Nostalgic moments are wonderful reminders of past and present, evoking a medley of emotions and memories, transporting into different times and triggering a sense of longing and warmth, whether it's revisiting childhood memories, reminiscing about friendships or recalling special holidays and occasions, nostalgic moments have a unique ability to connect us with tidbits of friend and family or an eventful reflection. Poets were prompted to write about their special nostalgic moment and apply the 5 senses of sight, sound, smell, touch and taste into rhyming couplet form. Out of 16 entries, ILA chose 7 poems to be featured here. WINTER - MY FAVORITE SEASON In winter's hush, a silent whisper falls, Snowflakes dance, a ballet on frozen walls. Icy winds hum tales in the still night air, A crisp symphony, whispers beyond compare. Beneath the moon's gaze, a frosty sight unfolds, A canvas of white, where the world in silence molds. The touch of cold, a shiver on the skin, Nature's embrace, where winter dreams begin. Tasting snowflakes, a delicate delight, Each on the tongue, a moment pure and white. A fragrance lingers, crisp in the breeze, Pine-scented whispers among snow-laden trees. © CONCETTA PIPIA USA WANDERING BIRD How do I journey on the mystic way? As the sturdy moon fades away My mind is fickle and stray Like a moon child gazing lazily away The moment I feel a taste of my dream Bringing sight of nostalgic stream Touch of my hand is inspiring A sound of applause is aspiring But it is not for fame or power I wait For a humble being that read, I will be a hero not a saint Like a hummingbird fluttering on the horizon The sweetest smell of violets sprung. © SHEILA ANN Malaysia AN HOUR BEFORE DEPARTURE Sitting at this cold airport seat Longing for your sweet body heat As you wrapped your small arms around me Smelling your baby scent filled me with glee I remember how you licked that creamy ice cream Painting rainbows in reality, not a dream Those innocent brown eyes drown my thoughts of tomorrow I am going to miss you, with so much sorrow. Why do we have to live away from each other? Worlds apart so far from your grandmother? Your angelic voices, babbles, music to my ears Now that memory rushes the tears Its saltiness I taste a reminder after all That there is no cold winter without a windy fall Few minutes before take-off, I feel your imaginary embrace As I wrapped your shawl with the blue lace. Till next time we visit again my love With the grace of God above. © ROSEMARIE MIRANDA Philippines LOVELY SURROUNDINGS Just sitting here without a care All that is around for me to share Taking in all of everything I see Many simple things just astound me In this room alone is the smell of old books The aroma of coffee and my stew as it cooks I stare out of the window what beauty I see The beautiful sunset is just looking at me It's awesome moments of blissful peace As I dish up my supper enjoy my wonderful feast I look outside again and a full moon fills the sky Daylight to night time in the blink of an eye The sound of the waves upon the sea A wonderful day giving comfort to me Just pure serenity this life that I love These blessings bestowed from up above It's like feeling the touch of arms around me Keeping me safe deep within my tranquility Everything provided for me to share With everyone I love because I care. © Steve Lyman UK LIFE Breathtaking I gaze at An environment to sit around and chat The scent of blooming flowers fill the air A treat for my mind is only fair on this chair Or just to sit on the cushion of green grass and sigh The blowing breeze tickling my face forcing me to lie My mind spreads its wings to fly high Into the sky of freedom search for peace I must try For life has been cruel like citrus on my tongue Hit me hard, when I was so young I aimlessly wandered the rugged highway of life Walked the many miles of lies It tore me into pieces, I sunk in pain It ripped out my heart, I bowed in shame. But inner strength ignited in me, faith to rise With confidence I march forward to get my prize. © JAYNOBO JAYMES Papua New Guinea ARAKAN REVERIE Beneath Arakan's sky, like a blanket blue, An Arakan child, memories bloom anew. Taste of rice, like a hug from earth's embrace, Shared like secrets, a warmth in every trace. Silken sands beneath bare feet, nostalgic Those memories, so indelible and magic. Sight of paddy fields, a rainbow in the song Colors dancing, like laughter all along. Sounds ripple like the river's gentle prayer, Muezzin's call, a sweet melody in the air. Fragrance of winter foods, served with love, Through the kitchen's door, my beloved mom. In Arakan's heart, where memories belong, Childhood's whispers, a lullaby, sweet and strong. © MAYYU HAMIM Myanmar VISTA OF CHILDHOOD There were moments touched by scenes in row, Followed by taste of rare tune in the melody flow. Moments of childhood, enjoyed in joyous chanting, Stay aside till these days in track facet of scene. Noisy sounds, and joyous meet, aside the kin ring, Created by dashing fit with pals, echoes in scene. Match scenes exist in flash and live at the sight, Hurrah colossal blares till today, in day and night. School days and classroom toss, falls at fore, And imagination floats like fluid creep at outdoor. Like sweet smell of flowers, moments but trot, Forge ahead in leap line and in hold of pose short. © SHIV RAJ PRADHAN Siliguri

Conducted by ILA Contributing Guest Editor, Irma Kurti ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ is a bilingual writer, novelist, critic, internationally acknowledged poet, and trilingual translator (English, Czech, Bosnian-Croatian-Serbian languages). He is the founder of PRODIGY LIFE ACADEMY and author of the PRODIGY LIFE PROGRAM, which serves as a platform for spiritual and personal development. He is also founder and Editor-in-Chief of PRODIGY PUBLISHED-USA, founder and Editor of PRODIGY MAGAZINE-USA. His poetries have been translated into: Italian, French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, Swedish, Greek, Turkish, Chinese, Russian, Japanese, Hindu, Bengal, BCS (Bosnian, Croatian, Serbian), Albanian, Dutch, Hausa Nigerian, Arabic, Aleut (Alaskan), Pakistan, Bahasa-Indonesia, Kurdish, Persian, Azerbaijan, Tajik, Bulgarian, Romanian, Hebrew, Punjabi, Slovenian, Czech, Slovak, Tamil, Uzbek, Kyrgyz, Nepali, Assam, Vietnamese and more on the way. IRMA KURTI: What was your approach to the world of literature? Do you remember what was your first poem or story about? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: I grew up as a self-learned guitar player and songwriter. I was born as the third child of a family where art played a very important role. Father, a Lawyer (musician and painter at heart), Mother, a singer, 4 years older brother, as a young writer. My choice was music. I grasped a guitar dedicated to my brother, misusing his lack of interest, and showed great enthusiasm for keeping it permanently, as my own toy. Surprisingly, I learned to play in a very short time. I started making my own songs and lyrics. Through many years of developing my playing skills, lyrics were always at the second place of my interest, so, for a long-time, words just served as a "background for music", rather than a story telling tool. I never strive to be a poet or a writer, preferably a player or a singer. Yes, I remember very well, my first poem I wrote when I was nine years old. I proudly read it to my big sister: "Oh, sublime sky, and my little star at night that shine, I have my love, keep that secret from anyone..." My sister's enthusiastic support was a point of reference for my future high-sky self-confidence. IRMA KURTI: Why did you decide to leave your country? Was it a difficult decision? