"Of Petals and Padlocks" Violet autumn     like a fire hazard   The hues and moods      of trees and leaves               released from branches                    by the dozen                                 gliding through                           a sighing breeze            to kiss the gentle waters   Purple pulsing dot        behind your eyes    after bleeding into the morning rays                    View of the boiling inferno                         bobbing around in the sky   Constellations        of experiences     Atoms on a board          wildly connected        and the shaman ducks                 lined up          on the flotsam                              sneezing their way           toward oblivion                                       or is that just                               a quack                    heralding annihilation?   Consider all elements        in gratitude   Even the moon has        a poison pill    stationed at its galactic sore   and the sun will damn well       blind any fool   who forgets how to dance            after they’ve mastered        the art of falling   So I will stand here       as long as it takes             to catch a gift     from the maple heart            and blessed be                 the plague of grackles             who come to join           the syrupy wait   Love is the key     and there are   several ways        to pick the lock   but only one true fit   hear the click    of my legacy          and reposing laurels "Of Spider on Ankle and Raindrops for Prom" sheets of fountain water slide from the rivulet cascade against brick structure, foundation, the whole spiel nerve endings crackle with hair pop electric shimmy stand at attention the ambassador of quadrant fire cosmic crown delta major voodoo hoodoo just sang a hymn with hand over heart hat to chest lump to throat synchronized with the lava king of molten core babbled verbs in vibration peace and war hum between blinks what meaning of words if not followed by action as thought folds into form and promises hold true over time with careful stitching massages through turmoil fingertips weaving around the edges of chaos to spell the script toward higher order another storm another opportunity to dance another threshold another do or die another bug in the system another chance to crack codes. "Original Jesters" The rupture of sound breathed over a cosmos Whispered vowels and sigils given form It came from the high realms and swallowed us whole Between dusk and dawn one blink resets the system's signal Big beast known as Moby gut bigger than Galactus While pondering about equitable shares the giants stomp a healthy portion Skin and bones are given old rags and cake crumb morsels Lamentations of Job in the bloodbath took a cut in the nosedive It's all zeroes on the silver screen snakes of six eyes, seven glands stroked The passing of fear in silence changing guard after running gauntlet Into abyss with pearls of sorrow left to the waves with their infinite wisdom Hush now, humans, don't dare fret the mockingbird smirks at all you've wept Not in vain nor with vanity dance the peacock garb back to fashion Bio: Scott Thomas Outlar originally hails from Lilburn, Georgia. He now resides and writes in Frederick, Maryland. His work has been nominated multiple times for both the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. He guest-edited the Hope Anthology of Poetry from CultureCult Press as well as the 2019-2023 Western Voicess editions of Setu Mag. Selections of his poetry have been translated and published in 15 languages. More about Outlar's work can be found at 17Numa.

An Interview of Michael Lee Johnson Conducted by ILA Contributing Editor/Interviewer, Carl Scharwath Today, I had the great pleasure of interviewing Michael Lee Johnson. Some of you may already know him, but if not, here is a prolific poet who has accomplished a great deal. I hope you, the ILA readers, will enjoy learning about him. Thank you, Michael, for being with us, today. On your time in Canada: You spent a decade in Canada during the Vietnam era. How did that experience shape your perspective as a poet, and are there specific themes from that time that sill resonate in your work? Michael Lee Johnson: The Time when one is a youth is in a capsule. Swallow one capsule or make another response. I made another response, but I was in trouble and on the run. Even in youth, life in exile is an unknown hell, with each day revealing its horrors. Will I be sent back to the USA? In Canada, there is a rotating postal strike; we don't have that in the USA. But after traveling alone, hitchhiking north then back south, stalling for time, I eventually got my green card to work in Canada. How does that affect a person sleeping in Farmer Brown's barn with cattle shit on hay? I don't know. ***** Prolific output: With over 653 published poems and 344-plus YouTube videos, you've created an extensive body of work. What drives your creative process to maintain such productivity, and how do you balance quantity with quality? Michael Lee Johnson: I guess my response is, stupidity. A total belief in myself beyond roadblocks and high image buildings. I don't think I'm Jesus, but it is under review. The truth is that those who question in anguish, love the Lord. All my poems have been published; none remain unpublished to this date. ***** International presence: Your poetry has been published in 46 countries and translated into multiple languages. How does it feel to have your work connected with such a global audience, and do you adapt your writing for different cultural contexts? Michael Lee Johnson: I dream, I care, I want to leave a legacy that extends beyond my years on earth. Since I have little family left or friends who care, many of my poems likely will be lost to history. But a sense in me beyond "me not being of this earth" says I will. Keep counting the numbers, I have faith in myself ot the end of my time. ***** Song lyricist and poet: You're not only a poet but also a song lyricist. How do you navigate the differences between writing poetry and crafting song lyrics, and do the two forms ever influence each other in your work? Michael Lee Johnson: I never thought of the differences in the beginning and was very lucky to have poets who were also songwriters and singers to take my rough-edged free-verse poems and mix and chop them into melodies that worked. Now I'm much more sensitive to musical song techniques, and my poems have become more self-styled lyrical. I would also add that, at first, I found that my old, simple poems worked best for song conversion attempts. ***** Poetry anthologies: As editor-in-chief of three poetry anthologies, what is your process for curating and selecting poems? How do you balance your vision as an editor with your identity as a poet? Michael Lee Johnson: This is a tough response required. There is no balance between - just gut feeling and experience. I recall that while working on the three poetry anthologies with my co-editor, Ken Allen Dronsfield, we would almost always agree on poet/poem selections. However, there were a few times when I selected a "budding" poet with potential just because I felt the motivation behind their spirit and perceived drive. Ken Allan Dronsfield and Christine Tabaka were just two of them, and both have gone on to successful careers in poetry and production of poetry books. ***** Advice for aspiring poets: With such a distinguished career, what advice would you give to emerging poets trying to establish themselves in today's literary landscape? Michael Lee Johnson: Don't get discouraged from all the social media now "poets everywhere syndrome." View poetry as a passion and as solid bricks lodged into a building, no temporary storm can destroy. Avoid AI temptations, it will make you look like Shadow Dark and an obvious cloud to editors. Most editors reject AI-generated submissions at this time and may likely ban a poet from their site. AI is helpful for informational research, minor corrections, or suggestions. However, if you put a William Shakespeare poem into AI, it will come out so perfect that even Jesus Christ will wonder about the validity of his halo. It is sort of like a painter whose paintings are so perfect that they can't be distinguished from a photograph, too perfect, and no one buys them. ***** Michael Lee Johnson lived in Canada for ten years during the Vietnam era. Today, he is a poet in the greater Chicago-land area, IL. He has 348-plus YouTube poetry videos. Michael Lee Johnson is an internationally published poet in 46 countries, a song lyricist with several published poetry books, and a nominee for 7 Pushcart Prize awards and 6 Best of the Net nominations. He has over 673 published poems. He is the Editor-in-chief of three poetry anthologies, all of which are available on Amazon, and has authored several poetry books and chapbooks. Michael has administered and created 6 Facebook Poetry groups. Member of the Illinois State Poetry Society. His poems have been translated into several foreign languages. Awards/Contests: International Award of Excellence "Citta' Del Galateo-Antonio De Ferrariis" XI Edition 2024 Milan, Italy-Poetry. Poem, Michael Lee Johnson, "If I Were Young Again."

