... Wrecked, devastated, pitch dark, Unsure plunged in obscurity:

year I, no. 10, 2021, April

Awaits healing: A fresh cycle Of life; the ringed tribulations Gingerly but assuredly the gloom dispel!

The new moon enhances the Glamour of the distant stars The people ignored appear dear The

mistakes

enlarge

clear!

The Cresent is sighted in the core Inside

the

inner

firmament awakens New hope! the waxing moon Each day bigger and brighter Until

the

luminous

intensity Overtakes the entirety of the being; The soothed heart celebrates the advent of Khonsu No matter what phase:Selene aka Diana gaze; The zeal inside passionately blaze!

Like the indomitable phoneix bright In life the Lunar deity dazzles sorrows albeit!

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I gaze at the mirror At times you place a kiss And then like the dew drops Kissing the blade of a grass Clandestine, under the dark blanket: Vanish as the sun rushes To romance with the sky!

I don't see you but my Lithe shape shiver and Blushing I close my eyelids Flushed with amour I chuckle Your invisible arms wrap me In their warmth I melt!

The symphony of our opera Whispers in my ears The chiming of the Church Bell in the far, I hear clear!

Those seraphic evenings Beside the lake where the fireflies play And the pearly stars descend To dance on the glassy,lilting floor Warm breath mingling,clasped palms Gossamer of promises honey laced!

That one fleeting vision Revived all!

Those corridors in the core Incessantly resonate the yore!

On life's barren shore Foolishly the heart beckons With the bygone conspires to elope!

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Luciano Pellegrini Italia

Goshen Nu încetez să mă cațăr până la propriul goshen Non smetto di arrancare fino al mio goshen de când conștientizez paragini da quando coscienzio scampoli strâns de ecoul Inefabilului stretto dall'eco dell'Ineffabile O mie de colibe trag sirena și toate își cer îndreptățirea în glumă sau cu forța

Mille baite sirenano e tutte vogliono la loro ragione per gioco o per forza Rampòno verso la più vicina fra la rabbia dell’aria e la paura del precipizio

Dar nu reușesc s-o degust și din nou mă târăsc pe dibuitul urmelor cu forța sau în glumă

Ma non riesco ad assopirmici e arranco di nuovo al tocco-ridosso delle orme per forza o per gioco

În ciuda ungherelor nerușinate văpaie de frumusețe păstrez și simț în traistă până la

Nonostante viottoli scurrili ho fuoco d`altra bellezza e senso nello zaino sino a

***

***

Nu oaie nu lup ci îndrăzneață vrabie zdrobită de la un ram la altul

Non pecora non lupo ma coraggioso passero schiantato da un legno all`altro

Înmugurit în sfera mea de flash și de umbră spionez râsetele cu fire de frac ce fâlfâie la acest cocktail de zile colecționate

Imbocciato nella mia sfera di flash e d'ombra spio le risa a fili di frac che garriscono in questo cocktail di giorni collezionati

Şi savurez alte chances în chinul care transpare

E centellino altre chances nell'arrabattìo che traspare

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Trag cu cramponul spre cea mai apropiată între furia văzduhului și spaima grabei

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Când simțul ticăitului aprinde foc în inimă acoperiți-vă cu floare de portocal și cu mierea privirilor voastre

Quando il senso del battito fa fuoco sul cuore copritevi pure di zagara col miele dei vostri sguardi

Nu înteţoşaţi zorile ce sunt pe cale nici patina timpului scurs în a vă îngemăna țânci cu singur ochi

Non thrillingate le albe che camminano né la patina del tempo andato nel gemellarvi bimbi dall'unico occhio

Veți surâde îmbătați cu arătătorul întins spre emfaze de margarete și de vanese în șerpuirea solară

Sorriderete ebbri con l'indice puntato all'enfasi di margherite e vanesse nell'inseguimento solare

***

***

Arome leneșe escortează printre danțuri ierboase potolind gâlceavă de dădacă cu proaspeții gemeni în nădragi prea scurți

Aromi leniti scortano fra danze erbose adagianti litigio di tata coi frugoli gemelli a brache tagliate

Contemplată în blânda agerime de a ierta-ndărătnic smiorcăielile se strânge ca vata scămoasă

Rimirata nell'acume attonito di cipiglioso indulgere ai brinci si stringe a ovatta squassata

Mici ocheade și deschideri spre răsfețe ale acelei dintâi iubiri ce le-a depus luminii cu urletul-surâs

Piccole code d'occhio e aprirsi ai daddoli di quel primo amore che li depose alla luce coll'urlo-sorriso

În gâlgâirea aceea împovărată o umbră singură pe poteca odihnitoare

In quel gorgoglio onusto una sola ombra sulla callaia scianta

*** Olio a macchia è la quiete quando da lontano si smorzano al carminio le ore

Între combustia de piersici și lotuși solilocviez cu sagoma destrămată ce mă târăște pe sub felinare

Fra la congestione di peschi e diospiri soliloquio con la sagoma scorniciata che mi slucertola sotto i lampioni

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*** Ulei murdar este liniștea când de departe se domolesc orele la dărac

Sângele pulsează chiar dacă nu-l chintezesc sorbindu-l lui Amoebe hiperuraniu year I, no. 10, 2021, April

în

mocirlă

Il sangue planctona anche se non lo quintessenso și al sospirare dell'Amebeo nel limaccio e iperuranio ISSN 2458-0198 – ISSN-L 2458-0198

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Tapaja Mitra

Ross Olmos

India

Spain

Winter's song

***

That was the sunset day, Sunrise touches hand, Drowning to your inner world beautiful sunrise saw rohini star, I saw the beautiful light has spread near bisakha, anuradha and swati star, There was scare on my two legs, There was fire sphere in my two hands, Draghima line has to laid down near you, Decade after decade has gone, There is kapurush, arises, What will you give to him?

Give him water of star, Give him the friendship like sudha-amal, Those who has gone, they are in the core of the heart, No painful picture everywhere, No picture of broken harmonium, Shameless sandhya malati flower has given the light, There was a song, which seven monks are singing in the east sky, It is prayer; Look, the cloud in the far To start vedic song, mantra chanting, Touching purbafalguni naksatra winter's song has started in the night of poush...

we are a part of everything divine just like the sun and the moon of the soul is the flesh that breathes alive that lights up the sky the miracles of the heart's beginning the melody where true love abides just like the creator of stardust we also shine

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Farhan Anjum

Heart beat I like the roar of the waves But I’m just a rock On the shore of the sea You may love the waves of the sea But they are only throwing stones They return to their original place Where the mermaid lives They ask, how do you write so well?

I replied innocently. „With love and peace” You cannot live well unless you love Find a soul that loves with great love Is the heart beating fast?

The golden pearl is hidden Somewhere in the heart of Matsyangri I also want to drown in deep water From where love gives birth to a new life The heart is not shivering

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

"I Have Given Your Name Mountain" Having seen your stability I have given your name ............

Mountain Seeing my agility You called me River You are standing in the same place Gazing towards me With a strong determination And I have been floating down Overcoming all obstacles And temptation Grief of separation between Mountain and River Is so much unfathomable Which makes me lonlinessible If drops of tear had wings That might be flying to you Then my sorrow would be Easily understandable It is not known to me For what an invisible intervention I could not be yours Inspite of coming down from your Silvery bosom I am a river Dynamicity is my identity Providing fertility to the mankind I am serving humanity Yet I am embedded with Eternal melancholy Because I could not Look back to you The Mountain Standing on the same position With deep concentration You are a saint In meditation year I, no. 10, 2021, April

1. Selma Kopic Bosnia and Herzegovina

Morning thoughts My parents used to drink coffee early in the morning.

It was part of the day just for them, with conversation and morning news.

Father opens the curtain and watches the blossoming fruit trees.

The room smells of morning coffee, a pleasant warmth radiating from the stove.

Since we didn't used to get up early, the sisters and I would sometimes join in to breathe the warmth of home, to breathe the love that the two of them had shared for years.

They didn't like it.

They needed those hours just for themselves.

And yet they poured us coffee with a lot of milk and with a laugh complained that we were bothering them.

Whenever I think of my parents, I imagine a warm room, a stove from which a fire crackles, the smell of coffee and the two of them facing each other on the sofa.

And I miss all that, I miss them...

It’s wonderful to share the morning thoughts, while the hot coffee smells from the cups.

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Punya Devi

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Santosh Kumar Biswa

The Rhythm of the Butterfly

Bhutan

In every measure of life there is the rhythm.

My Love, let us grow well The rhythm unique in itself of struggle, grief, love, merriment and success.

My love, like the beamish sun of aurora As tender as the vitellus beaded by albumen Securely crusted by the shell to shield it firm, The life comes in colors, the color so blissful in the pattern of rhythm So does our outset love, infantile at this gait. like the butterfly Have it, be prudent and in sagacity we travel Like the rising sun so gently to spring mature that takes hold of our mind.

With the fond warmth a chick needs to hatch Gradual at pace until the dusk for immortality. It is graced by the everlasting nature that disseminate the profound rhythmic power My love, let us build the to make it look like the shell in this open air, butterfly, Like clouds that stops the so catchy in anyone's beam of the heat eyes.

And waters the soil for

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greenery to flourish, To cast aside the dusty air that pollutes us, The roaring and the storm that peril our love.