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: I left Sarajevo and my country in 1992, as the war started in ex-Yugoslavia. It was a hard decision, where to move! I spent two years in Wien, Austria, then I moved to Prague, Czech Republic, where I spent 20 years (half of that time in Florence, Italy for my business). As I left my home country, my song-writing journey turned into a prose-writing adventure. That's where my three novel books came from, and I'm on my way to translate them and publish nowadays. IRMA KURTI: How does your country of origin affect your writings, and what place do your childhood memories occupy in them? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: My country of origin stood as a mirror of my inner world, full of joy, happiness, and excitement, reflected in my songs, music and poems. Educational journey spiced with inspiring flashes of growing in harmony pictures...emotional memory banks of the past...Deep emotional infliction as a spiritual call for a soul cleansing... IRMA KURTI: You are the editor of Prodigy Magazine published in the USA. Can you tell us something more about this experience? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: As I moved 12 years ago to the USA, I passed through a big reset. Due to certain circumstances, I personally experienced, so-called Satori effect, a dramatic serious awakening process. It totally changed my life orientation, a big switch to spiritual aspects. I dedicated my time studying metaphysics, diving deeper into self-developing processes. Over several years, among other achievements, absolving a diploma of Hypnosis Motivation Institute of California, I launched my own programs of self-development, providing coaching seminars and online teachings. As a result, there were these books: "4 STEPS TEACHING OF SELF-HEALING"; "GENIUS MINDSET TRAINING"; "PRODIGY LIFE PROGRAM-PLATFORM (Vol 1, 2, and 3), as separate programs of self-growth. All published by my own publishing house, Prodigy Published. Worth mentioning is that all these programs are enhanced with a set of affirmations, autohypnosis exercises, wrapped in a very poetic form. In June 2022, I started Prodigy Magazine, which came as a result of several years intensive networking with writers from all around the world. It helped me with opening solutions for wider promotion, and various cultural world streaming connections, with a final goal to provide a process of awakening, uplifting humanity and raising global consciousness. IRMA KURTI: What is the role of Prodigy Academy? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: Prodigy Life Academy is a non-profit educational organization established in 2015 in Boston, Massachusetts - USA, by Dr. Goldy Brown and myself as founders. The main purpose of creating this organization was to set up a stage for educational seminars and teachings in the field of self-development. In that sense, the focus was on deepening a vision in phenomena of subconscious mind and its role in a process of human growth. The first period of activity reflected in creating and developing specific subjects, topics which correlate with all aspects of understanding human consciousness. The focus was on the mind-reprogramming process, which was particularly sealed by hypnotherapy diplomas of HMI Institute, California. Providing self-developing coaching-seminars and teachings, we, as PLA scholars, developed powerful transformational tools and theoretical platforms as a solid foundation for future deployment. IRMA KURTI: You have published hundreds of poets all over the world. What do they have in common? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: They have one thing in common, an enormous craving for inner soul expression, which I recognize as an essential, spontaneous natural process of connection into higher consciousness and ultimately, the field of infinite oneness. IRMA KURTI: What are some challenges that you have faced in your literary path? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: My bad experience with big USA publishers, as I recognized rigidness of their strict business-oriented schedules, putting authors in the same box with book buyers. It led me to start my own publishing house, mostly, to make my life easier, also helping other writers in reaching their creative goals. Of course, all for free! IRMA KURTI: Do you think poetry is a powerful means to treat important topics and promote peace in the world? ** ZLATAN DEMIROVIĆ: Poetry and philosophy both came from the same, one branch. The world is shaped by them. All that happened in our history has been written before or rewritten later. We must understand that the material world is nothing but a reflection of ideas which came from the spiritual plane. The world is ruled by ideas, i.e., by some esoteric forces that follow specific ideas and cosmic laws. There is always a certain agenda on the table designed for future happenings. The language of philosophy and poetry is most likely used in esoteric circles. As poetry is a language of God, no wonder how it will be followed... IRMA KURTI is an Albanian poet, writer, lyricist, journalist and translator and has been writing since she was a child. She is a naturalized Italian and lives in Bergamo, Italy. All her books are dedicated to the memory of her beloved parents, Hasan Kurti and Sherife Mezini, who have supported and encouraged every step of her literary path. Kurti has also won numerous literary prizes and awards in Italy and Italian Switzerland. She was awarded the Universum Donna International Prize IX Edition 2013 for Literature and received a lifetime nomination as an Ambassador of Peace by the University of Peace, Italian Switzerland. In 2020, she became the honorary president of WikiPoesia, the encyclopedia of poetry. In 2021, she was awarded the title of Liria (Freedom) by the Italian-Albanian community in Italy. In 2022, she was also nominated as the Albanian ambassador to the International Academic Award of Contemporary Literature Seneca of the Academy of Philosophical Arts and Sciences, Bari. She also won the prestigious 2023 Naji Naaman's literary prize for complete work. Irma Kurti has published 28 books in Albanian, 24 in Italian, 15 in English, and two in French. She has written approximately 150 lyrics for adults and children. She has also translated 17 books by different authors, and all of her own books into Italian and English. Her books have been translated and published in 14 countries. Irma has recently joined ILA Magazine as a Contributing Guest Editor and will exclusively publish world interviews.