At Hillbrow, a Zimbabwean girl curls in darkness before a growing night. She is one of three million Zimbabweans who have to flee to South Africa. Only her eyes glow in perpetual hunger, her neurones numbed by daily beatings from her Nigerian master. She is a tree now, other girls from Kwekwe seem to see her in borderless sunsets beckoning them to come. In the eyes of another sun she longs to die but not before her earnings lay in dreamless sleep the drought of lives succumbing slowly. Her mind, body and tonight, her smile is encrusted on this debt. There is dearth in dryness, she says in impeccable English, "Can I be your master for tonight, Sir, I will show you what even the cranial saw wouldn't show after you have sawed my skull in a bid to understand the cause of my death. I live through many a death, each one seems to ridicule the other in its severity. Each death lives through many others like many birds perched at an infinite corner of a shadeless sky. And as I idly die, I laugh at the vulnerability of your godless seasons and even at a person like you who have thoughtlessly caught up on writing about me. You wouldn't believe, I have an honours degree in English. I tore it to bits after humans tore my humanitarian time. " She left me finally in neon bright on another strata, swinging her hips towards a darkness dressed as a car purring in the far corner. © AMITABH MITRA ***** AMITABH MITRA is a South African Physician, Poet and a Visual Artist. Extensively published in the web and print, his short film encompassing African traditional music, titled 'A Slow Train to Gwalior' and 'Do You Remember Those Caves at teh Foot of the Fort' has been screened at the Dubai International and the Durban International Festivals. Amitabh belongs to Gwalior, India. More about Amitabh on Wikipedia

Lines drawn across lives on earth bare, Marching thro' dwellings without care. A nation large into two split, Shattered pieces thro' knives slit. Lines marked on a map in ink, Run deep in a gorge to a sanguine sink. Hearts bled in rivulets red, Painful anguish into them shed. Rendered homeless in a trice, Very souls splintered in a testy price. Shorn of all that was held dear, buffeted by kins' hate sear. A loss so heavy, tugs, On the nation's conscience plugged. Borders burned into lines singed, Blackened in sooty reflections cringed. Eons coursing through winds of change, Healing wisps across the snowy range. Twin nations emerge plumes aflame, Phoenix from ashes of shame. Arising into a glory awake, A leap gigantic through trials shake. Pain into strength metamorphosized, Despair in sorrow's boat capsized. Narratives in gold etched hoary, Of resilience rare chronicled in history. © SRILAKSHMI ADHYAPAK ***** Srilakshmi Adhyapak has been composing poetry since her early teens. Poems are a way of rejuvenating her mind when amid long chores. She composes poems during leisure time and pursues it as a hobby. She derives inspiration from nature and certain significant events. Most of her poems speak about the celebration of life and nature. Srilakshmi has rendered the Ramayana into poems. Her latest book, 'The Song Divine' is the Bhagavad Gita rendered into poems.

Mother whose despair is like Acrid smoke of burnt flesh Surrounds her nightly course of fresh Baked corpses, whose breaths are a pike Of fear that death is near, But she carries hope on her hip Cradled against her breast, a trip She makes daily carrying life, as sear Of a future, a Phoenix from the ash Rises in the form of the innocent Babe she holds, close to heart, bent On giving it her life's blood, brash In the knowledge that her milk Will sustain it while it syphons Her health as nutrients, tons Are unavailable, and sacrifice is silk For her baby to grow on, A Phoenix born from fire, passion, Compassion, empathy, a fashion That enrobes the babe, soar and don Its fiery feathers on display, A life lived with dignity, glory, Unparalleled beauty that's never gory Rather, it's fascinating, never grey Full of life where freedom Expires in the ashes of The Phoenix's Rise, newly born, stuff Of myth and legends alike ends' never come. © MALAK K. CHEHAB ***** A Canadian who is a survivor of two civil wars, Ghana and Lebanon, Malak K. Chehab is the survivor of being transplanted into three different continents as a child, witnessing violence, racism, segregation, defamation, inequality, injustice and more. Growing into childhood, the experiences she endured shaped her into a strong mother, protector who again went through upheavals of war. Those events shaped her opinions, which now have an outlet in her writings and poetry. She hopes to share her experiences in order to connect and alleviate the stresses of immigration, as well as to create a connection to a life of most post-colonials. She has published her poetry book, "Perfectly Flawed" and "Romancing Time", A Letter, published in the Unsealed, Unseal Your Worth, Unseal Your Story, 2 poems in the anthology, "Unseal Your Greatness/Worth", 4 poems in Alien Buddha Press, 6 in her poetry archive and 1 in Petal Projections Magazine, 3 issues, # 8, 9 and 11. You can read more about Malak at her website

With time, many things disappear, others look foggy and distant while some make a place in our memory and never leave it. I still remember the day a fire broke in one of the houses of our neighborhood. It ran wildly as most houses were covered of hay and mud. All the inhabitants rushed towards the burning house armed with spades, forks, buckets of water and even branches from trees to extinguish the fire. It took some time for the flames to die and send thick black and white smoke. Nothing was saved: fire devoured all the food, the blankets and the clothes and turned them into a heap of ash. But everyone thanked the Almighty for saving their lives. A girl came out carrying what remained of a wooden suitcase with a remnant pile of folded clothes. She was bitterly crying. Her dreams had been dashed out. A wise woman took the burnt pieces, cut what was left into squares and asked the girls of the village to bring needles and thread, gave them instructions and started sewing and sticking the pieces together. They transformed what was about to be thrown into a colorful quilt. They ornamented the edges with lace, the lace of the gown the girl was dreaming to wear for her wedding. The wise woman said: "Do not worry, your clothes have not gone. They are assembled in this beautiful quilt to remind you of your "wedding trousseau" and to cover your bed in your wedding ceremony. Fire burns and revives. We think things are gone but in reality, they come back in a different look and lead a new life, they are revivified." With the neighbor's mettle, and endless efforts, the house was rebuilt, clothes and blankets were offered and the inhabitants agreed not to delay the girl's wedding. I still remember the big wedding ceremony and the felicity of the villagers. As for the quilt, it became a habit for every girl to make a colorful one before marriage, where the attunement of colors and the refined taste, meet. Needle work became prosperous, thanks to the first spark of fire. © GIGI MEJRI ***** GIGI MEJRI, born Chedlia, is a Tunisian teacher of English, graduated from the Faculty of Letters and Human Sciences. Poetry and short story writing is her field of interest. "Peace, social equity, human rights and nature" are her main concerns. She has published four books: two poetry collections: "The Beautiful Silence" and "Sounds", published in India and available on Amazon. Two books of short stories, "From A to Z" and "Plaits", published in Tunisia. She has won many awards and the title of "Poet of the Year" in 2018. She continues to have her work published in International literary magazines and has many more content to publish in the future.

