Oh, Universe of minds so bright, We plead for peace, we seek the light. Our generation bears the pain The innocents lost in war's cruel game. Children fall even before they grow, Women suffer silent woe. The elders breathe their final air, While the world forgets to care. Yet we are one - our blood's the same, No borders drawn can shift that claim. We are human with hearts that can feel, And truth is love, and wounds must heal. Let humanity be our creed, Not hate, not war, nor selfish greed. Let's build a world that's safe, secure, With hearts that love, and hands that cure. Let's save the souls who know no wrong, Protect the weak, the Earth, the song. No more bloodshed, no more cries, No more war beneath the skies. We are peace, its voice, its flame. Stop the madness, end the shame. Don't kill your future in despair, Or leave behind just dust and air. Our souls cry out in silent plea, "What have we done? What shall we be?" Let's answer them with hope and grace And make this world a better place. © SHAHID ABBAS **** Shahid Abbas is a multi-award-winning international author and poet from Kirpala 421GB, Tandlianwala, Faisalabad, Pakistan. He is the author of 'Words from Nature' and co-author of 'We Speak in Syllables.' Shahid is currently working on a collaborative poetry book titled, 'Verses of Meraki', soon to be published. His work has been featured in numerous international anthologies and on diverse literary platforms, both in print and online. His poems have been translated into more than ten languages. Shahid serves as the Director of Culture in Pakistan, for the State of Birland, where he promotes literature and the arts. His is also the National Coordinator for The Dream of Equality, Pakistan. Additionally, the Camara Internacional de Escritores y Artistas (CIESART), based in Spain, has appointed him as President of CIESART Pakistan Headquarters and CIESART Ambassador for Pakistan. Shahid will soon co-host Haiku TV (USA) alongside Sir Michael Bee. Shahid has received several international awards and recognitions and has represented Pakistan in numerous global literary festivals, advocating for world peace and cross-cultural literary exchange. His contributions have been acknowledged in countries including India, Portugal, Mexico, the United States and Colombia. Shahid is also an Amazon bestselling author, with his work featured in several bestselling international anthologies - most notably 'Peace Within Us', published by the 'How to Write for Success Literary Network in Trinidad and Tobago. His acclaimed and published book, 'Words From Nature', captures the essence of life, love and nature, including a number of spiritually rich haiku celebrating the Divine's beauty. He recommends the book to all lovers of poetry and literature, and it is available on Amazon, worldwide.

Like the swelling from a bleeding Comes the telling of my needing The flesh that it resides within Is like a shell of spider skin The web is woven over and over Spreading like a leafy clover Over the blackest soil of my mind There, the tracks of me you'll find Upon the trail into the woods Are those paws inside that hood? Off to grandma's house I go Into a forest I've always known Filled with shadows and ghoulish things Inside the hallows of foolish dreams So comes the branding from the campfire No one understands a young vampire In science books, from all we've gathered Until someone looks, it doesn't matter Can you forgive the beast within That lives within this spider skin? © Andrew Brown "Spider Skin" by Andrew Brown, explores dualities between inner nature and outer appearance. He uses spider imagery as a metaphor for fragility and concealment, with the web representing complex entanglements of the self. His narrative shifts between natural imagery and fairy tale references (notably 'Little Red Riding Hood's journey through the woods'), creating a sense of familiar danger. These allusions, combined with vampire imagery, conveys that the feeling of being misunderstood differently or excluded - harbors something within, the society might reject. His final question, "Can you forgive the beast that lives within this spider skin?" reads as a vulnerable plea for acceptance of one's complete self, including the darker aspects that remain hidden beneath a fragile exterior. Quite the compelling poem, as it essentially examines the struggles between our public personas and private truths.