Recently as of last month, ILA offered poets from our Facebook group, the poetry form of the 'Cleave.' The word itself defines both separate and together, to cut or meld. It also means to adhere closely. The poem consists of three poems in one by splitting each line in 2 parts. The first section, second section and combined section readings should all make sense and stand on their own, threaded together in a way that illustrates how writing and words can connect in contrast, to form new meanings. This particular form requires the poet to focus on line breaks and the meaning of each section as they stand on their own. So, in order for people to read more closely ILA divided each section with a hyphen so that you may observe and absorb the poems, better. ILA chose 2 poets to be featured out of the seven that pursued this challenge. SHADOWS UNVEILED Orison echoes fade - the silence sings Compathy embracing secrets, - a veil withdrawn, Surcease in shadows - whispers cling. In moonlit dreams, - hopes foretold Starlit mysteries - mysteries behold, Aubade the shadows, - where dreams reside, Surcease of night, - where stars confide. © CONCETTA PIPIA USA HOPE When surcease of winter proclaims - the dawn of spring Pushes its head - a whisper of joy all over shares Mood of mirth - and gives birth after a prolonged pause For winter buries buds all - to new buds and butterflies A carpet of greenery is laid - leaving the tattered rough Under the merciless boots of rush - marks the beginning of a new breeze. With new morning - the mourning is over For nightingales on limbs in orison - luring the brooks To nurse the floor - like compathy of a gardener Who forgets the loss - over on like a fresh aroma To heal the old heel - to lull in the lap gardener's aubade... © Mushtaque B. Barq Kashmir, India

By Dexter Amoroso John sat alone in his dimly lit study, surrounded by the echoes of a life that had slipped through his fingers. The walls, adorned with faded photographs whispered untold tales of his teenage years. The musty scent of aged paper and dust lingered in the air, invoking memories of a time when love was innocent, and dreams danced unburdened by the weight of reality. In the present, John's study was bathed in a soft, amber glow from the antique lamp on his desk. The creaking floorboards beneath his worn leather chair echoed the loneliness that had settled in the room. The threads that once held his life together had unraveled, leaving behind an emptiness that permeated the very essence of the space. His wife's absence echoed louder than the ticking of the antique clock on the wall. The scent of lavender, once her signature fragrance, now clung to the edges of forgotten love letters and discarded memories. The room, once a sanctuary, felt haunted by the ghost of a marriage that had crumbled not under the weight of love lost but tangled in the complexities of familial discord. Amidst the wreckage of his present, John discovered a mysterious artifact - an old pocket watch with a weathered brass exterior. As he turned the watch in his hands, its metal surface seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine, like the touch of a long-lost lover. Motivated by the specter of his unfulfilled love and the hauntingly curiosity of "what ifs," John hesitated only briefly before deciding to embark on a journey through time. The hands of the watch turned backward, and as he stepped into the past, a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds enveloped him. The air crackled with the energy of youth as he found himself in the vivid landscape of his teenage years. The distant laughter of friends playing in the street and the scent of freshly cut grass filled the air. The sun kissed his skin with the warmth of nostalgia as he navigated the familiar streets and faces of his youth. And there, in the distance, he saw her - Mary, the girl he once loved. "The past has a way of sneaking up on you, doesn't it?" John mused to himself, his voice carrying the weight of years. The reunion with his teenage self and Mary was fraught with internal conflict. The vibrant hues of the past clashed with the muted tones of his memories, creating a dissonance that resonate in the pit of his stomach. The temptation to alter the course of events pulsed in his veins, the desire to reach out and touch the intangible threads of time almost overwhelming. In a quiet moment beneath the flickering streetlamp, Mary's words brushed against his ears like a soft breeze. The timbre of her voice, a melody he had longed to hear, echoed with sincerity. "John," she began, her gaze unwavering, "I've always wondered...if things could have been different." John met her eyes, a mix of emotions swirling within his own. "Mary, I never knew...I thought you didn't feel the same way." Her lips curled into a wistful smile. "I was young, scared. You were my best friend, and the thought of losing that scared me more than anything." The confession of her love, once a silent echo, now reverberated through the corridors of time. The revelation, like the taste of bittersweet tears on his lips, left John with a heart heavy with understanding - the past, once lived, could not be rewritten. Their eyes met, and time seemed to stand still. The atmosphere around them thickened, as if the universe itself was holding its breath, allowing the weight of Mary's words to settle in the spaces between them. The soft glow of the streetlamp cast a warm halo on her face, highlighting the vulnerability in her eyes. The world around them faded, and in that suspended moment, it was just John and Mary, suspended between the echoes of the past and the uncertainties of the future. John's heart raced as he absorbed the enormity of Mary's revelation. His emotions, a tempest within, struggled to find expression. "You know, I've carried this with me for so long," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "The regret, the 'what ifs.' I never thought...I never thought you felt the same way." Mary reached out, her hand gently touching his. "Life has a way of surprising us, John. Maybe this is our chance to rewrite a part of your story." A question lingered in the air, unspoken yet understood. Mary's gaze, filled with hope and vulnerability, sought affirmation. It was a moment pregnant with possibilities, the culmination of years of longing and what-ifs. The seconds stretched into eternity as John, overwhelmed by the weight of emotion, finally spoke - a simple yet profound acknowledgement of the love that had endured the tests of time. "I wish I could stay here with you, Mary," John admitted, his eyes reflecting the conflict within. "But the past can only offer us glimpses, not permanence." Returning to the present, John found himself grappling with a maelstrom of emotions. The journey through time had stirred the dormant embers of his heart, each beat echoing like the distant thunder of a storm. The reality of his broken marriage loomed large, casting shadows that danced with the flickering candlelight on his study walls. The echoes of the past cast haunting shadows on the ruins of