I shall be your Ceyx and you be my Halcyon Like the bond the sun have for the day And the moon for the night, so much devoted.

My love, let us design our arrow that Eros had, Under the sun filled with promises and love With the wings of pigeons that cast our heart To grow well, ne'er to be bartered outside And to savor the pleasing warmth of winter.

Let me shine like the sun as Chivalrous Knight In your heart, to wait like the gracious Queen, For the love so virtuous, but not the death to stop.

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In time, life becomes strong, other times fragile.

We cherish and sob, but the spirit still goes on sometime to throb -and sometime with delight.

Man is a Biped without Feathers Oh man! Whilst biped, I infract Aristotle, Erstwhile, the claim Diogenes knocked of Plato.

Thou art adorned for nugatory as quadrupeds For the flaws are vivid as same as the beast.

No more immortality, thy soul possesses now For thy desire so vague, thou art the reclusive.

Thy ideal comport looks dim with no feathers TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

For thou sold thy instinct, no spirit remains.

And to precede them and shine In better radiation than others.

Praise the God for feathers, to fly like birds And to read minds for virtues that're mislaid They point at you not because they're the best For thy conscience, all brunt, you know not But, because they hold the weak mind anyone, That concern about being voted out.

To fortify thy biped in pride as high as the Alps.

Thus, accept the life to move at its own pace,

The Poetry of Men And you in your own with little elbow grease To add to it for a better day to lead you

The poetry of men ne'er is boosting to modify Like the candle, the wax being kept depleting, True hell rests in the heart, the love to freeze.

Everyone appears like Adam's unruly wife; The character fully self-absorbed and rigid Like an owl that sings the strain of bad omen.

The ancient Welsh yet to come again to reign With their owl, so boon, to mend poetry soon.

Success to adopt you Many critics come and work, But you remain for success to adopt you.

Whatever they did to you, let it go, You on your side to stay steadfast

And they in their own position to remain.

Poem as Oyster Oh,

Poetry!

Here

I

compare you with Oyster For the cosmos, similar in kind of miscellany.

At times, you appear weird in your contents But porcelain white from inside like an Oyster To heal like a doctor through your words Like Oyster does to fill through its pearls.

When not in the mood, I see you vivid ugly As ugly as Oyster in appearance to get word, But, as it extracts, foods from water, over its gills You too extract my instinct to heal my mind And fix me an ugly duckling for a new day.

As Oyster, you switch your gender over time, To suit in the psyche of people and their type, And boost our mind as Osyter does with zinc

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The poetry of men isn’t syrupy any longer When the esurient world holds its intent To drive men's mind wild, sentient mentation Of desolate humility upon humanity to hymn.

The stinginess held moldered their scruples, No fraternity rest, no fess to see, they got wild.

The race turned stiff for anyone to gasconade Rich men climb and poor are left to scramble.

Through your verse rich in knowledge to heal.

Because one day you are going forward year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Cristina Frangulea

Mladen M. Tokić

Romania

Croatia

My muse My muse is my nature Full of colour And I describe on paper Every shape in its beauty.

My muse is the man himself With his soul in colors I desccribe in him poetry If he's a wonderful man.

Riddle of the Sphinx Created who knows when Sculpted in the stone On the bank of the river Nile On hot sand Where the boy fingers play At light source Where the smile of the sun On your face Extinguishes the riddle darkness

My muse is the ocean What flows incessantly With his waves,waves I painted a picture.

Created who knows when You have existed for centuries Lonely gueen of the sun As you look at the sky In your eyes In the bosom On your lips The water source is

My muse is any flower With its living petals I describe it in poetry Even in pots. mirrored

26

My soul sister The riddle and the winds dance I have a soul sister And I am grateful to get She helps me,she guides me, Like a bigger sister It's a beautiful gift That life gave me I can't be written in words Sometimes,the whole life Can be written in words.

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Pharaoh's dance Created who knows when You defy the looks of the curious And thirsty passers-by The call of Pharaoh The step is yours Translated from Croatian

by Mladen M. Tokić

TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

prose 25-30

Šahdo Bošnjak Bosna i Hercegovina

Roman: Mokropoljske Magle 3. Poglavlje

Majka je morala dobro da ga protrese prije negoli joj je pošlo za rukom da ga razbudi.

Otvorio je najzad oči i onako bunovan i uplašen upitao: – Šta je, zašto me budiš?!

– Sejfula, sine, ustani. Već je šest sati.

Znaš da moraš poći u pekaru, uraditi neke poslove.

Odmah se razbudio, umio i stao spremati za polazak. Emko je već sjedio za stolom, iščekujući majku i brata, dok je sestra Esma pohađala četvrti razred i već se nalazila na putu ka školi. Majka je skrivala suze iznoseći pred sinove komadić jučerašnjeg hljeba i kajganu od dvoje jaja. Već je peti dan da je niko ne zove da šta uradi. Do Emkine tanke plaće još je pola mjeseca, a u kući ni bijelog dinara. Novčanih obaveza se nakupilo kao rijetko kad. Kod trgovca Ibre već se i prezadužila, dižući potrepštine na veresiju. I sad ju je stid pojaviti se pred Ibrinim očima, a kamoli još šta i potraživati na poček. Na sebe nije ni mislila i bukvalno je gladovala, čuvajući ono malo hrane za sinove. A nakon tankog doručka oni su pošli za svojim obavezama: Emko u dućan, a Sejfula u pekaru. Ostavši sama, Fahra je sjela na stari otoman, podnimila glavu rukama i tiho jecala. Razmišljala je o svom tegobnom životu i nesretnoj vezi s Ciganinom Mehom. Eto, year I, no. 10, 2021, April

posluživala je u Gerdovoj kafani i zarađivala taman toliko da bi uz dječiju pomoć i uz Ibrino razumijevanje i veresiju jedva sastavljala kraj s krajem. Ali je šesti dan što je sa svojih putešestvija iznenada, kao i uvijek, bahnuo Ciganin. Džepovi su mu bili puni novca pa se njime i razbacivao. Laskavim riječima i mnogobrojnim razmetljivim obećanjima mamio ju je na nepoznata putovanja čak tamo do Mađarske i Rumunije, pa i dalje, “u obilazak čitavog svijeta”, kako bi govorio. Tjerao ju je da pije alkohol kako bi je lakše obenđijao i privolio na takvu odluku. Jedva je uspjela, posljednjim krajičkom svoje trijezne svijesti, da se nečujno iskrade iz kafane i tako mu umakne.

On ju je privolio na preljubu. Naučio ju je gatati u karte, piti alkohol i još koječega. Da li je kriva? Hm, o tome ne želi razmišljati. Da li se kaje?

Ne, nipošto. Da li je moglo biti drukčije? A da je moglo, pa bilo bi... Čovjek katkad u životu zaista nema izbora. Čini mu se da ima samo jedan put kojim, hoće-neće, mora poći. Jedan jedini, koji mu pruža kakvu-takvu nadu. Svi drugi su očigledan sunovrat. Nebo bez sunca. More bez bonace. Bolest bez ozdravljenja. Pa i taj jedini, kojim se mora poći, ne garantuje ništa. I na njemu možeš biti i kralj i prosjak. I pukovnik i pokojnik. Zašto ju je muž morao napustiti, i nju i djecu? Da je on tu, uz njih, sve bi bilo drukčije. I lakše. Naslanjali bi se jedno na drugo, pomagali bi jedno drugom, bodrili bi se i bili bi jedno drugom onaj jezičak na vagi koji uvijek prevagne u njihovu korist, kad treba pobijediti kakvu golemu nedaću. Bili bi, bili bi sve... Ne, ona nije kriva. Ako je neko kriv, onda je to, bez sumnje, on, Adem. I za sve grijehe koje počini, ako su grijesi, neka

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

odgovara on, a ne, nikako ona.

Iz razmišljanja je trže ženski glas. Neko ju je dozivao s dvorišta. Pogledala je kroz nezastrto krilo kuhinjskog prozora. Vani je stajala Hanija, djevojka što je također služila kod Gerda.

– Uđi – pozvala ju je jedva čujnim glasom i išaretom ruke. Hanija uđe i tiho se spusti na ponuđeno mjesto na otomanu, tik do nje.

Znao je da nema izbora. Trebaju joj novci, a ni batine joj baš ne prijaju. Pred njim na niskom hastalu nalazila se hrana i piće: vruće janjeće pečenje, pečeno pile, narezani komadi crne pogače, masnog sira, luka, paprike te biber i so; a od pića rakija, bosanska šljiva, i nekakva “brlja”, od šljiva bjelica. Bio je predusretljiv kao rijetko kad. Ličio je hijeni u lanetovoj koži, dok je tepao:

28

– A gdje si ti, ljepotice?!

– Sestro, oprosti ako smetam. Poslao me Gledala ga je mrko i, ne vjerujući Parip. Zove te da dođeš kod njega u kafanu.

Ima nešto važno i lijepo da ti kaže. Želi djeci njegovim prijetvornim riječima, samo dati nešto novca, a tebe neće prisiljavati da promucala: pođeš s njim. I rekao je: ako li ne dođeš, doći će – Evo me. Govori što si me zvao?! on ovamo i onda ti se loše – Ama, polahko, piše. Pa ti sad sama odluči živote moj. Kud se žuriš? šta ti je činiti. A ja moram Pred nama je dug dan. Sve poći jer sam na radnom ćeš saznati. Kao prvo, mjestu. Dozna li gazda hodi sjedi svom dragom u gdje sam, mogao bi me krilo – rekao je i pljesnuo najuriti, jadna ti sam. se rukama po Hanija odjuri, a Fahra se dade u razmišljanje. Znala je da je zlo i otići i ne otići. Od dva zla – koje je manje? Oči su joj bile crvene od plača.