" Chronicles of Akasa" (Visual Poem) "Nine Steps In" (Visual Poem) "Enochian 13" (Visual Poem) László Aranyi (Frater Azmon) is a poet, visual poet, anarchist, occultist from Hungary. Earlier books: "(Szellum) Válaszok", "A Nap és Holderok Egyensulya", "Kiteritett Rókabör". His poems in English have appeared in over one hundred journals. His new books are: "Delirium & the Seven Haiku" (Published by DEAD MAN'S PRESS INK, Albany, NY 2023), "Sacred Anarchy! Poems and Visual Poems (Nut Hole Publishing 2024). He has been nominated several times for international awards, known spiritualist mediums, art and explores the relationship between magic. More of László can be seen on Facebook and Twitter .

Four thousand men in a prison And there might as well be no one here. Black like the vastness of space. Black like an endless void of nothingness. But unlike the sky There are no stars of planets As reference points. Black as lost. Black as to not say that we vanished Because it would acknowledge Our existence. Black solemn faces Dejected without stories Without inquiries about us. Just Black as nobody even knows to care about you. © MARIE J. MOND ***** Marie J. Mond's poem "No One Is Here" is a haunting meditation on the erasure of identity and the suffocating invisibility of prisoners in Haitian jails. Written in stark free verse, the poem evokes the overwhelming blackness of confinement - not just the absence of light, but of recognition, dignity, and humanity. The repetition of "Black" becomes a visceral symbol, shifting from a physical absence to a metaphysical commentary on being unseen, uncared for, and ultimately, unknown. The poem's most powerful lines - "Black as to not say that we vanished / Because it would acknowledge / Our existence" - captures the existential pain of systemic neglect. Marie strips away all embellishments, leaving raw, the silent cry of thousands rendered invisible by institutional violence. The imagery, devoid of stars or reference points, mirrors a prison system adrift from moral compass. Rooted in real-world atrocities, the poem draws inspiration from the current conditions in Haitian prisons, where thousands are held without trial and basic human rights are routinely violated. Submitted to The Sun Magazine and published in All Poetry, the piece stands as both a literary and political act - bearing witness to suffering and demanding that the world acknowledges those who are kept in darkness. Marie's poetic voice is uncompromising. With minimalist structure and maximum emotional impact, "No One Is Here" offers a necessary and unflinching portrait of injustice that resonates far beyond Haiti. © Reviewed by Abu Forhad Poet and Critic Bangladesh