his present. As John grappled with his own turmoil, a subplot unfolded - Mary's current situation. The room where she lived was suffused with the scent of despair, the walls bearing silent witness to the unspeakable struggles within. Subtle hints of her internal struggles were woven into the narrative, like the faded bruises of a hidden storm. "Now that I've seen you again, Mary, I can't just leave you in a situation like this," John mused, the weight of responsibility etched on his face. Mary looked at him, her eyes revealing a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "John, you can't change the past, and you can't fix everything. Some wounds run too deep." Now faced with a moral dilemma, John stood at the crossroads of destiny. The ticking of the antique clock became a rhythmic pulse, underscoring the gravity of the choice before him. Should he intervene in Mary's life, saving her from further torment, or adhere to the silent laws of time and fate? In a moment of clarity, the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, John chose to disrupt Mary's life. "I can't let you suffer any longer, Mary. We might not be able to change the past, but we can certainly shape our future," he declared, determination burning in his eyes. The metallic taste of determination lingered on his tongue as he liberated her from the shackles of an abusive marriage. The decision, heavy like the oppressive weight of an impending storm, marked the divergence of their fates. With a heavy heart, John and Mary found closure and acceptance. The walls of the room, once witnesses to their individual struggles, now absorbed the shared weight of their intertwined destinies. Their motivations were grounded in a belief in second chances, in the possibility of a love reborn. John believed that they both deserved to love and be loved truly. Their first marriage, marred by mistakes and misfortune, had taught them the value of forgiveness and redemption. With God as the witness and guide, they asked for a chance at a future relationship, one where the echoes of time shaped a narrative of renewed love and shared purpose. In the embrace of the present, John couldn't help but appreciate the value of his life with Mary. The soft touch of her hand in his, the warmth of shared laughter, and the taste of love rekindled - all were fragments of a life shaped by the echoes of time. The story concluded with a poignant reminder of life's unpredictability, leaving room for readers to reflect on the sensory tapestry of their own choices and the intricate dance of fate and free will that defines the human experience. Dexter is the author of 'Rustic Charm' and 'Stay-At-Home-Dad: Makin' Popcorn & Wiping Asses: Their Turn to Pop is Coming, but Don't Poop at the Same Time!', a former quality professional who has changed careers with the desire to enter the world of teaching, he is now the VP of Research and Innovation at McKinley Publishing Hub and the brain behind the futuristic saga, 'Chronicles of the Celestial Nexus.' Dexter is also a certified writer and editor of The National Book Development Board. Let's go on further to mention he is VP of Education and VP of Public Relations at the Pinoy Writers Toastmaster Club. He subscribes to Gardener's Multiple Intelligence as it is one of the highest truisms, but he adds another intelligence called, "intuition." He argues that intuition is the highest form of intelligence as it can identify and target a particular thought or feeling, as in a gut feel. He believes that intelligence cannot be measured only by the ability to do one task. As per what institutionalized education does to gauge intellect. Exposing children to various stimuli will expand their horizons. This will also deepen them as individuals. Dexter is inspired by his two little boys. In his free time, he loves to read and write.

Soulmates: Verses of Love and Destiny Friday, December 29, 2023 Collaborating Authors: SHERYL LATINAZO MAGBOO and DEXTER AMOROSO SHERYL LATINAZO MAGBOO is a culinary artist, poetess and nighttime tutor extraordinaire. By day, she's crafting culinary masterpieces; by night, she's shaping young minds online. Her kids aren't just her source of inspiration; they're the MVP's of her nightly tutoring sessions. Move over, Shakespeare! There's a new poetess in town, and she's got the culinary skills to match! Gather 'round, folks! Meet DEXTER AMOROSO, the VP for Research and Innovation at McKinley Publishing Hub. When he's not navigating the corporate galaxy, he's the brain behind the futuristic saga, 'Chronicles of the Celestia Nexus.' But hey, this guy isn't just VP-ing and sci-fi-ing; he's also a certified writer and editor at The National Book Development Board. Oh, and let's not forget his side hustle - VP of Education and VP of Public Relations at the Pinoy Writers Toastmasters Club. Talk about wearing more hates than a hat store! His real-life inspiration? Neo and Toby, his two little mischief-makers who probably give him enough material for a sequel. Together, Dexter and Sheryl are the brains and hearts behind "Soulmates: Verses of Love and Destiny." It's not your run-of-the-mill love story; it's like a cosmic potluck where futuristic visions meet poetic musings. Join this duo for a down-to-earth, witty, and wildly creative journey through the tapestry of love and destiny. Spoiler alert: it involves more laughs than your favorite sitcom and more heart than a puppy video. So, grab a seat and get ready for a literary rollercoaster where love, destiny, and a pinch of humor collide. BOOK SYNOPSIS: "Soulmates: Verses of Love and Destiny" emerges as a testament to the enduring power of storytelling, where love and destiny intertwine in a cosmic ballet, painting a picture of resilience and passion. Embark on a profound journey with Dexter Amoroso and Sheryl Latinazo Magboo, a journey that transcends the boundaries of mere words. Despite the original preface vanishing, much like a phoenix rising from the ashes, this book stands as a symbol of the unyielding strength of the human spirit. The cover, graced by Eureka Robey's artistic masterpiece, encapsulates the passion, love, and destiny that flow through the pages within. As Dexter crafts this tale, it becomes more than a story; it morphs into a declaration of resilience - a narrative that insists on being heard. The cover's unveiling sparked a global wave of support, as if the cosmos themselves conspired to ensure this extraordinary tale's resonance. "Soulmates" is more than a love story; it's a love story with a heartbeat, an adventure that actively in the grand play of life. Translated from the poetic Tagalog by Dex himself, this linguistic transformation turns the narrative into a bridge, uniting hearts across cultures and languages. Love and destiny, two intertwined forces in the human experience, take center stage, inviting readers into a world where every page turn unveils a new aspect of human connection. The book unfolds in two acts: the first is a collection of short stories that untangle the complex threads of fate and love, demonstrating the myriad ways souls discover each other. The second is a poetic journey presented in both Tagalog and English, where verses twinkle like stars in the night sky, shedding light on the mysteries of love and destiny. "Soulmates" beckons you to delve into the fundamental forces that shape our existence, prompting reflection on the profound ties that bind us all. Dexter Amoroso's warm regards serve as a welcoming invitation - a golden key unlocking the doors to a world where love and destiny intertwine, weaving a grand fabric of human connection. Read more about "Soulmates" on Amazon