"BROKEN CAN BE BEAUTIFUL" Titles can be heavy as a burden As all are not meant to be heroes And some who are, could have been broken but, broken can also be beautiful. Visions of the future, A gigantic dream Built on a frail foundation Only to crumble against the sturdy dreams but, broken can also be beautiful. Memories of the past, A fragment of what has shattered and devalued like a broken rim of antique vase but, broken can be beautiful. Pains of the present Imprinted on the skin, A cue to a fractured body but, broken can also be beautiful. A broken heart, A speck of dying star In the frame of the sky Still, broken are not necessarily ugly broken can also be beautiful... © ARIYO FADLUL-HAKEEM ***** ARIYO FADLUL-HAKEEM is a Nigerian science student who graduated from the prestigious Oladipo Alayande School of Science, Oke Bola, Ibadan, Oyo State, Nigeria. He is presently furthering his education in the Ahmadiyya International University of theological and scholastic sciences in Ghana. He has his theological articles featured on The Weekly Al Hakam.

We invited poets to explore the metaphor of "Kintsugi" (Japanese art form of repairing broken pottery), in their poetry. The essence of Kintsugi in writing is about transforming brokenness into something meaningful, highlighting the journey of healing and growth, celebrating strength and resilience emerging from facing adversity and more broadly, embodying the philosophy of embracing imperfections while finding beauty in those flaws, often used as a figurative expression for life's experiences. "MY KINTSUGI JOURNEY" I remember the day my world shattered like a broken vase. My relationship ended, and I was left with shards of pain and regret. But as I began to pick up the pieces, I realized that I had a choice: to hide the cracks or to highlight them with golden threads of healing. Through therapy, journaling and support from loved ones, I started to mend my brokenness. As an attunement, I learned to attune to my emotions, to acknowledge the pain, and to find felicity in the small joys of life. With each passing day, I felt my spirit revivify like a plant growing new leaves after a harsh winter. As I reflected on my journey, I realized that my scars were not something to be ashamed of, but rather a testament to my strength. I had survived the storm, and in doing so, I had discovered a new sense of purpose and resilience. My kintsugi journey taught me that brokenness is not the end, but rather a new beginning. It's a chance to rediscover ourselves, to reimagine our lives, and to create something beautiful from the broken pieces. I now see my life as a work of art, imperfect but beautiful, with golden threads of healing and growth woven throughout. In sharing my story, I hope to inspire others to find the beauty in their own brokenness, to see that with patience, love and care, we can transform our scars into something meaningful and beautiful. © DOMINIQUE ERECILLA ALBANO Philippines "THE PETALS FROM A BROKEN VASE" A broken vase, this is what I was. I was abandoned by my own father, after his decision of another marriage with another woman. Like it wasn't already enough. I was already in pain, because of my mother's death. My biological mother had died when I was born, together with my twin sister. I felt alone, I thought my father would be my support. I was broken in pieces and those pieces were broken in more smaller pieces. I felt lost, I felt like I was a complete stranger. After some time, because I was having no friends, I started writing as a therapy about this, at first, in a journal. I then gathered all my thoughts and transformed this story into a theater play, being able to mettle. I found the verve to express myself in a text which could be read by some people, and not only by me. I realized that my story could give a message to others and that this could be my mission. I felt felicity. After so many painful tears, I finally had an emotional release of happiness. I knew that God had a special plan for me. I discovered many people were in a state of attunement, after reading the text. It was if many felt like petals in a broken vase, trying to keep the shattered petals from beautiful living flowers. I tried to revivify the petals, to tell their story, because nobody deserves to be forgotten, even the ones with bad intentions. They must not be forgotten, in order to learn lessons. Maybe we are petals, maybe we are a broken vase, maybe we are weaker, but still stronger and stubborn. We still hold on to our experience which needs to be told. We tend to make our voice or our pen the star of the audition. Without my suffering, maybe I wouldn't want to help people through my writing. Maybe I would have wasted my time. All I know is that with all these scars, I am still a beautiful vase, a vessel showing beauty is not perfection, showing scars are a distinctive beauty. © BOGDANA GAGEANU Romania "HEALED NOT HIDDEN" Anniversary of the breakdown memories, of the phase when dreams shattered, flickers like shadows across the water. My crimson pump got fissures like the ground cracked by the mettle of the sweltering sun. Trickling out like the drips from a faucet, the ocean of eyes tends to flood the flesh to spirit. I was reduced from passion to option, inducing an emotional indigestion. Feelings vomited to empty the chest like a tree robbed by the Autumn wind. Then one day under the attunement of the pumpkin moon a svelte plumule rose from the fractured soil. Hope in the moss-green baby plant was like a warm cwtch from my mom. I gathered vestiges of broken self and glued them with a half-moon smile embracing myself as a form of Kintsugi. © RAFIYA SAYEED India "THE TRANSFORMATION" All my failures haunt me Like dark predators, on a hunting Spree - - Before the wounds heal, Flies gather in hordes On the exposed flesh. Healing takes time, and the scars Tend to fester long, reminding you Of the pain, endured silently. Time stitches the wounds With golden threads And diamond dust. Green shoots sprout with felicity, Around the stump of the fallen Tree, revivifying the vacant space. The angst gives way to Hope and resurgence, With age and maturity. Time has wrought its insignia On the brow, deepening the creases, And forming a mosaic of the scars. I'm not ashamed of The scars, imperfections, And my many weaknesses. The rough edges softened, like a diamond, I'm at peace with myself, without regret And malice towards none - - © KALUCHARAN SAHU India "MENDING MY HEART" My heart used to be a plain organ Stained in blood red monochrome Until it was toppled by someone Tumbled and broken like a dome Caging me in a realm of gloom. Time helped me pick up the pieces But all the scars it did not erase To counteract the ugliness I found a way to revivify Make it more pleasing to the eye. Innate mettle made me thread a needle Into each scar I stitched vibrant colors Yellow for hope, green for commencement Red for passion, purple for new dreams For felicity and verve, orange. Creatively I used indigo For attunement, opted for blue Unconsciously I stitched a rainbow Created a work of art all through A bright tapestry vibrant and new. The mended state of my heart today Its reflection in my eyes shines vividly In my joyous smiles easily