Osjećala se nezaštićenom poput travke pred dinosaurom. “O, dragi Bože, ima li te?! Ako ima, zašto si dozvolio da silnici vladaju slabijim, nezaštićenim bićima, da vladaju situacijama i cijelim dunjalukom?! Pa ko će da nas zaštiti, ako Ti nećeš? Svi su me izdali pa još ako i Ti!...” I u trenu odluči poći. “Bude li me maltretirao, bolje da to bude gore, u kafani, nego ovdje, u kući. Mogla bi doći i djeca. Ne želim da to vide. Ako će biti zlo, bolje da bude što dalje od kuće.” Bila je čvrsto odlučila – neće poći s njim, od kuće i djece, ni po koju cijenu.

Pružit će mu otpor, pa šta god da bude.

natkoljenicama.

Ona je šutjela, okrenuvši se na drugu stranu. On je naglo ustao, zgrabio je za ruku i, nimalo nježno, posadio na krilo. Pokušala se opirati, ali bezuspješno. Bila je uplašena, a mozak joj otkazao poslušnost. On je to iskoristio, natjeravši je da popije čašicu rakije.

Tutnuo joj je u ruke pileći batak, govoreći: – Podmaži malo grlo, lakše će kliziti rakija. Čim popiješ još koju, dat ću ti novac da kupiš djeci hranu i sve što treba. A i ja više volim piti u lijepom društvu nego sam.

“Koja lopuža i dvoličnjak!”, pomislila je.

“Kako sam samo nasjela na njegove laži i laskanja, prokleta neka sam!” Nastojala je ustati i suprotstaviti se. Ljutito je podviknula:

– Ne treba mi od tebe ništa! Pusti me da Sjedio je na sećiji prekrivenoj tankim idem! šiltetom, očekujući je. Bio je siguran da će doći.

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Nastalo je hrvanje, a zapljuštali su i prvi šamari. Na nos joj je udarila krv, taman kad su u kafanu stali pristizati gosti na prvu jutarnju “švapsku” kahvu. Uglavnom su to bili sinovi lokalnih gazda, aga i begova. Njihovi očevi prve kahve bi ispijali u Hamzinoj mehani.

Tatinim sinovima je svaka vrsta zabave dobro došla, pa makar bila i ne znam kako okrutna.

Zato se uz glasan smijeh, pljeskanje rukama i otvoreno navijanje za “Cigu”, moglo čuti odobravanje: – Aferim, Paripe! Svaka čast, junače! Znaš ti kako se krote divlje kobile, he, he!...

Pošto joj je na silu ugurao u usta i salio čašicu alkohola, džambas Meha odlučno reče: – Ti, Fahro, večeras, s prvim mrakom, polaziš sa mnom u moj ciganski život. I to... kao moja žena!

Ovaj put idemo u Italiju. S konjima, razumije se.

Ostat ćemo oko dvije sedmice. Sad kad se navikneš, sljedeće putovanje će ti lakše pasti.

Udarajući ga pesnicama po licu, ona je vrisnula i kroz bolni plač odbrusila: – Nikud s tobom neću poći! Ni po cijenu života, gade ciganski!

Istog trena dobila je udarac po ustima.

Od siline udarca izletio joj je jedan od sjekutića, kao da je katapultiran, i završio na prašnjavom drvenom podu.

– Gdje je Emko?! – pitao je uzbuđeno.

U tom času Emko je u skladišnoj prostoriji kupio i vagao šećer iz većih vreća u fišeke od kilograma i pola kilograma, i čuo je Nurkine riječi. Ulazeći u dućan, opazio je Nurku svega usplahirenog. Kratko je upitao: – Šta me trebaš, jarane?

– Došao sam da ti javim da Parip u kafani tuče tvoju mater. Ama, budi oprezan i ne igraj se s njim. Znaš kakav je asija i nabodica!...

Emko ništa ne reče već bez razmišljanja dograbi veliki nož, što se nalazio na pultu i služio za sječenje hljeba i drugih artikala, i koliko ga noge nose potrča prema Gerdovoj kafani. Sa zebnjom u srcu za njim je žurio Nurko, koji se već pokajao što je o događanju u kafani obavijestio Emku. ”Čovjek ne bi trebao nešto da učini prije negoli dobro razmisli o posljedicama.

No, sad je kasno za kajanje. Jer: Da je pamet do kadije kao od kadije, ne bismo kadiji ni išli!” – brujala mu je kroz glavu narodna poslovica. Za to vrijeme Emko se kroz svjetinu radoznalaca i besposličara, što se brzo iskupljala, probijao ka Mehinom hastalu. Poput brzog voza kroz glavu mu je tutnjala samo jedna misao: “Ubiti gada! Ubiti gada! Ubiti ga!...” Ciganin je u stojećem položaju, okrenut bočno svjetini, pokušavao sasuti još jednu čašu rakije u Fahrino grlo. Dok se hrvao s njom, bio je sasvim zaokupljen i nije primijetio Emkin dolazak.

U kuhinji je radila Hanija, a u kafani je konobarisao Nurko, godinu-dvije stariji od – Zašto se siliš nad mojom majkom, Emke, s kojim je bio prijatelj i često se družio. siledžijo?! – pitao je Emko srdito i kroz suze Neprimijetno je napustio kafanu i potrčao u što su vrcale na sve strane.

Ibrinu trgovinu, udaljenu kojih dvjesta metara.

Ispustivši Fahru naglo na sećiju, Meha se year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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– Nigdje ti ne ideš! – otkresao je grubo.

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polahko okretao pridošlom mladiću. Ali, bilo je kasno da spriječi ono što je uslijedilo. Prvi udarac dobio je u lijevi bok, tik iznad kuka. Na licu mu se pojavila grimasa zaprepašćenja, nevjerice i bola. Drugi ubod je bio silovit, posred stomaka, samo malo iznad pupka. Nož mu je ostao u rani, dok se on uhvatio za prestravljenu Fahru, a zatim se, s grčem neopisivog bola, niz sećiju splazao na pod, prevrnuvši pritom hastal s ostacima jela i pića.

Pao je poleđuške, zagledan u Emku, kao da vidi meleka Azraila, koji je došao da ga s dušom rastavi pa se sad dvoumi: da li da to učini ili ne.

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Neko je odmah obavijestio Hitnu pomoć i Žandarmerijsku stanicu.

Stigli su gotovo istovremeno. I dok su bolničari provjeravali da li je Meha živ i ukazivali mu prvu pomoć, žandari su sasvim izgubljenom, kao hipnotisanom Emki stavljali na ruke lisice i grubo ga gurali ka izlazu iz kafane. Majka je bila polumrtva, ali je naglo oživjela i potrčala da otima sina od žandara. Oni su joj puškama branili da mu se približi. Sad je bio njihov.

Njihovo vlasništvo. I imali su više prava nad njim od rođene matere. Zapravo, odsad oni za njega jamče vlastitim životima. Zato: “Odbij!” – čulo se oštro upozorenje iz njihovih zadriglih grla.

Ispravljajući se u sjedeći položaj, Sejfula se jasno sjećao svega što mu se dešavalo tog dana. I narogušenog neba, bremenitog prvim snijegom, koji se mogao očekivati svakog trena, i kako je morao ujutro najprije drvenim kolicima iz počišćene peći prevesti pepeo na određeno mjesto, i, naročito, kad mu je pekar Salko naredio da pečene i izvađene hljebove prenosi i reda na za to namijenjene rafe.

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Prethodno je odrezao komad hljeba, na papir nasuo malo soli i dao Sejfuli da pojede. A njemu se učinilo da nikad u životu nije pojeo nešto slađe i ukusnije, nego što je taj vrući i mirisni komad hljeba. Uto je u pekaru nahrupila sredovječna žena, koju nije poznavao, a koja je očigledno bila redovita Salkina mušterija. Već s vrata je zavapila: – Ma, dragi Salko, što se ovaj svijet izopačio! Eno, Ciganin Parip istukao Fahru, onu što ju je čovjek napustio, a zatim došao njen sin Emko i zbo Cigu, haman namrtvo!...

U tom času se na sokaku oćuti galama i žensko zapomaganje. Sejfuli u grlu zastade zalogaj hljeba, pa ni gore ni dolje. Istrčao je na ulicu kao u deliriju, i imao je šta vidjeti. Četiri žandara vode Emku vezanog, dok se majka gomba s jednim od njih, želeći doprijeti do sina i spriječiti njegovo odvođenje. Plakala je i zapomagala na sav glas, i molila žandare da ga ne vode. Shvativši da će joj trud biti uzalud, stropoštala se na uličnu kaldrmu i od žalosti ostala bez svijesti. Sejfula pritrča majci pa stade da je miluje po licu i kosi. Suze su mu umivale lice, poput krupnih kapi kiše, i škropile zaspalu majku. Ona se stade meškoljiti i dolaziti k sebi, a Sejfula baci kratak pogled za Emkom. Već je zamicao za prve kuće na uglu ulice, dok mu je glava ostala okrenuta nazad, prema nesretnim i bespomoćnim majci i bratu. Sejfula samo pomisli: kako ne stiže ni da se oprosti s bratom, da ga čestito izgrli i izljubi, jer ko zna kad, i da li će se ikad više vidjeti. Od prevelike tuge prući se po majci pa je poče mahnito ljubiti i naglas jecati.