Biagio Fortini, like many other photographers, is not just an ordinary individual with a camera in hand. He is a visual artist who possesses a keen eye for capturing clear, sharp and breathtaking images. Biagio Fortini was born in Ripalta Cremasca, in the province of Cremona, Italy. His passion for photography has led him to travel o many countries around the world. His works are part of various anthologies and websites in Italy and abroad. He has won several prizes for his photographs in many literary contests in Italy. In 2020, he published in Romania with "Amanda Edit" publishing house, the book, 'Mai Multe Sǎruturi Decât Cuvinte' (More Kisses Than Words) with his photographs and the poems written by Irma Kurti. In 2022, the book 'One Day You Will Tell Me' containing pictures taken by him, was published by Barbanera Academy in Milan. The images of his photographs have become covers for over thirty-five literary works of poetry and prose published in the United States, Canada, France, Italy, Albania, Kosovo, Romania, Turkey, Philippines, India and Serbia. He lives in Bergamo, Italy.

By Shahid Abbas ILA Magazine Contributing Editor Nature is the Mother of all beauties and home of unlimited charms. Without it, all genres are foxy with the absence of ornaments and this is something which is a priceless boon as well as the bountiful blessings of the Almighty. It exists in the literary works of every culture. It is the backbone of plots and also helps us to learn about the original image. The world is endowed with rich beauteous natural resources which can all be inspirations to compose lovely poetry and prose and to even be the eternal subjects of masterpieces. As the great poet, John Keats said: "The poetry of the earth never died." Shakespeare also stated before that: "One touch of nature makes the whole world kin." With the increasing threats of global warming, it's our responsibility to take care of NATURE. Nature is the soul of the worldly body. How can we as humans help nurture nature in our own little ways? Nature shows peace, calmness, power, and strength as well. A few writers consider it as a path for independence. The ancient people took it with their own perspectives. For instance, the Earth refers to a woman whose anger brings earthquakes. William Blake also talked about its importance and said: "The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see nature all ridicule and deformity...and some scarce see nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, nature is imagination itself." In poetry, nature is a religion for Romantic Poets. There is pleasure that exists in it, and they discover life secrets in her. William Wordsworth seeks God in nature and said: "Come forth into the light of things, let nature be your teacher." He further said in his poem 'Tintern Abbey': "Nature never did betray the heart that loved her." S. T. Coleridge perceives nature with supernatural portions. He stated: "For he on honey-dew hath fed, and drank the milk of Paradise." John Keats the great Romantic poet says: "No bird has left in the world, which has not left an influence on his mind". For Keats, nature was his best friend. Both writers and artists use sky as the symbolism of calmness and the dwelling of gods, it also shows the Divine forces. The blue sky is portrayed for happiness and serenity. The sky at night presents the picture of death and evil forces and the heavy cloud formations bring sadness to the core. The lovely rainbow after the rain connotes hope and a brand new tomorrow; a solemn promise of the Divine. Using nature in Literature would be like a Good Man who is 'Hard to Find.' O'Connor perceives that there is nothing in the sky, it's religious imagery in it. It means that there is no God, and that humanity cannot hope for salvation. Sun is another common symbol which is used in Mythology. It gives life to everyone. It also shows power, Divine forces as well. The sunrise shows hope whereas, the sunset exposes the end of life. For example, in the novel Klara and the Sun 'Klara can see outside the window to watch the rising and setting of the Sun, which she believes gives her nourishment.' Water is also a traditional sign which is used in different works. It depicts rebirth, power, chaos, and danger. Sea also shows life. This is also a symbol of the rites of baptism that washes away sins. Water in the novel Crime and Punishment comes to represent life and renewal and has different meanings for different characters. For positive characters, it connotes life and growth. Whereas, water terrifies negative characters with its threat of death. Another literary device using nature are the woods. Woods are always dangerous for human and people believe dark forces live among them, therefore they express beign lost, endangered, and mysterious as well. "I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die, discover that I had not lived. - Henry David Thoreau Nature is the most vital boon of god. It fulfills our desires. With the increasing threats of global warming, it's our responsibility to take care of it. It's our home and many creatures live and thrive for our benefit. God creates all things for us. Everything like the sun, the moon, trees, and animals. She provides us food, oxygen, water, shelter and medicine as well. There is no doubt that we should nurture Mother Nature because she does protect us, too. Because of its love we are alive, motivated, and healthy. Our universe. presents paradise. Human beings are making progress and trying to reach other planets but they have ignored our only home. Due to our greedy behavior, we are spoiling its purity. if we don't take care and preserve it, the priceless gift of the Almighty, we will be the killers of our future generations. Unfortunately, we are unaware of the dangers of not protecting nature and so we reap what we sow. As P. B. Shelly wrote: "The Flower That Smiles To-Day" The flower that smiles to-day To-morow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world's delight? Lightning that mocks the night, Brief even as bright. © Percy Bysshe Shelly ( 1792-1822) Novelist, Essayist, Poet Shahid Abbas is a multi-award International author and poet from Karapla, Tandlianwala Faisalabad, Pakistan. He is the author of "Words From Nature" and the co-author of "We Speak in Syllables." His words have also been featured in various international anthologies and diverse literary platforms both in print and online. Shahid's works have been translated into 10 different languages.