display Broken pieces mended in artful beauty In the true spirit of kintsugi! © MYRTLE REYES EVE TEJADA Philippines "FINDING EMILY" We were just kids, bubbly, bouncy and exuberant Roaming within the wide backyard and verdant meadows Our imaginative world, in attunement to our kiddish mettle Unwary of life's intricacies and uncanny episodes. We were just kids, everyday is a celebration Of juvenile adventures, of fun and laughter How we frolicked under the unforgiving sun Unmindful of the perils, to vivify the moments we had. But life has a cryptic way of doing a turn-around Emily's family suddenly migrated to a foreign land My whole world crumbled like a castle in the sand I was left in tears, broken, like a vase out of hand. Misery and grief enveloped my whole being Lost and alone, sadness kept me crying Decades have passed, Emily's still in my mind But this time with a firm resolve to elude the sands of time. Despair and brokenness, I drove them out of my mind My shattered dreams, I picked up the pieces one by one The memories of a precious friend, won't break me in fragments With a defiant resolve, I will treasure every moment. These thoughts have inspired me to keep moving on Emily has pushed me to achieve my lofty ambition Time will come, our paths might cross again This time it's true love, to transform our childish games. © GUS PEREZ AMIO Philippines "QUEENSUEGIE'S ACT IS KINTSUGI" When argument like wildfire Tend to happen from time to time As couples are always in ire Their relationship, not sublime. It was Summer, warm atmospheres Strong love bond fades into the air Bright day, but dark to wife with tears For husband end their love affair. Separation, a broken bridge Case occurred to wife Queensuegie Bad day for kids she acknowledged Traumatic to kids surely. It caused a heartache for her, too She, to be brave at that moment Her boldness in life to ensue For her four children, betterment. For sometimes with a broken heart It stirs courage and resilience Letting he heartache to depart May lead to be in ebullience. With courage, as silent power A must her mettle to apply With her vim and verve in measure So, their life to revivify. Thus, she set up a small business With some amount of money And through over years with progress Leads a nice life for her family. With help, attunement to close friends And good natured-spirits Her firm, in money-making trends In that wise, earned hefty profits. All four children finished schooling All with bachelor's degree A sense of good life, with the zing Fruit of venture by Queensuegie. Because of her strong resilience No Dad figure for her children Their status gone to brilliance Splintered staate mended to golden Queensuegie's act is Kintsugi Even if her heart was broken She's fearless with tenacity Felicity to kids, given. © ENCY BEARIS U.S. Have you ever felt the world go against you, when everything you planned, failed dreams, marriage and finances, everything seems crumbling one after the other? That's how I was, 25 years ago. I gave up a very promising job abroad and married the man who promised me the world. For years, we were happy and content, but things suddenly turned 360 degrees. It happened when one time, he visited his family in the south and out of nowhere, he blurted out that we were done. I was gasping for words to ask but he turned his back and left, and I never heard from him again. I felt the world crushed in an instant. I was devastated, broken and dead to the core. I was left with no money, no job, and 2 children, then at the time, 2 years old and a 3 month old baby. I had no one to turn to, his family was tongue-tied and didn't care at all. I was so scared and confused. I lost my will to live and as the days flew by, my life tended to go to the deepest abyss of hopelessness and resentments. I even doubted the presence of God. Just as I was about to be engulfed, a certain force jolted me and I finally came to my senses. I cried and asked God's forgiveness and invoked the Holy Spirit to give me wisdom to understand that I may accept the things I cannot change, to have courage to forgive those who wronged me and move on in life without burden and grudges. It is through spiritual attunement that I was able to do what I prayed for. Little by little, I was able to compose myself and started my life for my two children. I worked hard to raise them well. I am so proud of what they've become, well-rounded young adults now and the felicity of watching them grow realizing their own dreams is beyond words. During the darkest times in my life, when I thought God is nowhere, I was wrong. He's with me, revivifying me, reshaping, rebuilding and recreating a new me. He armed me with mettle to face challenges without fear. As I journeyed through life, I picked up the remnants of yesteryears good and bad, light and dark hues, and successfully put them back in place. It's not the same as before, because it is far more beautiful now. The cracked are gilded with joy, hope and love that shines the most! ©BANJIE ROMULO Philippines "BLIND ONE AND AN ORPHAN" As the rain fades into memory As stories unfold within each drop Moon flower petals wipe away my years In every hush of silence, your presence breathes in stillness. There is felicity, my heart sweet dove Wind and dust tend to carry your perfume Amidst this path where night grows It's in the gentle breezes, her mettle flows. While trying to hide the sparrow's song in the monsoon embrace An orphan it seems, that I cannot claim Your dreams nourish my heart in a frenzy smile While you wander alone, my soul stays apart. In my thoughts you are the only one Whose presence fills my day with sun, Love touched me when my eyes couldn't see And in that meagering silence, you are home to me. "Kintsugi is about fixing broken pieces, making them more beautiful. In my opinion, there is a 'Kintsugi' in all of us, especially in my poem." © SHEILA ANN PACKIRNATHAN Malaysia "NOTHING IS LOST" Past is past, bury the evil past Let me never ever forget love and affection at any cost Mettles of my lost parents made me stand on my leg Following their verves left in sand of time to break a leg A shining, dazzling mirror reflects all in eyes Cracked mirror never stops reflection but reflects the skies Cracked mirror gives felicity sans hiding anything No crack or cleft can hoard or hide vivid truth inside reflecting An attractive and artful pottery looks beautiful When broken, it doesn't lose its beauty being awful With gold repair, it revivifies its song with pride In brokenness, we can't ide anything on one side Nothing is useless in the creation of the Creator Let's tend properly and hartily feeling decorator Let's lift the piece you imagine may be lost Remember its value and shine, not the cost. © PRASANNA BHATTA India