Sutradan je bila subota. Majka povede TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

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– Idite – odobri otac – ali se ne zadržajite dugo.

Cijelog tog dana prepadao je snijeg. Prvi snijeg. Bila je to za djecu prva radost, ove zime. Već je bio do koljena. Brdo, šumica, selo i, malo dalje, varoš, sve se obuklo u bijelo ruho. Bjelina, čistoća i svježina činile su jednoću. A to je: ljepota. Neopisiva ljepota seoskog pejzaža.

Sejfula je tu ljepotu doživljavao malo drukčije.

Dok se Šukrija spuštao na sankama niz neveliki brežuljak, on je k nebu okretao lice, osjećajući kako se na njemu od toplote tope bezbrojne ljepljive pahuljice. I mislio: “Bože dragi, kako bi bilo lijepo da sad te moćne pahulje prekriju njegovu tugu, tugu njegove majke, brata i sestre, njihov strah i patnju. Da prekriju tugu cijelog svijeta. Da prekriju, jednom zauvijek, zlo i sve zle ljude, koji zlostavljaju njegovu majku, njegovog brata, njega i sestricu. Koji zlostavljaju bilo koga. Pa da tako zauvijek nestane prokletog zla na year I, no. 10, 2021, April

čitavom svijetu. I zlih ljudi, razumije se.” Iz razmišljanja ga trže glas drugog dječaka: – Hajde, Sejfula, šta si se zamislio?! Ti si na redu.

Pošto im je dosadilo sankanje, rođak predloži da prave Snješka.

– Ti pravi sebi, a ja ću sebi. I da vidimo ko će prije i čiji će biti ljepši, važi l’? – reče i stade valjati grude vlažnog snijega.

– Važi. Ja ću praviti babu.

– He, he, zar babu od snijega?

– A šta ima veze, ličit će na mog oca.

Kad je bio pri kraju, Sejfula ugleda ispod obližnje obale malo raskravljene zemlje.

Odmah Snješku razblaćenom zemljom nacrta nos, oči, usne i iznad usana tanke brčiće.

– Ho, ho, ho... Tvoj Snješko ima i brkove! – začudi se Šukrija.

– Da, pa šta?!

– A šta će mu brkovi?

– Zato što brkove ima i moj babo.

– Ali, tvoj babo vas je ostavio. Ja ne bih želio takvog oca.

I pored svega što im je učinio, Sejfula je osjećao prema ocu veliku naklonost. Čak i ljubav. Nedostajao mu je. O, kako bi volio da raste pored njega, da od njega mnogo toga nauči, da mu bude uzor. Zato je rođakove riječi doživljavao kao uvredu, naljutio se na njega, ne htjevši govoriti s njim više od sat vremena.

U igri Šukrija je zaboravio na očevo upozorenje: da se ne zadržavaju suviše dugo.

Prenuo ih je njegov poziv za večeru.

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Sejfulu i Esmu bratu u obližnje selo. Željela je da djeca malo zaborave na ružne i mučne događaje koji su im se događali tih dana.

Predvečer se vratila kući, vodeći sa sobom Esmu. Ona je morala pohađati školu, a Sejfula nije imao takvu obavezu. Zato ga je ostavila kod daidže cijelu sedmicu. Daidža je imao sina Šukriju, samo godinu starijeg od Sejfule. Lijepo su se slagali i družili. Daidža Hikmet bavio se poljoprivredom i od toga je živio. Volio je sestru Fahru i pomagao joj koliko je mogao. Ali ne mnogo, jer je i sam životario na jedvite jade.

Imao je kravu i junicu, volovsku zapregu, petero ovaca i nešto, ne mnogo, peradi.

Predvečer je Šukrija nahranio perad, a zatim upita oca da im dozvoli da pođu na obližnji brežuljak sankati se.

Brzo je prohujala sedmica dana što ju je Sejfula prouživao kod daidžinih ukućana.

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Hrane je bilo dovoljno, i to raznovrsne i ukusne. I druženje sa Šukrijom, uz manja neslaganja, proteklo je na obostrano zadovoljstvo. Malo je radio, pomažući oko stoke, a nešto je i naučio. Došavši kući, zatekao je majku u postelji. Imala je upalu pluća i liječila se čajevima od nekakvih trava.

Zapravo, ona je ležala zbog tuge za Emkom i osjećaja lične krivice, što mu se to desilo. Čak se i Esma trudila da joj šta pomogne i tako olakša patnju. Sejfulu je na saonama dovezao daidža, a usput je dovezao i nešto hrane: koji kilogram krompira, malo graha i sira.

Predvečer je Ibro poslao po kćerki dva hljeba iz trgovine i poručio da od sutra, ako želi, može Fahra dolaziti i pomagati u trgovini namjesto Emke.

To je majku iznimno obradovalo. Sutradan se posve pridigla i uz kašljucanje krenula na novi posao. Prije odlaska napomenula je Sejfuli da se pekar Salko raspitivao za njega i da je rekao kako treba nastaviti pomagati u pekari, čim se vrati od daidže. Sve se, dakle, vraćalo u uobičajenu životnu kolotečinu, osim što sa njima nije bio Emko, koji im je stalno bio u mislima i s kojim su duboko suosjećali. A on se nalazio u Zenici, u pritvoru i iščekivao je suđenje. Njemu u prilog išla je okolnost da je Meha izdržao dvije operacije i preživio ranjavanja. Pošto se oporavio, zakazano je suđenje. Stvari su bile prilično jasne. Sudija je uzeo u obzir sve okolnosti pod kojima se slučaj desio. Olakšavajuća okolnost bila je što je Meha permanentno maltretirao majku te je Emko dobio samo tri godine kaznenopopravnog zavoda, s robijanjem u Zenici. Meha se više nikad nije pojavljivao u Mokropolju. Tako se napokon završio cijeli

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ovaj nemili slučaj. A majka bi, po svaku cijenu, nastojala da barem jedmom mjesečno posjećuje Emku, i odnese mu štagod od svoje sirotinje: malo hrane i kakve tople odjeće, da se ne isprehlađuje i ne oboli tako mlad.

Małgorzata Żurecka Poland

The white door Nusia, all flushed by the sun, burst straight into Grannie's kitchen with a shout: “Grannie, something to drink!”

The July heat was making its nuisance, and the fun (by the river with the village kids) was so entertaining that Nusia had not time to eat or drink, but finally she recalled her grannie’s home.

Grannie quickly poured some currant compote, well chilled in the well water, into a pot... and when Nusia slurped it almost in one gulp, she realized Grannie was not alone there, and that auntie Gienia (from a town not far from Skoszów, the name of which she did not remember) was sitting on a chair by the table.

“Oh, when have you grown so tall and big? I couldn't recognize you. You're getting more and more like a maiden, a little young lady,” her aunt almost sang in a raised voice.

“Shake a leg Nusia and go to the yard for a while,there is no dinner yet, I will call you when it is ready... and we both here, I and your Auntie, have several adult topics to be talked about,” Grannie ordered.

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“OK, Grannie,” Nusia dropped a curtsy, and they could not see her more. However, she did not run away immediately, but stopped in the hall to curiously hear about what Grannie and Auntie were talking about.

woods and fields’ and lives on air,” Grannie slammed the door shut.

It turned out that Auntie didn't come alone. Almost as if from under the ground, Nusia's cousin and, at the same time, Auntie’s “And where did we stop our chat, son Sylwek appeared suddenly. She had not Wiesia?” seen him for a long time.

“On this material for a soutane you are “How are you? You‘ve grown up so much, buying for your Sylwek.” which school class are you in?”

“Since September, have to go to Przemyśl. he will start studying at We are visiting you on our the Roman Catholic way there because my priests’ seminary. I will mother wanted to talk to tell you that it is my great your grannie… and dream to live long enough probably, to borrow some that I can see his first money… You have a mass and see him in the pretty dress and your hair priest’s soutane. My God, is long now,” he said as if how happy I am that he by the way, glancing all agreed to go to this over her. seminary!... because at the beginning, he “Oh, yes,” she said, even more rebelled. And you know our Polish proverb: embarrassed.

‘He who has a priest in his family will not be They sat by the house on a birch bench, touched by poverty.’” not having much to talk about.After a while, “Oh, nonsense, what are you talking however, Grannie leaned out the window. about, Gienia? It’s hard to hear, one should be “Kids, come to have dinner! But shut the a priest when inspired by God’s call!” door, when already in, for fear of flies!”

“Eh, you’re kidding!... inspired,” Auntie Nusia and Sylwek briskly headed home. grunted.

Tasty smells flew from the kitchen. Although it …Nusia listened no longer, fled as soon was not Sunday, Grannie was cooking a as she heard the chair scrape, she quickly chicken soup, in order to properly treat Aunt jumped out into the yard.

Gienia.