"If I hadn't put off everything, I wouldn't need to do this," said Walter to nobody. He walked on the old expansion bridge that crossed the river, it would be years before it would be repaired. Every step he took, the bridge shook and sent another random thought through his brain. Sometimes he thought he was a step ahead of his brain, but most of the time, his thoughts hid in the curls of his hair and crawled around like lice until they got comfortable enough to make him crazy again. He cringed. He remembered telling the nurse to unplug the ventilator on his mom. "Really? Now? The twitching? That memory? Do I have to listen to the hospital's standard speech about what to expect when someone is about to die?" asked Walter. He wanted an answer. He shook his head and his stomach turned. He walked faster. He remembered missing a dental appointment, then not rescheduling it, daily. Day after day, he wrote it in his calendar. Every day he looked at his calendar, "Call Dentist," over and over and he would find something to do so he didn't have to make the call. Anything. File receipts. He rubbed his jaw and his stomach churned with another step. He picked up his feet, faster, trying to outrun his thoughts. "I should have cleaned the gutters. That's what I should be doing. I ought to be up on the roof with a trowel and a water hose." He took another step. "Why didn't I buy that stupid stuffed rabbit for my kid when he was ten? That's what he wanted was a stupid stuffed rabbit. It was right there. Why did I buy him that racetrack? He never took it out of the box, and he wanted a stuffed rabbit. The look in his eyes..." Walter said aloud again. Walter ran. "I'm late. I hate this. it makes me crazy. I should have helped with that yard sale Mom had before she sold the townhouse." Make it stop. Walter heard a foghorn off a riverboat he couldn't see. When it bellowed again, he stood up straight, took a deep breath, and held it for as long as he could. he hung onto the rail as he collapsed around himself. River water echoes melancholy and attracts it. Walter's misery swelled and surged in the flow. Shame choked him. Walter listened to the slap of the water against the fog. he thought he would die before the cool and the mist of dark morning dried his tears and let his body become a wick to light his mind again. He grabbed the rail and crouched down and pulled without moving. He held his weight, pulling up without going anywhere, resisting the pull but embracing it, exhausting his arms. He blew out his breath with whoosh and stood up like a diver coming out of water. Silence. There were no words in his head. Arthur put his hands in his pockets and felt the cold metal of the boxcutter he carried around with him. He admiried it for the razor's edge it hid, so sharp it glistened. Deliberate and precise, his thumb found the switch that pushed the blade ut or pulled it back in. It was his worry stone, a talisman he rubbed to quell his anxiety. So many times, he'd jumped at the sting of the razor point sticking his leg because he'd idly worked the blade button back and forth. He pulled his sleeve up and the knife out and flipped the blade like a maestro's baton. Satisfaction swelled as he watched the pearling of blood on the shallow cut of his forearm. Mesmerized, his eyes followed the beads of red as they ran toward his wrist. Car lights grew from a distance. White balls of light grew from the mist and headed right toward him then turned blue. An officer, tall and lean, climbed from the car and walked toward him. Arthur hung his head and hid all the evidence he could. The last thing he wanted was to justify his presence on a bridge before daylight with a bloody arm and a boxcutter. His armpits itched and his stomach rolled. Arthur pulled his sleeve over the cut and put the boxcutter back in his pocket. "Hey Buddy, what're you looking at here this morning? Everything ok?" said the officer. Arthur felt exposed. His face turned deep red and he took a deep breath, steadied his voice, making sure it didn't waver with remnants of panic. He didn't want the cop to worry or ask questions. He had to fight his war by himself. "Just going for my morning walk, this is where I turn around. Thanks for asking. How're you doing?" Arthur asked. He'd learned a long time ago to ask questions to avoid answering them. "Yeah, it's been a long, busy night. Chased a couple of bad guys, didn't catch any though. You ever fished from here?" "Not yet, been thinking about it, I like coming here." Arthur said. he hoped he didn't sound like he was coming out of a panic attack. He didn't want attention, but it felt good to breathe again. The weight on his chest had lifted, and the racing thoughts that had consumed his mind were gradually subsiding. Arthur's heart pounded, he could feel blood still running. The last thing he needed as a trip to an emergency room. He put his hand in his pocket and found the comfort of the cold boxcutter and toyed with the switch. Arthur knew he'd have to confront his pain one day, but not for now. His insurance wouldnt' allow it. "Can I give you a lift home?" asked the cop. "Shotgun," said Walter © Devonne Brown Devonne Brown loves to tell tales of all kinds. She is a mother of twin men, and a writer who harbors cats and antiques. She teaches English between summers, writing workshops, and weekends. In addition to her blog, athesaurus.net , a collection of essays, poetry and short stories, she has written a book under the name, D. L. Brown, Norris Tales, the Adventures of an Awful Housecat, an anthology of short stories that revolve around family tyrant Norris, a cat of unusual presence and demeanor. No one needs a cat like Norris, but thankfully, a shelter picked him off of the streets to save other unsuspecting citizens from his unbridled condescension.