What lies between silence and revelation? Where do unspoken words gather their power? We invited poets and prose writers alike, to respond to our provocative visual prompt in June - a striking image exploring boundaries between restraint and expression and chose thirteen poets out of twenty to feature. "THE STATION OF SILENCE" Silence is the provision of the wise, and it is a balance of reason and dignity among people. It elevates the heart of the sane and guides it. A light when the storm looms. And speech, if its content is not balanced, does not achieve good or bear fruit. The best speech is brief, if it calls for benefit, not when the moons roar. Say what is beneficial, and do not stir up idle talk that leads to destruction. The secret lies in brevity and respect. and connects your speech to the wisdom that comes from morals and altruism higher education, beneficial knowledge, and the behavior of a society with determination. It produces words when spoken. Honesty. It brings people what they desire, for words are an arrow that may strike our path, or destroy a person, and it is a dialogue. Let words be an everlasting light that flows, and the traces are preserved between us. © MOHAMED KERKOUB Algeria "THE WEIGHT OF ALMOST" Maya's thumb traces the cool metal, back and forth, a nervous habit she's developed over the past three months. The zipper is small, delicate - a piece of performance art she commissioned after the diagnosis, back when she thought metaphors might save her. Sealed lips for a sealed fate , the artist had explained, but Maya hadn't been thinking about fate then. She'd been thinking about control. The words sit heavy behind her teeth: malignant , metastasized , six months . Dr. Patel had used them so clinically, as if they were just another Tuesday morning appointment, not the collapse of everything Maya had built. Her mother sits three feet away, humming while she folds laundry, completely unaware that her daughter is dying. Has been dying. Will continue dying. Maya's finger catches on a zipper tooth. Such a small thing to carry such weight. She could tell her now - just reach up, pull the metal tab, let the words pour out like blood from a puncture wound. "Mom, I need to tell you something." Simple. Direct. True. But then there would be the crying. The frantic phone calls to Maya's sister in Portland. The googling of treatments, the desperate reaching for second opinions they can't afford. Her mother would transform from this peaceful woman folding dish towels into someone Maya doesn't recognize - someone broken by hope and terror in equal measure. The zipper warms under her touch. Such a strange comfort, this barrier she's created. In therapy, Dr. Chen keeps asking about "healthy communication" and "family support systems", but Dr. Chen has never watched her mother hum contentedly while sorting socks, never seen the way her face crumples when she thinks no one is looking and reads about mass shootings on the news. Some people aren't built to carry other people's dying. Maya's phone buzzes: a text from Jake, her ex, asking if she wants to grab coffee. She hasn't spoken to him since the diagnosis, hasn't told him either. The list of people who don't know keeps growing - coworkers who compliment her new haircut, not knowing it's a wig, neighbors who wave from their porches, not knowing she counts each sunset now. Her mother holds up a tablecloth, shaking out the wrinkles. "This is your grandmother's", she says softly. "From her wedding trousseau. Ninety-three years old and still beautiful." She smooths it carefully, reverently. Maya's hand moves toward the zipper tab. The metal is warm now, almost burning. Three months of silence, of carrying this alone, of protecting everyone from the truth. But protection, she's learning, is just another word for isolation. And isolation is its own kind of dying. "Mom," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. Her mother looks up, smiling. "Yes, sweetheart?" Maya's fingers close around the zipper. The moment stretches between them - her mother's expectant face, the afternoon light filtering through lace curtains, the weight of words that will change everything once they've spoken. She thinks of Dr. Patel's careful explanations, of treatment options that might buy her time, of the way secrets corrode from the inside out. The zipper moves a fraction of an inch. © CONCETTA PIPIA U.S. "THOSE RUBY RED LIPS" Who hides behind those ruby red lips with an uncertain smile no man could resist? Only she knows the secrets never spoken of the beatings she's taken; leaving her broken. Hands pulling at her without her permission A working girl with little commission. She dreams of a prince who comes like a savior but awakes to the one who now has enslaved her. No family to call, no life of her own just a beautiful face and a body on loan. Too scared to ask for help from a stranger for any communication may put her in danger. So, she keeps the red lips closed as tight as a zipper the beautiful young girl who lives the life of a stripper. © KRISTY RAINES U.S. "SILENCE AND WORDS IN A MERGE OF SOMETHING" Words are. unzipped once silence unties its chain; Hidden feelings find their way out into life. They bloom like fire trees in a drenching rain, Swaying in the wind and escaping strife. Some remain silent, leaving echoes unheard; They are too raw for our breath and eyesight. Silence trembles down at the edge of each word, And flares up our mood on the quietest night. Hearts, too shy, are rehearsing what to say Whilst lips are deeply sealed beneath our smiles - Thoughts lie in our minds in a certain way, And pace in herds wherein silence beguiles. Lo! I verse words, though still I say nothing, For silence is teaching words to be something. © WALID BOUREGHDA Algeria ********** "THE WEIGHT OF UNMEANT THINGS" Walking down the streets, erring here and there, Overthinking the words, you said to me. I know you didn't mean them, and despair Yet things are by now done. Look back and see! You sailed close to the wind and ne'er looked back; It was a careless blaze of fiery love and hate. Now all that's left is quiet, smoking wrack Of our memories, overruled by latent fate. I can hear broken thoughts like a shattered glass: Each shard shows a certain truth out of my league. And yet, drowning in love, no light may pass; Hate bares weariness and love bares fatigue. So let the words underfeed the silence That weave aches and pains in our hearts and minds; Love is a blazing fire bestrewn in patience, Lurking in the shadows like sheets of wind. © WALID BOUREGHDA Algeria "THE VOICE" Hidden in the depths of ourselves is a voice, often ignored by the hustle and bustle of everyday life and blocked by indifference. To make itself heard is its only desire. Restrictions zips the heart's mouth. Only the mind can hear its plea and it projects its sadness through the crystal tears that are running down our cheeks. All those bottled up emotions hurt the soul so much, causing the slow deterioration of the body and mind as such. But what if we decide to gather all the courage we could muster and listen to it in the arms of silence, far away from worldly things? Even if it is scolding us for the long neglect, it forgives us if we promise to treat it with respect. A flood of tears washes away the blues from our soul, making room for happiness and tranquility. Its confession and our acceptance opened an eye that was closed for a long time, allowing us to see the details that we missed all these years. The unseen can be seen now. Equipped with courage, we're ready to lend our voice, making the freedom of expression possible again, hoping to make the world a better place. © GHEORGHE LAURA Romania The