“A plague with this girl! I told her to close After the dinner, Sylwek suggested: the door, but why, no! She runs ‘through “Maybe we could take a stroll towards year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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“Well, and imagine, Wiesia, a friend from “Promoted to Class Five already,” she Przemyśl put this material in the shop away blushed, because she felt him watching her for me, hidden under the counter, and I must with concentrated attention. tell you, a beautiful, black woolen ‘one“Have you come for a long time?” she hundred’ type, it is not cheap, but what cannot asked him shyly. be done for one’s own “As long as until child?” tomorrow, because we

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the river? Will you show me where you play sensed that he did it wittingly. with your gang of kids?... Grannie told me They both fell down together to the about it when you weren't here.” ground… and he pressed her firmly with his “Okay, we can go. There will certainly be whole body to the ground, at the same some of my friends, girls and boys, because time,quickly slipping his hand underneath her they graze cows… and they get bored by short dress. grazing cows, so they will be happy to see you, Nusia could not even move or shout, as a new person.” because he covered her mouth with his hand…

And indeed, there were several of her but he instantly released her and laughed, peers chasing one another across the meadow saying: on the bank of the river.

“It was a joke, let’s keep playing!”

“Oh, Nusia is coming! Whom are you And he only made sure that the other leading here?” they were already asking from kids were running about with their withes, afar. falling on each other with “Well, this is my cousin Sylwek, he and his mother have come to visit us.”

Sylwek saw no problem in the fact that he was much older than them. He cut out some withes (of the osier at the river bank) with a penknife, and offered them with his suggestion to start a ‘chase-me’ game:

laughter them.

and

ignoring

Nusia, taking advantage of this situation, wanted to immediately run towards the children and thus free herself, but he barred her path and whipped her bare calves hard with his withe.

She hissed with pain but she didn't betray that it was painful to her, “Whoever is reached by the withe, must and he staggered against her again with a cry fall to the ground and get up only after (from a ‘warship game’): counting to ten... and we play in pairs. All right, “Hit by a torpedo, sunken down!” let's get started.”

And, after throwing her to the ground

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Nusia was ready to be running from Sylwek, because he immediately had chosen her to his pair. And she was fast in her legs, so it was not easy to catch up with her.

and lying on her, he pressed her down and clang to her with his whole body, immobilizing her hands… and his hand, insistentlyand unhesitatingly now, reached as far as to touch Sylwek could not catch her because she and tug her panties between her thighs, was cleverly trying to confuse the directions of forcing them apart more and more. the run, and she was hiding behind some small In defence, with all her strength, she did bush… but he was preponderant over her in her best in attempting to make her knees come the great leaps of his long legs. together. Nusia was struggling hard, He suddenly collided with her. She unsuccessfully trying to free herself from

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She was running as and when she saw Nusia, fast as she could, straight she got terrified. to Grannie’s house, “Baby, what’s without looking back or happened, baby?... ” looking at the ground “Nothing, Grannie, it beneath her feet – she did is nothing but my not bypass any thistles, mud of drying headache. I want to sleep.” she let it loose from puddles, or nettles, scared herds of hens inside, nervously, unable to catch her breath. grazing in front of Grannie’s house…

“In full daylight, to bed? Well, show your There was pain in her chest, sweat on her forehead, I think you have a fever, you back, and her throat was dry with fear and hot heaven’s plague of mine. Do go to bed and lie air. down immediately, I'll bring you some cold She was running, thinking of nothing but compote, maybe it’s owing to the hot weather. reaching her Grannie’s door as soon as …Nusia carefully closed the door of the possible. room where she and her Grannie used to sleep, When she finally reached the door she still looked outof the window as to make handle, she jerked hard, but the door didn't sure Sylwek was not coming there. She sensed open. Only this cry was knocking in her head: that what he was doing to her was very evil “Do open, Grannie, open! I beg you, and a serious sin. open!”

She went to bed, pulled the quilt all the

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under the overwhelming weight of Sylwek’s banged on the door with her fists: body, and to cast his disgusting palm of the “Grannie, open it! I beg you!” hand out of her private parts… which she had She fancied that Sylwek was standing avoided to call in plain terms until then, and behind her, and going to throwher down used to grow so embarrassed when it had again. been mentioned. All overlain with his body, She tugged at the door handle, while she couldn't even scream. thinking that she was already completely lost Unexpectedly, he freed her body from because Grannie was probably not at home himself, as if nothing had happened, because and the door was locked. the children were running to them, seeing Giving up and resigned, she looked back, them struggling. but Sylwek was not there. Once again, but this “Don't fight, what’re you doing?!” they time she pressed the door handle more calmly. shouted in fear.

Suddenly, the door handle gave way, as “We don't fight, do we, Nusia? It's just the door had not been like fooling around.” closed.

And when she was …Grannie, released, she jumped up disturbed by the sound of like a scared deer, she knocking at the door in could no longer hear what the hall, went out to check Sylwek was saying to her. what was happening…

She tugged at the door handle again, way to the top of her head. She felt like crying,

year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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and also wanted to tell everything to Grannie, but she was so ashamed and…and was not sure if she was guilty herself… because once her Grannie angrily told her not to swing her buttocks in the way she did because it wasnot allowed, as a girl was to be modest.

Since her adventure with Sylwek, she often dreamt a nightmare at night: she was running away, her legs failed her and did not want to run, and when she reached the door at last, and was tugging the door handle, the door wouldn’t open.

But Nusiawas convinced that she had not been swinging her buttocks, she just had such a waddling gait, she couldn't otherwise... and she didn't really know what Grannie was so particular about, but she sensed her Grannie warned her for some reason.

However, the door was always white in a dream.She could not guess why – after all, the door of Grannie's house was painted with brown paint…

One day in late autumn, when she had returned from school, the telephone rang.

Finally she fell asleep.

Her Mum answered and after a moment She slept all the afternoon, evening and she gestured for Nusia to go to her room and night, and when the close the door behind her, voices of her aunt, which meant she was not Grannie and Sylwek woke to eavesdrop. her up in the morning, she From the muffled suddenly sat up on the words of the conversation bed in fear. Grannie called it appeared, that Sylwek to her: had not gone to the

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“Say them goodbye, as they’re already leaving.

They have to hurry, a good bit of the way to the station. They can't be late for the train!”

seminary to be a priest, and he had had a lawsuit in a court, but he hadn’t been imprisoned, he had joined the army.

Nusia was deeply penetrated by a thrill Sylwek stuck his head into Nusia's room of fear, and she felt a painful cramp in her and just put his finger to his lips, and then he stomach. punched himself under the chin with his fist, conveying her in that dumb show that Nusia xxx had not tosay a single word about that.

Translated by Mirosław Grudzień & Anna That time Nusia wanted to return home Maria Stępień from holidays as soon as possible, she looked forward to her Mum with longing. She felt relief only when she had returned to her room in their town.

For good-night, she hugged her beloved teddy bear, which she had got from her dad when she was a little baby… and started crying long into his corduroy paws.

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essay 31-35

Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim

Dubai

I learnt

A handful of love

And I have learned that it takes time to make what should last, That it takes more than a moment to consolidate the walls, that it may take a few seasons for the summer to erase the winter, for the present to chase away illusions and to do everything that needs to be done.

A woman is a dream A little love to come a little A poem One line rhythm A moonlit night

We can get excited about something and then leave at the slightest sign, we can take a path and then deviate from its line, it often takes more than a desire to fill the need, and sometimes even a whole life to achieve better love.

We build with what we have, sometimes it's little, sometimes a lot, but by not giving up we manage to do it despite everything. We can appreciate what we have and then let our heart quiver, listening to all those secrets that will help us grow, but let's not wait until we are old to appreciate the little days, those little things that make us happy, those little things that make us love. To want everything well before time, we neglect the daily life, we forget the happiness and sometimes even to reach out...

year I, no. 10, 2021, April

Something not to say. Some get what they want Given something Flower broom in the delirium of words Singing.

A little mercy in life A little faith Yours sincerely Done A sorted household Some emotion some arrogance A handful of love A little dad called. A little struggle a little The struggle for survival A little energy boast A little power, a little victory A little wearing win With thisLife story.

One day the hair will ripen One day I will grow old The power struggle will stop Boast of power One day destiny calls I have to pay the last ferry.

I will leave one day Leave the world The new generation Just like me A handful of love The fragrance will spread in this way.

One day it will be mine All feelings are in the air of love

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Tunis

S. M. Sajeur Rahman (Ashru)

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

confabulation 36-46

Dr. Malak Nora Hammadi Algeria

Australia

38

Black letters Humans love each other, and my love transcends the limits of nature I madly adore black letters who stole myself from me for a while And I stay in that place. Do you remember that, letters?

That vanished corner inside us When the conversation between us was lengthy and not boring, when passion was stealing our eyes. When telepathy was the exchange between us .. reading was a pleasure … and the book was a picnic A second world parallel to ours devoid of all impurities is very pure From the trivialities of human beings … those who ran after the materialities of life carry their barefoot minds inside skulls that rode on bodies devoid of feelings There our beautiful world was absolutely free and everything was realistic It touches the essence of the truth, saturated with sincere feelings, where honesty was our title because there is no room for deceiving ourselves … When love is real, black letters, a phrase is written on his forehead .. sincere, there is no room for treachery ..