This is a book review of Author Mehran Hashemi's collection of poetry, "light needs darkness to shine" Before we begin, let's take a look at the author's bio - ** MEHRAN HASHEMI, also referred to as, HUSH M. E., is a poet who lives in a country where freedom of speech is a (limited) luxury, emerging and defying the constraints of a somewhat silenced society. He is an extraordinary wordsmith, and captivated me with his compelling micro poems of emotion, life, love, passion, struggle, compassion, darkness and light, all speaking volumes, sometimes in rhyme, prose or metaphor, leaving an indelible mark upon the heart. Born on 11 December 1993, the author is a Persian poet, animation director and activist, in the country of Iran. He began writing in 2019 and his debut poetry book came out this year of 2023. Mehran cannot hold his own book as he comes from a country where there is censorship, and the only freedom is writing. Through traumas, experiences, and challenges in life, his poems show inner strength from physical, mental and psychological well-being, struggles and the unsettling anarchic circumstances in his country.  The title, "light needs darkness to shine", along with his book are the broken pieces of his soul and poetry, intertwined. Mehran wrote his poems in 4 sections: ·      sunrise – the green breath ·      sunshine – the hungry flames ·      sunset – the crying shadows ·      moonlight – the uprising lights Although Mehran’s poems may be short in length, they possess an extraordinary ability to speak volumes. Each line is meticulously crafted to evoke profound emotions and convey complexities (darkness) as well as a refreshing brilliance (light). The brevity of his verses adds impact, and left me pondering over meaning, long after the last word or line was read. With a masterful command of emotion and language, Mehran artfully weaves together, words that resonate deeply within the soul. “Light Needs Darkness to Shine” explores the depths of the human connection, particularly in matters of the heart. Through his words, I was transported into a world of love and passion, reigning supreme, whether it’s the intoxicating thrill of romance or the ecstasy of sultry sensuousness or the enduring strength of emotion, his poems beautifully capture the essence of his emotions and his ability to convey intricacies through concise yet evocative poems is nothing short of remarkable. One of the most captivating aspects of the author’s collection, is his exploration of the interplay in a dance between darkness and light, like two sides of a coin, the contrasting forces often coexist with the human experience. Through his poems, he reminds us that light can and will prevail. His poems serve as powerful reminders of the human spirit’s resilience and transformative powers of hope. “Light Needs Darkness to Shine” showcases Mehran’s versatility in form, with some poems written in rhyme and others in simple structure. This diversity adds a dynamic element to his collection, allowing his readers to appreciate the depth of his writing craft. Regardless of the form chosen, each of his poems possess a unique cadence and rhythm that further amplifies the emotional impact of his poetry. Mehran Hashemi is a literary force to be reckoned with. His ability to navigate complexities of life, love, passion or struggle within the confines of a silenced society is truly commendable. Through his compelling poems, he not only touches the heart, but also challenges perspectives I connected on a more profound level. He has certainly created a collection that is destined to be cherished by poetry enthusiasts, worldwide. Mehran’s poems are concise and thought-provoking, encapsulating the ephemeral nature of artistic expression and the delicate balance between darkness and light. His poems explore the imagery of the moon, snow and the sun, creating a vivid and visual contrast that is so inviting, one can’t help but reflect on themes of transience, longing and the transformative powers of emotion and the senses. Though I have a great affinity toward all of the author’s poems,  just to mention some, I chose the following to feature with a review: In SECTION ONE of his book – sunrise: the green breath, and on page 7, his poem: i wrote for the moon on the snow then it melted away by the jealous sun. REVIEW: His poem begins with simple yet an evocative line: “I wrote for the moon”, this opening sets the tone for the poem, hinting at the poet’s desire to express emotions through art. The moon, often associated with mystique and longing, becomes a symbol of inspiration and aspiration. The following line: “on the snow” adds a layer of vulnerability and fragility to the poem. Snow, with its delicate and temporary nature, represents an ephemeral canvas for the poet’s words. The use of preposition “on” suggests a temporary connection, as if the poem is etched on a transient surface. The poem takes an unexpected turn with the line: “then it melted away”. This sudden shift in imagery conveys a sense of loss and impermanence. The melting snow symbolizes the fleeting nature of artistic creation and the inevitable passage of time. It also serves as metaphor for the transient nature of emotions that may fade away, leaving only traces behind. The final line: “by the jealous sun”, introduces the theme of jealousy and conflict. The sun, often associated with warmth and radiance, becomes a figure of envy. The personification of the sun as “jealous”, adds a human element to the natural world, emphasizing the complex emotions that can arise in the face of artistic expression. Jealousy implies that the sun’s radiance may overshadow the moon’s gentle glow, making it difficult for the author’s words to be seen and appreciated. Another poem that touched me in Section One – sunrise: the green breath, Page 10: I found a jasmine in your heart it smelled home though we were apart i couldn’t live there for a lifetime yet your scent remained in my art. REVIEW: This poem beautifully captures the bittersweet essence of love and longing. The metaphor of finding jasmine in the heart symbolizes the discovery of something pure and beautiful within the subject’s loved one. Despite being physically separated, the scent of jasmine lingers in his heart, serving as a reminder of the deep connection they once shared. The poem evokes a sense of nostalgia and the recognition that while the relationship may not have lasted, the impact of that love will forever remain. Section One – sunrise: the green breath, Page 16: once upon a time we used to write for each other in the nights on the