smartest of wisest tip is to keep a stiff upper lip avoid running loose a gossipy fib ban spread of rumors on ego trip meaningless verbosity is not hip truth kool-aid of honesty is ideal sip allow not shallow, faking opining - nip divine grace reigns on negativity dip embrace sans judgement, over word whip from toxicity switch on light with mind flip Let reign silence unless words are nicer to say articulate kindness, blessings for all that pray. © RUPA RAO U.S. "LOUDER" In silence, I move across the dark alleys Before the sun breaks out in the dawn Along the rows of cardboard shanties This is where my fate was drawn. Being poor has a smell In silence, nobody wanted to tell Like a mix of rotten flesh and dirt Of broken dreams and promises never felt. In silence, I hide behind the pulpit Spewing fear, obedience, and guilt I stole your money for Heaven's gate Fire and damnation, I could create. In silence, I rained bombs over your head Never mind the children, women and old God is talking to me clearly, I heard You will be erased in the land, I was told. I silence, I drink this cup of lies I spit in bitterness of anger and strife The sands turned red by the pool of hate Where is the promise of my faith? In silence, I made these lamentations Would it be easier to rule over the heap of bones Should one of us perish If we can't agree to live together in peace. The silence is getting louder It made my bones to shiver It turned out to be blank stares into nothing Deafening silence, I could only hear my longing If I were to speak, would you listen If you see the tears in my face Would you pause a while to care When this silence becomes a whisper In your ears and in your heart Am I worth it? Am I enough? In silence, I'm tracing back my footsteps I heard a distant thunder rolling Later on, this pavement will be drenched If only it would flood once again Sweeping me away in silence Never ever would I come back Because in silence I am drowning. They say poverty has a smell Bombs can be silenced Tears can dry Sometimes silence can be heard But I don't know if it's true Yeah, how may I ever know? © FLOYD GALE CABUS Philippines "SILENCED" Silenced, scared Forbidden to speak Say the wrong thing Out of context in tweaked Freedom of speech Slowly taken away Terms and analogies Changed by the hour, the day Politics, color, religion or creed All talk of any subjects today Seems to be a misdeed... © DONNA McCABE UK " ZIPPERED BLOOD RED LIPS" Free speech, what a peach, Red on one side, filled with blood, Orange is getting ready to spill it on the beach, yellow glows to an attractive bond. Luring you in to speak and spill Your life's golden opinions Only to be torn apart and grill Your blue blood in a spit of confirmations. That your ideologies conform Without opposition to ICE', Or politically connected storm Of people who can turn, in a thrice. The ability to protest against An imposed narrative that demands People's acceptance of it being a test Of vindicating themselves for atrocities. Done in the name of 'Being GOD's chosen people' while Everyone else's opinion, crossing Theirs is automatically treated vile As a treacherous snake attacking From any hidden point to use Surprise as a ruse to killing More and more babes, women, whose Children, brothers, sisters, sires, Have been decimated in honor Of keeping Free Speech as peaches That have red lips zipped in golden color. 'A cage, no matter how beautiful, Is still a cage', and red lipped lips Shiny in blood red rouge is blissful In the knowledge that free speech becomes corpses. © MALAK KALMONI CHEHAB Canada "LIPS CAN'T HOLD BACK FEELINGS" Don't reveal your mind By putting words into your lips; I can read your eyes, Just keep them open, and let me read. Where else can you hide Your thoughts, which float on air Like pappus, drifting on In search of a place to germinate. Where lips fail to communicate, The breath unfolds feelings, quietly, Echoing the unspoken words, Like drum beats, in a silent manuever. Lips can't hold back feelings When they gather at the seams, They tremble and overflow, And reach through the pores of the heart. When words get caught Behind lips, the sounds seep through In silence, revealing the intent And hum like bees, asking to be heard. © KALUCHARAN SAHU India "CHOOSE TO REMAIN SILENT" Let me immerse myself in self-reflection To delve into something words cannot express The intrinsic sense that is inviolate Of untainted morals, traits, and characters. Silence is the hallmark of sheer dignity Eloquent and vivid like spoken words can be Intense and sonorous, minus a wagging tongue A clear message comes across within the heart and mind. In love, it is the heart that shows the signs Either to inflict pain or breed romance The signs are there, no words to spare Love blooms, spreads fragrance like a flower. Outbursts of emotions should create no harm Hurting words are like arrows piercing the mind Once ranted and spoken, there's the extreme pain So choose to remain silent, for everybody's gain. © GUS PEREZ AMIO Philippines "ALGORITHM OF UNDERSTANDING" Zipped words of heart Are comforted cozily With a blanket of secrecy! Even if few words fall out While unzipping it, Responses can be cold! Inside it, there's A luggage of sorrow And an untold tale of intensity! Few bits of pleasant memories Holding them tightly with A fragrance of untouched emotions. Letting it stay there Waiting for your words, Which are sill unsaid! Frankly, I have already Zipped out many secrets But yours is intact in your beats. I believe in balancing the truths Let me hear more from your life, Only then my bag of feelings will sound! Enigmatic sentences sound unreal But an empathetic being can code Even the worst acts into an understandable data! © SONAL RAO India "THE ZIPPED LIPS LADY" She sits silent the whole day The zipped lips lady Not a syllable speaks her tongue But to greet her daddy. A flower of the field at times Blushing, innocent face, Thick curls of brown Sparkled the angelic grace Fortune whipped her hard Who knows the sin She lapped quietly the sorrow Her God to win She had been broken quite By the grief Of conjugal prank Alas, no relief It had turned her taciturn Both inside and out Whiling away time sans life Ah! The horrible drought! © SAFDAR BHATTI Pakistan

Inside the soul speaks a meaning The mind is a camera exposing Photographs falling in images of confetti. Searching for less than awaits and More for what is truly missing In those disparate realities Memories darkened in the patina Of a dead past when it's inseparable From your living present recollections. © CARL SCHARWATH Carl Scharwath, has appeared globally with 180+ journals selecting his writing or art. He has published four poetry books with a book published June 2024, "The World Went Dark" (Alien Buddha Press). Carl has four photography books, published with Praxis and CreatiVingenuitiy. His photography was exhibited in the Mount Dora and Leesburg Centers for the Arts. Carl is currently an art editor at Glitterati and former editor for Minute Magazine. He was nominated with four "The Best of the Net Awards (2022-25) and two different 2023 'Pushcart' nominations for poetry and a short story. He is a contributing guest editor and interviewer for ILA Magazine.