In our world, O letters, loyalty is one of the rules of love, a clause approved and sealed and signed from pure hearts that do not bear the grudge of love and peace whose title is In our world, dear, the letters of justice are prevalent and the master of the situations

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Nardine Sanderson

Before the grave Someday amidst the light of mourning We may come to sad days end, or maybe the night will court us and then become our friend, who knows if joyous sun's may set, or rain brings storms of heavy doubt, reminding those who've come to loss, what love was all about Who knows if darkened skies may hold the lasting breaths for time may cease And call upon the Angel's , and bid them home in fleece, For only places touched By love with mortal eyes and hands unfold, but bring to mind such immortal words where spoken last and bold Such sadness in the overflow of tears on beds of death may come And in the light exchange what's left before the words are done Goodbyes seem so painful, in the midst of all things beautified and touched by grace, and evening comes with gentle kisses upon a tired face, yet In the middle of a desert not a flower escapes the hot brased air, and in the night oh many stars they shine so way up there And in my garden beds that group Hold soil to my heart and soul But come not for endings ever dark But oh so beautiful , TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

For all the roses would then be ultimately helpless. There was nothing else flourished, by the bone and blood confined to she could do either besides staring at them day land, and so the call of morning light makes me and night. The white paint on the wall that she succumb have seen when she first came there have now As sand, no time would come for further almost turned dull greyish and started to get breath, and death would then be the light one peeled off as the time flowed by over the years. craves, in all but all we are but children, whom It was one of the darkest days to be alive with live before the grave. immense pain in her heart. But lately the walls Radhika Rani that have kept away the joys seemed to reciprocate some invisible hopes that are

Bhutan

ultimately healing her wound.

The moonbeams

soothing swiftly

walked in through the tiny window that layed an inch higher than her hight and gently touched her show white like skin. The night outside was pretty dark like someone is mourning over the death of their beloved ones but in contractry, it unusually looked beautiful.

The flickers of glittering night twinkles thousand of miles away from the land - water earth crust in the sky glowed more and made her feel, there is still a day filled with delights and sparks patiently awaiting her arrival outside those closets. She can be free and find her home.

It had been almost half a decade that she had been enclosed amongst those melancholic walls, too strong to tear apart and way too concrete for her to break through. She tried hard, a million ofways to slide through and find back her shedded wings but lost and was year I, no. 10, 2021, April

"It's better for me to be here. I never had a place to go eitherways", she said to herself taking a

long

breath

and

stretching her lips to set her teeth to the edges.

There was a pain in her sing

song

voice.

She

stared at the metal bars in front that have kept her confined for so long and bluffed a faint smile.

"With

so

many

memories, right? " someone broke the chain of her thoughts from behind. The voice wasn't exactly unknown to her yet she abruptly turned around towards it to face and it was her again. Uff. It was Misha.

Misha was two years elder to her and was a lawyer who completed her bacholar degree from one of the University in Bangladesh a year ago and now is an intern who wants to clear her name from the criminal records. She found out about Neelam being

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Chapter 1 : The Prison Cell

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

her and spill the ball of justice on her court and must be happy about it I guess", she set her free. Moreover, she treats Neelam like immediately asked again pretending hard to a friend and wants to help her out on the stake sound excited when in reality she was least of her marriage. She is ambitious.

bothered by it. How can she be when her life

"For how long you want to be here have become a puzzle amongst this ridges that keeps you confined. comprehend herself.

Neelam, I know well about how desperately

she

couldn't

"I think it will not happen ", Misha

you wish to see the daylights and smile, to hear replied. the tiny chirping of the birds in the morning, to

"Why? You are young and of course

see the seasons displaying it's gifts with the beautiful too. So why is it Misha", she asked passage of time and so on", Misha asked her little astonished. This time she really was again in her commanding voice. She had been taken aback and little curious as well. She asking the same question could not exactly to her for almost month understand about her by then and silence was

denial for marriage in the

only response she have

spur of the moment.

got so far. That was

"I need to take you

inconsiderate.

out first! I have promised

"I don't really have a

that I will celebrate my

home", she said with a

happiness after you be

smile, actually a fake

freed", she smirked. She

smile that came over her

took a long uneven breath

pinkish lips stretching till

and Neelam could notice

the other end of her

that she was agitated but

frozen face with reluctance.

"But Neelam, I am your lawyer here.

to her astonishment, instead of screaming, she continued in a totally calm tone , " it's in your

Please, I need your full cooperation. Your hand now" statement can help me prove you innocent

"But Misha. You...? "

and..."

"I don't know anything regarding this

"What about your engagement Misha? matter, you can sort it out yourself and let me You said your family is really anxious about it know!", she said and stood up to leave. She

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", Neelam cut her short.

was not at all sure whether Neelam would

"It happened two days ago ", she replied dare to spill the beans to her but abruptly she with a shrilled tone knowing well in her head heard her voice behind her. that Neelam was literally trying hard to divert her attention.

To be continued!

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Romania

„Şi în tăcerea cea mai tăcută se aude un cuvânt..."

Interviu cu poetul Luciano Pellegrini

de a experimenta. Rețin ca foarte comod, și chiar insignifiant, faptul de a accepta și a face ceva doar fiindcă este tradiție și gata. Nu-i pentru ființe ce posedă o mare resursă intelectivă cum suntem noi, ființe umane.

Apropos de asta, într-adevăr mare este lecția lui Dante care, în Divina Comedie, îl pune pe Ulise să spună: - "Considerate la vostra semenza: / fatti non foste a viver come bruti, / ma per seguir virtute e conoscenza."

1 - Cine ești tu, de fapt, Luciano 2 - În introducerea la ultima ta Pellegrini ? culegere de versuri, Goshen, susții că E foarte dificil de dat un răspuns la poezia e un fel de refugiu și apoi că refugiul această întrebare, dat fiind faptul că în această uman e fortăreața în care a iubi înseamnă a dimensiune nimic nu poate "fi" static, ci totul urâ. Şi atunci, a iubi înseamnă a urî ? Şi devine și se transformă încă: ce anume este continuu. Cu atât mai pentru tine poezia, în mult cu cât noi, subiecte această visată relație cu umane, tocmai în calitate cele două verbe ? de subiecte, potrivit Sunt de părere că lecției lui Sartre, nu nimic nu-i în totalitate suntem ceea ce suntem. negativ sau pozitiv, ci că Aș putea poate să mă fie unul, fie celălalt fac definesc un "neliniștit parte dintr-un sistem de căutător al Esenței", ce echilibru. Şi nu e o escaladează vârful vieții întâmplare că una dintre oprindu-se în refugii. Deși imaginile cele mai având o mare atracție semnificative pentru pentru filosofiile mine este tao. Ei bine, în taopartea albă are un orientale nu neglijez presupusa științificitate mic spațiu negru, cea neagră are un punct alb. occidentală. Având în vedere că, pentru mine, Asta înseamnă că Binele nu e în mod complet totul, chiar și ceea ce nu se reușește să se bine, iar Răul nu e întru totul rău, ci ambele înțeleagă și să se cuprindă cu mintea, are o părți se completează și se rezumă reciproc. Iar explicație, să zicem..."logică", sunt convins că, asta e valabil pentru toate lucrurile, printre odată cu trecerea timpului, se va găsi punctul care și iubirea. Astfel, în anumite limite, totuși de întâlnire între ceea ce definim "Spirit" și ura poate deveni un refugiu. Deci, totul e materie. Astăzi, am desăvârșit multe "refugiu": casa, leagănul, căldura. Însă ceea ce "miracole" de negândit până acum câteva înțeleg eu nu e desigur refugiul crepuscolar și decenii. Însă asta nu înseamnă, totuși, că eu n- pascolian, ci un areal spațio-temporal unde se aș fi religios, dimpotrivă, în felul meu, sunt pot studia strategii pentru a încerca să ne într-o foarte mare măsură.Numai că nu pot satisfacem "programul" interior ce ne este accepta pasiv misterul dogmelor doar fiindcă propriu. Iar poezia face parte tocmai din nu se reușește să fie explicate ori fiindcă au "programul" genului uman fiindcă totul este fost, în mod greșit ori voit, ocultate și am poezie: soarele ce răsare, o floare ce nevoie nu atât de a înțelege, cât de a percepe, year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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George Popescu

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îmbobocește, jocul unui copil și, chiar dacă nu pare, este asta și o lacrimă, durerea, o ființă bătrână care moare. Orice lucru, repet, are un dublu sens și este văzut pozitiv ori negativ după cum se consideră singur. Pentru mine, deci, poezia este "arta de a vedea și de a reprezenta cu oricare mijloc posibil echilibrul cosmic".

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3 Pellegrin[i]ajultău într-un continent care este cuvântul mi se pare un mod de a "penelopa" continuu la granițele speranței. "A penelopa"* pentru mine înseamnă a aștepta nu doar speranța, fie și cu toată credința necurmată în înțelepciunea lui Ulise. Este, după părerea ta, poetul un Ulise care nu s-a întors încă, dar știe că se va întoarce odată ? Luciano, te simți un Ulise ori cel puțin un nepot al său ?