Welcome to our special collection featuring eight remarkable poets, their pens have uniquely woven the Latin phrase, "Per se" (meaning "by itself" or "intrinsically" - into their creative tapestry of perspectives, standing powerful, their contemplations of truth's elusive nature, these poems demonstrate how two small words can open vast poetic landscapes. Come join us and journey through the selections, notice how each poet has transformed the expression into something distinctly modern and personal, proving that in poetry, no constraint is truly a limitation, but rather a doorway to unexpected creativity. "FOR A REASON" For a reason, the sun rises at dawn An element of time, an ethereal cycle Dawn, per se, is a perception of the mind Enlightenment to enrich a darkened stance. For a reason, the day expires to an afterglow When the hands of time urges us to break free and pause. A respite from a hard day's toil, homeward bound, we retire Afterglow, per se, is the alarm of twilight to calm our soul. For a reason, our hearts learn to embrace love A romantic feeling that adds color to our lives We seem to soar above, on a magical journey Love, per se, is a spell that radiates from the core of the heart. For a reason, we opted to chose a life-time partner Together we designed our plans with a family to raise We took the plunge, unmindful of the risks and hazards Marriage, per se, is the sacred vow that binds our hearts together. © GUS PEREZ AMIO Philippines "LIFE SOLUTIONS" In everyday life we struggle to find solutions Yet, it comes to a point where we need attention Leading to procrastination, life in a habitual way Taking things for granted, waiting till the apple falls and sways. The complexity of life is like a gigantic jigsaw puzzle Noting it takes time learning what you want, don't fumble There will be lots of twists and turns, per se, down along the road Self-discovery about yourself and challenges that add to the load. Be focused, with determination either good or bad results Because this is how you know without help to consult A cacophony of facts that you have to figure out Rule the changes off your list per se, no doubt. This gives you the option to know what's best A moment of truth, pain and suffering to the test be strong, resilient and wise with patience With growth and success see your future be complacent. © GLORIA MAGALLANES-LOEB U.S. "LIFE AND DEATH, PER SE" Every mortal will taste death But not all have tasted life. This truth, per se, is false But it may, per se, be true. We live not to die We taste each life's strife. With your magic wand Grab the clock's hands Smell, taste, feel, see, hear Live not to die, dear. The mortals will taste death They will be buried down deep The hoax per se, is true: The truth is up to you! © MARIA EVELYN QUILLA SOLETA Philippines "SUMMER JOY" In a tropical country like mine Summer is a sibling to sunny skies Warm, moonlit nights, calm seas delight Flora bursting with colors, a pretty sight. But summer, per se, is not all about heat It is the ardor of a lover's sweet gaze, The tight grip, the enchanting embrace The magic potion of love aflame. A poet scribbles words in a hammock Nostalgic, sweet melody whispers in the background Conjuring images of radiant faces Gentle breeze fanning the soul. The brook's murmur, a pleasant distraction Cajoling eyelids and lashes to kiss And set off to a realm of deep slumber Where angels and fairies cavort and traipse. Ah, the joy of summer in our city Lifts one's spirit and heart to race In pursuit of solace from a cruel world And snuggle closer to those who matter. © ROSEMARIE MIRANDA Philippines "PER SE" Not the thing itself, but its essence, A philosophical whisper in Latin We speak of love not per se, But through fingers intertwined and silent glances. Truth exists beyond the words we choose, Like shadows dancing behind what we think we know. The moon isn't beautiful per se - It's beautiful in how it pulls at oceans and hearts. Nothing stands alone in perfect isolation, Each object, idea and moment Connected to something larger than itself. What matters is not the boundary, per se, But how meaning spills beyond the edges, How we find ourselves in the spaces between What is said and what is meant. © CONCETTA PIPIA U.S. "THE DANCE OF A FLICKERING CANDLE" When I lit myself, I didn't just help the world become a little bit brighter, not just brighter per se, But also a little bit warmer. Courage blooms in the hearts of innocents, And their will to face darkness grows stronger, Defeating shadows of fear And making illusions of weakness tremble and chill. But I don't know how long I could last For the wind of envy tries to snuff me out. I tried to befriend this wind for the innocents' sake, But alas, we're born to be each other's nemesis. All I can do is dance gracefully, Make my wick bend if it's necessary. I'll light until I can, Until these kids are strong enough. They are the essence of my existence, The reason why I continue to burn and light. Maybe through them, the world might even become Brighter and warmer - these kids are my hopes, Wishes and prayers! © JEFFREY CEJERO Philippines "INSPIRED BY THE MOON" She seemed close to me that night Our attraction seemed undeniable As the air seemed to dance around us We conversed with no words, per se. I saw her face cradled by soft clouds That's when her ember landed on my heart My pen had sat idle for years Inspiration lifting my hand, laying verse to poem. With a firm grip she held on My fingers moving to her tune Before I even stopped my art It had already spread her soul. Throughout the earth, in her light I scattered her spark with each line Igniting inspiration into hearts Like she did into mine, comforting. With gentleness flowing from her My words stamped her face On every line that I wrote down Till dawn came and took away her crown! © CAROL MITRA India "LOVE, PER SE" I'm leaving you with a heavy heart Not because I care less Nor am I not anymore amorous with you Nor you're not anymore in my dreams. But you see, Love, per se, cannot move you Back to my heart's door Nor your embrace Nor your loving world of happiness. Thus, I have to love you less. If I have to love myself more I've learned that I've built such a high standard For myself, to just kneel before you. You must learn to value My love, per se, Coz it meant the whole world. My whole world, which I simply lay before you. I'd better go But let me tell you this All my love, for you, per se, I bring it with me, Even if it's just fragments, mere memories. © MILDRED PAR Philippines