Carl Scharwath, ILA Magazine Co-Editor/Interviewer: Good morning Dr. Ann Marie, thank you for your time today and for sharing your thoughts with the ILA Magazine readers. We appreciate your thoughts on being both a writer and an editor. 1 . INSPIRATION and BEGINNINGS: Dr. Hansraj, you began pursuing your childhood dream of becoming a published author during the COVID-19 lockdown in 2020. Can you share what sparked that decision and how the lockdown influenced your creative process? DR. ANN MARIE: Absolutely .  The COVID-19 lockdown in 2020 was a time of deep reflection for many, including myself. Amid the silence and uncertainty, I found a space within me that had long been waiting to be heard. Writing had always been my childhood dream to publish a book one day. I never stopped writing, I would write on every book or piece of paper that came to me, but life’s responsibilities kept it on the back burner as far as publishing is concerned. In my younger days I did publish a few pieces in the Newspapers. The lockdown, however, gave me the pause I didn’t know I needed. Finally during COVID-19 I had the time to focus on my writing fully. Writing is and has always been my self-therapy it went a very long way and kept me intact all through my life to this day it is still my self-therapy. Despite whatever I was facing it always gave me my peace and answers to overcome whatever the situation faced. It was during those quiet moments when the world stood still that I began to reconnect with my inner voice. Emotions were heightened, and I felt a strong urge to document not just what I was feeling, but also stories that had lived in my heart for years. The isolation stripped away distractions and fears. I wasn’t writing to impress; I was writing to express. In many ways, the lockdown unlocked my creativity. It reminded me that life is fleeting, and if you have a purpose or a gift, you must act on it. That’s when my journey as a published author truly began with clarity, courage, and a sense of mission. After publishing my first book a new window opened for me I couldn’t stop. I had so much to share and this was my avenue to reach out to others and help them best way I can through my writing. ********** 2. WRITING STYLE: Your work is known for its vivid imagery and emotional depth, blending real-life experiences with themes of love, resilience, and personal growth. How did you develop your unique style, and what techniques do you use to evoke such strong emotions in your readers? DR. ANN MARIE: Thank you that mean a lot.  My writing style is truly an extension of who I am deeply observant, emotionally intuitive, and grounded in lived experience. I developed my voice over time by embracing vulnerability. I’ve always believed that the most powerful writing doesn’t come from trying to sound poetic it comes from being honest.. Growing up, I was moved by the way simple words could stir profound emotions. I would observe people, their struggles, their joys, and internalize the feelings they left behind. When I write, I aim to translate those impressions into vivid imagery something the reader can not only see but feel. To evoke strong emotions, I often use sensory language and metaphor, but I balance that with restraint sometimes what’s not said speaks the loudest. I write from the heart, not from a formula, and I think readers connect with that authenticity. Themes like love, resilience, and growth are universal, but I try to present them through a personal lens grounded in truth, yet open to interpretation. I want each reader to find a reflection of their own journey in my words. Knowing that a lot of people suffer in silence and by reading my work they know they are not alone and in reading they can also find answers within themselves. **********   3. WORDSMITH INTERNATIONAL EDITORIAL: As the founder of Wordsmith International Editorial, how do you balance your roles as an editor, journalist, and creative writer? How has founding this organization shaped your career and creative output? DR. ANN MARIE: Balancing the roles of editor, journalist, and creative writer has been both a challenge and a gift. Each role feeds a different part of my soul. As a creative writer, I tap into emotion, imagination, and personal truth. My mind often feels like it’s running in overdrive constantly thinking, creating ideas, or finding something to write about. Whether it’s a situation, an experience, a particular topic, or a conversation, I’m always in “writing mode.” As a journalist, I stay grounded in facts, relevance, and clarity. As an editor, I serve as a bridge between a writer’s raw voice and its polished potential. Wordsmith International Editorial allows me to bring all these elements together in harmony. Founding Wordsmith was a turning point in my career. It wasn't just about creating a platform, it was about creating purpose. I wanted to build a space where global voices could be heard, where both emerging and established writers could shine. This vision has expanded my world. I have connected with countless and talented individuals, learned from diverse perspectives, and grown both professionally and personally. Being surrounded by such varied talent has also shaped my writing. It constantly pushes me to refine my craft, keeping me humble, curious, and inspired. Wordsmith isn’t just an editorial platform it’s a living, breathing creative ecosystem, and I’m honored to be at the heart of it. When I first wanted to publish my work, it was a test of patience and determination. I reached out to many, inquiring about the process, but few were willing to guide me. I conducted extensive research and eventually learned how to navigate the path myself. It wasn’t an easy task, but I did it. Since then, I have helped many others, and Wordsmith International Editorial continues to support and empower writers globally. ********** 4. CULTURAL INFLUENCE: Being from Trinidad and Tobago, how does your cultural background influence your writing, particularly in terms of themes, settings, or perspectives in your novels and poetry? DR. ANN MARIE: Absolutely my cultural background and travels have both played a significant role in shaping my writing.  Being from Trinidad and Tobago, I carry with me a rich tapestry of history, diversity, and resilience. The rhythms, colors, and voices of the Caribbean often find their way into my themes sometimes subtly, sometimes boldly. But I’m also deeply influenced by my travels. I love observing how people live across different countries, their challenges, customs, beliefs, and everyday joys. Experiencing other cultures has opened my mind and deepened my empathy. It has helped me write with greater authenticity, whether I’m exploring themes of love, displacement, identity, or hope. These cross-cultural insights allow me to blend local and global perspectives, giving my work a unique narrative voice. Every country I’ve visited has added a layer to my understanding of humanity and that, I believe, is the heart of good writing. Traveling has truly been one of my greatest teachers.  