Toate ființele umane sunt, după părerea mea, niște Ulise ce se refugiază, evident unul mai mult, altul mai puțin, în căutarea a ceva. Poetul amplifică această căutare, o trăiește cu intensitate, o vivisecționează, aproape. De asta poetul poate, efectiv, să se definească chiar un Ulise care caută să se întoarcă acasă ( pacea sa ), în Itaca sa ( în el însuși), la Penelopa ( la sine însuși ). La acest punct, având în vedere că ne aflăm în argumentul nostru, aș născoci, improvizat, chiar și verbul a ulisa. De aceea a ulisa și a penelopa, în semnificatul lor metaforic intrinsec, sunt ambele două refugii extrem de active: Ulise luptă pentru a se întoarce la Penelopa; Penelopa, la rândul ei, nu stă degeaba, acolo în ungherul ei, inertă, sperând și așteptând întoarcerea tovarășului ei, ci acționează, țese și des-țese pânza pentru a întârzia o nouă căsătorie, printre altele

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nedorită. Iar asta tocmai fiindcă știa că Ulise sar fi întors. Iată deci din nou dualitatea și echilibrul fiindcă a ulisa și a penelopa sunt două verbe-refugii ce tind împreună spre unul singur și astfel spre infinit.

4 - Există un poet român, Nichita Stănescu, de care te apropii . Nichita a murit cu vreo cincisprezece ani în urmă, însă poezia sa continuă să ne izbească pentru modul său singular de a 'manipula' cuvântul, verbul. Îți spun pentru curiozitatea ta că în română există acum și verbul 'a nichitiza' care, sunt convins, că îți place. El vorbea adesea despre cuvânt ca despre un 'sălaș", în terminologia, pe atunci neștiută totuși ca astăzi, heideggeriană, iar tu vorbești despre cuvânt ca despre un refugiu...

Eu susțin că toți locuim efectiv în cuvinte: nume de persoane, substantive, verbe. Fără cuvinte n-ar fi comunicare și nici măcar civilizație.

Gândurile înseși și emoțiile sunt exprimate cu semne și sunete care sunt de fapt cuvinte. Acum, și limba este ca o ființă trăitoare și este astfel subiect al metamorfozei și al regulei universale de stază și de mișcare intuită de Parmenide și de Heraclit. Fiind obiect al unei arte, înțeleasă ca mijloc la dispoziția ființei umane, limba nu se poate fosiliza, ci trebuie să urmeze evoluția în mod direct proporțional celei a unei civilizații. Şi cine este cel care posedă sensibilitatea și mijloacele pentru a modifica sensul expresiv al cuvântului și a-l îmbogăți cu noi elanuri metaforice dacă nu poetul ? Apoi, că tu crezi ori nu, și în tăcerea cea mai tăcută se aude un cuvânt: e cel care invadează orice ființă, orice lucru existent. Este ecoul Vibrației universale.

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5 - Dacă ar trebui să alegi un cuvânt în mișcarea și tăcerea nu coexistă? Ori încă, poate care ai vrea să locuiești sau ori poate să o ființă umană să-și oprească fluxul mori, care ar fi acela ? gândurilor, având în vedere că acestea se Am încercat să exprim într-un roman că exprimă în cea mai mare parte cu cuvinte ? orice ființă are un nume al său, foarte Verbul manifestă o acțiune, în această invididual și unic, care ar trebui să încerce să- dimensiune, unde totul e în continuă mișcare l descopere în sine însăși. Acest nume este și în perenă metamorfoză, și chiar și a te opri cuvântul ce împrejmuiește esența fiecărei determină o acțiune. Prin urmare, pentru mine ființe umane. Vezi, eu gândesc că fiecare dintre verbul nu poate să tacă și trebuie să vorbească noi e asemenea unei ființe nedesăvârșite și, în continuu, fiindcă limba se întemeieză chiar pe felul său, își simte în spate acel 'nu știu ce' de verbul care poate, după părerea mea, să neliniște. Atunci trebuie să comunice în vreun transforme foarte bine și substantivele creând fel, să aibă raporturi cu ceilalți. Este un noi forme verbale și metafore mai incisive și concept poate un pic mai dificil, dar are, mai directe.

6 - Deloc, mai ales că în română, ca și în italiană dealtfel, acest cuvânt funcționează în ... „manieră” francez.

Apropos de „manieră”, care este 'regimul' tău poetic. Te întreb fiindcă, atât cât te cunosc, simt că în spatele sintaxei tale există o dictatură a verbului. Dictatură ar însemna dic-tare**, de la 'a zice', nu, chiar dacă etimonul e același. Nu crezi însă că ar fi mai bine ca Verbul, ca (Verbum, ca logos), să tacă, așa cum voia ori cum credea Wittgenstein ?

Corciano ( Perugia) - 22 octombrie 1996 * Poetul italian uzează, amator de creații de cuvinte, născocitor de termeni poetici proprii, de verbul a penelopa în ultima sa plachetă de versuri intitulată Goshen * *Joc de cuvinte posibil în italiană între dittatura și dettatura

„E nel più taciuto silenzio si sente una parola”

Intervista con il poeta Luciano Pellegrini 1 - Chi è Luciano Pellegrini?

È molto difficile dare una risposta a questa domanda, visto il fatto che in questa dimensione niente possa “essere” statico, ma tutto diventa e si trasforma continuamente.

Quanto più noi, soggetti umani, appunto come soggetti, secondo la lezione di Sartre, non siamo ciò che siamo come tale. Potrei forse definirmi un “impaziente ricercatore dell’Essenza”, che scala verso la cima della vita fermandosi nei rifugi. Pure avendo una grande Și cum se poate opri universul? Așa cum attrazione per le filosofie orientali non ignoro spun Luzi și filosofia orientală, la presupposta scientificità occidentale. Dato metamorfozarea continuă a lucrurilor, che, per me, tutto, anche ciò che non ci si riesce year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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pentru mine, o importanță fundamentală care trimite la ideea infinitudinii refugiilor, a dualității oricărui lucru și al echilibrului individual și cosmic. Prin urmare, în așteptarea descoperirii cuvântului care oglindește esența mea, trebuie să spun că sunt mult atras de un cuvânt, de mine născocit: AMORATION. Nu ar trebui să fie prea dificil să i se înțeleagă semnificatul, nu ?

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capire e competere con la mente, ha una spiegazione, direi “logica”, sono convinto che. col passare del tempo, sarà identificato il punto d’incontro fra ciò che chiamiamo Spirito e Materia. Oggi, abbiamo decifrato molti miracoli impensabili fino a qualche decennio fa. Però questo non significa che io non sarei religioso, anzi, da parte mia, ne sono in una grande misura. Soltanto che non posso accettare passivamente il mistero dei dogmi solo per il motivo che non si riesce a spiegarli oppure perché sono stati, erroneamente o volutamente, occultati e per questo sento il bisogno di percepirli o sperimentarli. Mi pare troppo comodo, spesso anche insignificante, accettarli e seguirli perché effettivamente entrano nella tradizione e basta. Non va per esseri che possiedono una grande risorsa intellettiva come pretendiamo essere noi umani. A questo proposito, gande resta la lezione di Dante che, nella sua “Divina Commedia”, lo mette Ulisse a dire: Considerate la vostra semenza: / fatti non foste a viver come bruti, / ma per seguir virtute e conoscenza”.

il Tao. Ebbene, nel Tao la parte bianca ha un piccolo spazio nero, quella nera ha un punto bianco. Questo significa che il Bene non è completamente bene, e il Male non è in tutto male, ma tutte e due le parti si compiono e si completano a vicenda. E questo vale anche per le tutte le cose, fra le quali anche l’amore. Così, con qualche limite, anche l’odio può diventare un rifugio. Quindi, tutto è rifugio: la casa, la culla, il caldo. Però ciò che io ci intendo non è certamente un rifugio crepuscolare e pascoliano, ma un’area spazio-temporale dove si possono apprendere strategie per tentare di soddisfare il nostro “programma” più intimo.

E la poesia fa parte appunto del programma del genere umano, in quanto tutto diventa poesia: il sole che sorge, un fiore che sboccia, il gioco di un bimbo e, anche se restano oscurati, una lacrima, il dolore, un anziano che sta morendo.

Ogni cosa, ripeto, ha un doppio senso, positivo o negativo a seconda del punto di vista. Per me, quindi, la poesia è “l’arte di vedere e di rappresentare con ogni mezzo possibile l’equilibrio cosmico”.

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2 - Nella introduzione della tua raccolta Goshen sostieni che la poesia è una specie di rifugio e poi che il rifugio umano è la fortezza in cui amare vuol dire odiare.

E allora, amare significa davvero odiare? E per lo più: cosa effettivamente è per te la poesia, in questo sognato rapporto con i due verbi?

3 - Il tuo peregrinare in un continente che è la parola mi pare presentarsi come Penelope ai continui confini della speranza. Per me, “penelopare *” significa attendere non solo la speranza, nonostante la sapienza di Ulisse. Sarebbe, secondo te, il poeta un Ulisse che non è tornato a casa, ma sa che ci ritornerà finalmente? Tu, Luciano, Penso che niente non sia totalmente ti senti un Ulisse oppure almeno un suo negativo o positivo, bensì che l’uno e l’altro “nipote”? appartengano di un sistema di equilibrio. E Tutti gli esseri umani sono, a mio parere, non sarebbe una semplice vicenda il fatto che degli “Ulisse” che si rifugiano, uno di più, altro una delle immagini più significative per me sia di meno, in cerca di qualcosa. Il poeta ampia

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

4 - C’è un poeta romeno, Nichita Stanescu, di cui ti sento vicino. Lui morì anni fa, a soli 15 anni, però la sua poesia continua a provocarci per il suo singolare modo di “manipolare” la parola, il verbo.