Four Poets, Two Nations 'LITTLE BOY' The zen was noisily broken Into a motley of emotions Plebeians lay forsaken As little boy fell from heavens A raconteur tried in vain To compose a little limn About the portrait of pain And the mortals therein The quiddity of a nation Changed once and for all Bliss became desiderium With the little boy's fall A mausoleum stands and sings today A sad, orphic song of decay * (Little boy refers to the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, Japan) Poem is written in remembrance of the horrific atomic bomb attacks on Japan. © SHWETA SAHAI India "BEYOND THE RAMPANT OF TIME" The raconteur spins tales of yore, Before a motley crowd, quite engrossed. He weaves old legends of valor and gore, With words, that fly like arrows, deftly skittered. He has the gift of a spider, his words limn softly The anecdotes of a gentle old world, which is long gone. His orphic voice traps the listener, quietly, In the web of legends, that seep and linger on. The listeners feel a deep desiderium in their hearts For the characters that fly like Aegean heroes Scaling long forgotten, insurmountable ramparts Regaling them with their romance and pathos Each legend is but a part of a thread, beautifully spun, Chronicled by the word spinner, with a vibrant core Of quiddity, the subtle and perfect one, Which survive tides of time, now and evermore. ©KALUCHARAN SAHU India "BARD OF SPRING" The last chunks of mountain snow are in deep desiderium for the winter, when nature limn the emerald scenes in the landscapes like a portrait. Wind, the bold raconteur - - Regale trees with tales of the ocean. Every bloom in the motley crowd of wildflowers jostle each other to be all ears. And rain, in her restless quiddity sings in the background. Whistling wind is the bard of spring. © RAFIYA SAYEED India "THE PORCH BETWEEN WORLDS" In the hush between stars and sleep, a raconteur leans on the porch rail, spinning tales from dust and ash, his voice a chimney of memory. The sky is mottled in motley hues, where crows circle like half-sent thoughts. He pauses to sip from a chipped cup, then begins again, as if the tale wills it. I limn the outline of his face - shadow-bent, a sketch in lanternlight. My pen waits, its nib breathing fog, each word a tether to something lost. There's a name I won't say aloud, though every syllable aches with orphic weight. That longing - ancient, bone-wrapped - is no less real than dawn. And what I cannot say, he speaks with a silence that bears the weight of desiderium. The porch creaks; the story never ends. © CONCETTA PIPIA U.S.

Contributing Editor, Concetta Pipia, delivered a prompt back in March reflecting upon the 5th Anniversary of the historical covid pandemic, choosing two poets to be featured who captured on emotional tones and aspects of the widespread experiences. "TRAPPED HUMANITY" A light breeze picks up and flings dried leaves Into the air scraping along the asphalt and grass. Outside, the sun is shining brightly, but within The window, where the air is stale from fear of pain Everyone seems to be hiding behind squares of glass Letting life pass them by as their isolation presses Down on their sanity, and cabin fever rises. People's tempers become unbearable, Spouses, children, friends, and close ones Bear the brunt of each other's ire, sparingly They calm one another, worrying how long This pandemic will stop the living from really living. It feels like the walls are closing in on me, Where none were there before. Don't let your confinement bind your movement, Health, prayer, belief, courage, and helpfulness. Your humanity, sanity, and health will be no less Important in understanding one another's plight, And disdaining those who have so little value for light, Life, liveliness, and loving, a death sentence, bright In its suffocating need to oppress While faith is for the living that'll never press Depression into hearts stagnant from hibernation. (Excerpt from my poetry book, 'Perfectly Flawed Poetry for Change.') © MALAK KALMONI CHEHAB Canada "DEAD WON'T COME BACK TO LIFE" They are just numbers; Their names, so fondly given at birth, Do not matter anymore. Laid in queues, wherever they go, They just wait for their numbers to come, For an ambulance, or a bed, or oxygen Or a proper place in the last resting ground. Their numbers add to the whole, And help in making percentages better, Or worse, for data jugglers, Who love to play with algorithms. Loved ones, who lived Unsuspecting lives for long, Had to pay dearly, With their life, for living life freely. They are nobody's responsibility For the fate they have chosen daringly. They don't ask for sympathy, Or a grand monument or farewell, Or statues or mementos on streets. All they want is some attention, Care of friends and the caretakers, An honorable end which is their due. The fire rages and burns And smashes the overconfidence Of proud men, Who are busy picking innocuous tweets From the rug, spread out before them. The burning fire dazzles their eyes, And numbs their senses. And they chant: "The Dead Won't Come Back To Life" "The Dead Won't Come Back To Life" © KALUCHARAN SAHU India