It has educated me and opened my mind and imagination in ways I might never have experienced otherwise. Each journey expands not just my worldview, but also the emotional and creative landscapes I draw from when I write. **********   5. CHALLENGES and TRIUMPHS: Starting your publishing journey later in life, what were some of the biggest challenges you faced in becoming a published author, and how did you overcome them? DR. ANN MARIE: Starting my publishing journey later in life came with its fair share of challenges but each one taught me resilience, patience, and purpose. One of the biggest hurdles was navigating the unknown. I had the passion and the stories within me, but I didn’t know where to begin. I reached out to others for guidance, but surprisingly, very few were willing to help or even share basic information. That experience was disheartening but it also lit a fire within me. So, I turned to research. I spent countless hours learning about formatting, self-publishing platforms, editing, and book promotion. It was overwhelming at times, but I kept going. I was determined to bring my work into the world. The process taught me not just how to publish, but also how to believe  in myself when others doubted or stayed silent. Another challenge was overcoming self-doubt. I often asked myself, “Is it too late? Will anyone read this?” But my desire to fulfill my childhood dream to see my name in print and my words in readers’ hands was stronger than the fear. Now, looking back, every challenge was a stepping stone. Today, not only have I published my own books, but I’ve also helped others do the same. That’s the heart behind Wordsmith International Editorial to create the support system I wish I had when I started. Because no dream should go unrealized due to a lack of guidance. I overcame these hurdles by staying persistent, being open to learning, and surrounding myself with supportive people who believed in my vision. Every step, no matter how difficult, taught me something. And each book I published became not just a triumph of creativity, but a personal victory over fear and limitation. I never gave up. It was determination, focus, and an unwavering desire to fulfill my dream of becoming a published author that carried me through. Finally stepping into that reality living my childhood dream was nothing short of overwhelming. It wasn’t just a personal achievement; it was the fulfillment of something my heart had held onto for years. That moment reminded me that no dream is ever too old and it’s never too late to begin.  ********** 6. FUTURE PROJECTS: With an extensive portfolio already, what’s next for you? Are there upcoming books, projects, or new directions for Wordsmith International Editorial that you’re excited to share with our readers? DR. ANN MARIE: The journey is far from over if anything, it feels like I’m just getting started.  I’m currently working on several new book projects, including a novel that explores themes of healing, identity and inner strength, as well as a new poetry collection that is now in its final stages of publication. In addition, I’m developing a series of reflective essays inspired by my travels and life experiences, which I hope will encourage readers to embrace their own journeys with courage and grace. As for Wordsmith International Editorial , there’s much to look forward to. We’re expanding our global presence with new collaborative projects, themed editions, and increased opportunities to highlight emerging voice from around the world. I’m especially excited about launching mentorship initiatives  designed to nurture and guide young and unpublished and unpublished writers, helping them gain the confidence and tools they need to succeed. We’re also collaborating with various literary groups to produce special editions that showcase their members work. These projects will celebrate the achievements of poets, authors, storytellers, and artists, offering them visibility, recognition, and a platform to promote their books and creative talents. At Wordsmith, our mission is simple yet powerful: to give everyone a chance to realize their dreams, be inspired, and share their gifts with the world . My vision remains rooted in the belief that literature is a bridge connecting hearts, cultures, and ideas . The future holds more stories, more voices, and endless opportunities to uplift, empower, and celebrate the beauty of human expression through the written word. DR. OMATEE ANN MARIE HANSRAJ is a motivational author, poet, novelist, journalist, and editor from Trinidad and Tobago. She is the founder of Wordsmith International Editorial and holds a Honorary Doctorate. It affirmed her lifelong commitment to writing and uplifting others through literature. Her literary work includes poetry collections, novels, short stories, and quotes, often inspired by real-life experiences and emotions. She began pursuing her childhood dream of becoming a published author during the COVID-19 lockdown in 2020, when she had time to focus on writing. KEY WORKS: Novels: Broken Promises (her first novel, a love story about a long-distance relationship filled with passion and uncertainty) Poetry Collections: Love and Let Love (her first poetry book) Love of Jasmine (co-authored with Imen Melliti, focusing on themes of love, purity, and resilience) Stardust and Shadows (praised for its emotional depth and vivid imagery) The Dance of Light and Shadow (available in eBook and paperback) Poetry for the Mind Body and Soul (noted for its spontaneous and deeply felt style) Morning Muse Edition One (co-authored with Dr. Prakash Tewari, described as inspiring and thought-provoking) WORDSMITH INTERNATIONAL EDITORIAL Wordsmith International Editorial on YouTube

"EMBRACING DARKNESS" When I was a kid, I dreamed of angels with wings of light and raised by heaven. I feared vampires for stories painted them as children of the cursed night. They called her evil, a monster in shadow, a creature of thirst and doom. And I believed them. I ran from the night, convinced that light alone led to love, acceptance, happiness... But the light though warm was always lacking. Something inside me stirred, a quiet ache, a soft voice rising from deep within. A whisper I tried to silence but could no longer ignore. Then I met her not in a dream but in stillness. A hush that wrapped around me like truth. No mirror could hold her image yet her beauty was the clearest proof of her flawless innocence. She didn't thirst for blood but for love, for acceptance, for someone who wouldn't run. There was a time when I was almost consumed, weighed down and breaking so I surrendered myself and fell into darkness. And just as I was about to crash, she caught me with open arms. I embraced her because when I had no one, she was there. She didn't devour me. She completed me. In her arms, I saw through the lies. The vampire was never a villain. She was the truth in the dark, the beauty unseen, the part of me I had long denied. Now I know, darkness isn't the enemy. It's not to be feared but to be understood, to be loved, to be embraced. © JEFFREY CEJERO Philippines