Te lo dico anche perché nel linguaggio della critica letteraria romena è in uso il concetto “nichitizzare” che sono convinto che ti piacerebbe. Lui parlava spesso della parola come di un riparo nella terminologia heideggeriana e tu parli di parola proprio come di un rifugio.

Io penso che tutti abitiamo effettivamente in parole: nomi di persone, sostativi, verbi. Senza parole non ci sarebbe comunicazione e nemmeno civiltà. I pensieri year I, no. 10, 2021, April

stessi e le emozioni sono espressi con segni e suoni che altro non sono che parole. Ora, anche la lingua è come un essere vivente e così è soggetta alla metamorfosi ed alle regole universali di stasi e di movimento intuita da Parmenide e da Eraclito. Oggetto dell’arte, intesa come mezzo a disposizione dell’essere umano, la lingua non si può fossilizzare, ma deve seguire la sua evoluzione proporzionalmente e quella di una civiltà. E chi è quello che possiede la sensibilità e i mezzi per modificare il senso espressivo della parola e nel più taciuto silenzio e arricchirlo con nuovi slanci metaforici se non il poeta? Quindi: che si creda o no, anche nel più vuoto silenzio si sente una parola: ed è quello che invade ogni essere, ogni cosa esistente. È l’eco della Vibrazione universale.

5 - Se dovresti scegliere una parola in cui vorresti abitare oppure anche morire, quale sarebbe?

Ho tentato di esprimere in un romanzo il fatto che ogni essere ha un suo nome, molto individuale e unico che dovrebbe cercare di in se stesso. Questo nome è la parola che circoscrive l’essenza di ogni essere umano. Guarda, io penso che ognuno di noi è simile di un essere compiuto e, a suo modo, sente alle spalle quel nescio quid di angoscia. Allora deve comunicare, avere dei rapporti con gli altri. Ed è un concetto forse più difficile, ma ha, per me, una fondamentale importanza che invia all’idea dell’infinità dei rifugi, della dualità di ogni cosa e dell’equilibrio individuale e cosmico. Di conseguenza, in attesa della scoperta della parola che rispecchierebbe la mia essenza, devo dire che sono attirato da una parola, da me inventata: AMORATION. Non dovrebbe

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questa ricerca, la vive intensamente, quasi la viviseziona. Ed è per questo che il poeta possa, effettivamente, definirsi anche un Ulisse che tenta di ritornare a casa (la sua Pace), nella sua Itaca (lui stesso), a Penelope (a se stesso). A questo punto, visto che ci troviamo nel pieno del nostro argomento, inventerei anche se improvvisato, il verbo a ulissa. E per questo a ulissa e a penolopa, nei loro significati metaforici altrimenti intrinseci, sono tutti i due rifugi estremamente attivi: Ulisse combatte per ritornare aa Penelope; Penelope, a sua volta, non rimane inattiva, lì, nel suo angolo, il suo un regno, solo a sperare ed aspettare il ritorno del suo compagno, ma agisce, tesse e dis-tesse la tela per allontanare un nuovo matrimonio, per altro neanche voluto. E questo proprio perché sapeva che Ulisse sarebbe tornato. Ecco quindi di nuovo la dualità e l’equilibrio dato che ulissare e penelopare sono due verbi-rifugio che tendono insieme verso uno solo e così all’infinito.

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

essere difficile trovargli il significato, no?

6 – “Niente” e “Mai” in romeno e in italiano, sono parole che agiscono in „maniera” francese. A proposito di „maniera”, mi accorgo che alle spalle della tua sintassi c`è una specie di dittatura del verbo. Dittatura vorrebbe dire “dettare”, dal verbo dire, no?, anche se l’etimo è lo stesso. Non credi che sarebbe meglio che il Verbo (come Verbum, come logos) dovrebbe tacere, così come suggeriva Wittgenstein?

E come può fermarsi l’universo? Come dice Luzi e la filosofia orientale, la continua metamorfosi delle cose, il movimento e il silenzio non convivano? Oppure, potrebbe un essere umano fermare il suo flusso dei pensieri, dato che questi se esprimono nella maggior parte con parole? Il verbo fa apparire un’azione, in questa dimensione dove tutto è in continuo movimento e in perenne metamorfosi e per questo anche se fermarsi significa una specie di… agire. Quindi, per me il verbo non può tacere e deve parlare continuamente, perché la lingua se fonda appunto sul verbo che può, a mio parere, trasformare molto bene anche i sostantivi creando delle forme verbali e delle metafore più incisive e più non mediate.

Goshen Statui nătângi plânsului real al Eonului ce te reflectă încă excavând sânge în bolta aceea dintâi Armă scandaloasă nu prea sau lamă ci foc ce se desface ca o ciupercă și lasă pleavă Nu schelălăie geamătul entraineuse de sclifosiți ce se striptează la soare razant sub hirunde La măslini invită și chelește spre a îndepărta piscul punând streașină vâlcelei

Statue ciocche al pianto vero dell'Eonio che ancora ti riflette a scavare sangue in quella prima volta Non più ama litica o lama ma fuoco che scioglie a fungo e loppa traccia

Non uggia il fiato entraineuse Corciano (Perugia) – 22 ottobre 1996. di peranzi che stripteasano al sole sotto hirundi a raso

Il poeta usa, amante di creazione di nuove parole, inventore di termini poetici propri, il verbo penelopare nella sua presente raccolta.

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*

**

Gioco di parole posibile in italiano fra dittatura e

Ad ulivi invita e scalva per allontanare I'apogeo ingrodato di landa

dittato.

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TAIFAS LITERARY MAGAZINE

Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

Person who loves Muhammad Ishaq Abbasi

Passing the time away That is only a fragment.

Pakistan (Kahuta)

My Greatest Achievement

Bogdana Găgeanu Romania

There was a dove's nest on a tree by the river.

The only friend

In the nest there was a nestling.

The nestling fell into the river, with his nest due to strong winds.

And began to dive into the river.

Seeing this scene, the dove was sighing and

You say you don 't have friends.

That everybody left you, In the middle of trouble.

moaning.

Actually, you still have a

And was tormented in a

friend,

world of helplessness.

I

immediately

The most loyal one ,

jumped

God.

into the river.

And saved the nestling of

But you forgot him

dove from drowning.

Instead, he never forgets

And handed him over to

you.

the dove.

Just ask his hand !

I was very happy to save his life.

Cuttlefish

Saving the nestling was the greatest achievement of my life.

When you attack me,

Agnese Monaco

I become a cuttlefish

Only a Fragment And I spread my ink all over So that I can go away from you.

When I go ahead

My ink is my salvation,

To observe the cries,

My protection from enemies,

Blinding lights

My swimming

After the eyes are extinguished

In this marathon of writing.

The torments that

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Only a fragment

Sublime complains Voices calls to the year I, no. 10, 2021, April

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Taifas Literary Magazine, No. 10, April, 2021

The magazine appears in Romania editorial office Founding President Lenuș Lungu Director: Lenuș Lungu, Ioan Muntean Deputy Director: Paul Rotaru Technical Editor Ioan Muntean Covers Ioan Muntean Editor-in-Chief: Ion Cuzuioc Deputy Editor: Stefano Capasso Editorial Secretary: Anna Maria Sprzęczka

yaer I, no. 10, April, 2021

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Editors: Vasile Vulpaşu, Anna Maria Sprzęczka, Pietro Napoli, Myriam Ghezaïl Ben Brahim, Zoran Radosavljevic, Suzana Sojtari Iwan Dartha, Auwal Ahmed Ibrahim, Destiny M O Chijioke, Nikola Orbach Özgenç Responsibility for the content of texts published in the journal belongs directly to the authors who sign them, in the name of freedom of expression.

Taifas Literary Magazine

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Authors in summary:

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AFROSE SAAD 15, AGNESE MONACO 47, ALBY RAYMOND PARACKAL 5, AL-HASSAN 15, BOGDANA GĂGEANU 47, CLIVE NORMAN 8, CRISTINA FRANGULEA 26, DEEPIKA SINGH 12, DR. MALAK NORA HAMMADI 16, 38, FRANCESCA GHIRIBELLI 13, GEORGE POPESCU 41, GIOVANNI TERESI 16, GUNA MORAN 5, JEAN C BERTRAND 2, 14, JOANNA SVENSSON JOSEFSSON 7, JULI HAQUE 17, KAMAL DHUNGANA 7, LAILA MURAD 14, LENUȘ LUNGU 3, LUCIANO PELLEGRINI 20, MADHU GANGOPADHYAY 19, MAŁGORZATA ŻURECKA 32, MARIVIC NEMI 18, MARUF SHAIKH 2, MLADEN M. TOKIĆ 26, MUHAMMAD ISHAQ ABBASI 47, MYRIAM GHEZAÏL BEN BRAHIM 37, NARDINE SANDERSON 18, 39, NARDINE SANDERSON 39, PROF DR. NAR DEO SHARMA 9, PUNYA DEVI 23, RADHIKA RANI 39, REZAUDDIN STALIN 9, ROSS OLMOS 22, S. M. SAJEUR RAHMAN (ASHRU) 37, ŠAHDO BOŠNJAK 27, SANTOSH KUMAR BISWA 24, SELMA KOPIC 23, SWAPNA BORTHAKUR JORHAT 8, TAPAJA MITRA 22

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