take me back to when I longed to grow into a teenager. take me back to when my smile was genuine, untouched by the world. take me back to when I belonged perfectly in the space of my father's lap. take me back to when my mother's hands gently wove through my hair with care. take me back to when snowfall meant wonder, not weather. take me back to the crossings where my tiny hand clutched my father's with trust. take me back to when everything felt vivid, honest, and deeply alive and take me back to the time when my Barbie phone meant more than the world. Take me back to my childhood. Take me back to my childhood. Take me back to my childhood. © FALAK IDREES *** Falak Idrees is a student of Radiant Higher Secondary, Anantnag, Kashmir. She is an aspiring medical student with literary flavors, representing the dynamics of humanistic values in the poems she writes.

Like the swelling from a bleeding Comes the telling of my needing The flesh that it resides within Is like a shell of spider skin The web is woven over and over Spreading like a leafy clover Over the blackest soil of my mind There, the tracks of me you'll find Upon the trail into the woods Are those paws inside that hood? Off to grandma's house I go Into a forest I've always known Filled with shadows and ghoulish things Inside the hallows of foolish dreams So comes the branding from the campfire No one understands a young vampire In science books, from all we've gathered Until someone looks, it doesn't matter Can you forgive the beast within That lives within this spider skin? © Andrew Brown U.S.

Poetry is what I see, I touch, I smell, I taste, I hear. It is what I See in the sunset, Hear through the breeze, Smell in a flower. It is the soul's Yearning to articulate in words Sans hesitancy or fear. It is the radiance Of the sun and the contagious Sound of laughter. The warm memories Preserved and repressed Through tears. © MARIA EVELYN QUILLA SOLETA Philippines

The heart is trapped in the waves of blind love. It is not, know how far you can feel the tremors. All the differences and beauties, the charm of life are composed of light and shadows in which we cannot find it the meaning of love... What a beauty, is the flash of fake love phrases before the storm begins when the end of the love story is in front of the eyes in which there is no future... Pain is part of the hurricane which destroys life to the core where all hopes are buried... The world will then become a huge void in the soul, where there is no place for a step forward yourself. © GORDANA ANDONOVSKA Macedonia

We are always looking for new truths We stand before the door of questions We are prone to bitterness Rubble awakens thousands of memories in us After all, we are on the march on tired ground and we cannot turn back We can move forward every day Trusting in our own strength counting only on ourselves We are impatient - today we would like to rest comfortably in pastel dreams Time to move into the future to bypass history Like scraps thrown under the wheels onto the road We are restless, we want answers that must be born in ourselves In fatigue - at work - in the lifting of the eyelids We desire a lot, so let's create. What we desire to desire anew to anticipate more than we anticipate and with the hands of the world, create history and tomorrow without Pathos - simply continue walking After all, we are on the perpetual march © BARBARA GRAMZA Poland