sky when the moon was our connection REVIEW: Mr. Hashemi writes of a captivating journey through time when two souls found solace in writing for each other. “once upon a time” immediately evokes a sense of nostalgia and fairy tale-like enchantment, beautifully capturing the essence of a deep and intimate bond as it flourishes under the night sky and the moon acting as a celestial thread connecting the two. The poem hints of a love story that transcends physical distance and relies on the power of imagination and emotional connection. The moon becomes a conduit for their communication, adding a touch of magic to the narrative, further amplifying the sense of longing and yearning for each other’s presence. SECTION 2 – sunshine: the hungry flames, Page 36: the locked-up piano desires a warm touch from the pianist to get rid of her soul’s dust and moan for him a seductive piece REVIEW: The imagery of a locked-up piano sets the stage for a longing to be released. The piano symbolizes the poet’s soul, yearning for the touch of a pianist, representing desire for connection and expression. The mention of dust and moaning adds a sensual and seductive element to the piece, evoking the idea of hidden desires waiting to be unleashed. Mehran’s poem effectively captures the longing for connection and the potential for passionate expression through music SECTION 3 – sunset: the crying shadows, Page 96: I’m fighting in silence to silence the screams to make peace with the things which were one day my dreams REVIEW: This poem conveys a sense of inner turmoil and struggle. The poet describes “fighting in silence” to suppress the screams within. This can be seen as a representative of inner conflict, or emotional pain. The line, “to make peace with the things which were one day my dreams” suggests that the poet is trying to come to terms with the fact that the dreams may no longer be attainable or have changed. This poem explores inner struggle, acceptance and the process of letting go. SECTION 4 – moonlight: the uprising lights, page 126: He’s a writer who pushes out the words from his heart the pain makes him shout while giving birth to his art REVIEW: In this poem, the poet vividly expresses the process of creating art. The imagery of the poet pushing out words from his heart, evokes a sense of passion and emotional intensity. The line, “the pain makes him shout” suggests that the act of creating art is not always easy, but rather requires the release of pent-up emotions. The poet beautifully captures the rawness and vulnerability of his creative craft. In conclusion, Mehran’s poems skillfully incorporate vivid imagery and concise language to convey a profound sense of transience and longing. He invites readers to contemplate his art of writing and the internal as well as external factors that influence creative expression. He has left an indelible impression upon my thought processes, with the simplicity of language, adding to the charm of his book. He gives to readers, concise and poignant poems, managing to convey a wealth of emotion. His poems speak the universal human desire for connection and longing in deepest bond with another person, an invitation to reflect on our own experiences of love, longing and the power of imagination to bridge distance. His book will surely resonate with many who have connected, as well as I, appreciating heartfelt and introspective writing. Reviewed by Annette Nasser Editor of ILA Magazine USA 12.17.23 Read more about the Author's book on Amazon: light needs darkness to shine and on Goodreads

December 4, 2023 From October 18 - November 15th, we offered poets an "Autumn" themed challenge, however, not all countries experience the beautiful autumnal season with its cool climate and warming colors. ILA Magazine presented our Facebook group poets, a trio of autumn themed visuals to choose from, that would perhaps spark their muse and indeed it did! MOTHER NATURE'S ARTS AUTUMN SHOW In the advent of the Autumn Mother Nature becomes an artist With her natural stratagem As she is a great alchemist During Autumn time to fathom Within balmy temperatures Mother Nature paints leaves of trees Let leaves to colorful features Leaves like blooms, that may confuse bees As leaves are like bright-colored flowers Mother Nature is a tune-maker She is, with help of wind, the thieves Robbed tree leaves to all in a manner Be in susurrus tune, those leaves In harmony with wind, whisper Nice to hear nature's melody Within nature's music aura Alongside Autumn scene to see Leaves in gold, crimson, magenta In Autumn affair superbly Mother Nature arts Autumn show And nature's music melody Amazing to hear, to view though Grand aspects in earth vividly © ENCY BEARIS USA THIS AUTUMN RUSH OF MINE I find myself looking back at the past, As the year speeds by so fast, Not quite ready for the winter winds, I pick my guitar as my heart rescinds. My friends, where are they now? I know not but the memories, somehow, Linger about the room I am in. I hope they're doing fine, my kin. My family and I, we made it till today, I wish I could say the same for my love's way. Unfinished stories of you and I, The love may be gone but memories never die. With all these thoughts around me, My fingers caress the strings, setting my emotions free. Here comes the winter winds now, But my autumn's song, I'll still allow. © PINA S. IMCHEN India AUTUMNAL EQUINOX An affair began with those Leaves fallen on the ground, Began to touch my soul Through the breeze Of feelings! It wasn't just a sense of Music but a tune enough To caress my wholesome Love, with a chord of his Precious emotions! Stories you wrote weren't Enough to describe my Abundant happiness! Hibernaculum of warmth Didn't satisfy you! Susurrous of fondness Made you crave for more! Beaver moon couldn't Satisfy your hunger! So you created a Churn supper out of The poetry embedded In your novel, with those Twigs, collected from fall! Are we celebrating Autumn Or breezy bright is paving A path for our amber Tint of togetherness? © SONAL RAO India VIOLIN RHYME IN AUTUMN FLAKE Lying violin at edge of bench And breeze caresses with susurration compose Rolling on melancholic fledge Dry leaves fallen on the ground Creak by its own soft dash The dull flash of surroundings stand still. Pathos pervades the scene Wriggling in ambit of corner around Violin aside, deck in low sound of alien mode. At distant spots, flowers of autumn Bloom with beaming joy In chaste chant, in calm dye In colorful medley match Quietly reeling hold, sans noise Adorning sublime flash of beauty Whereas violin aside, is touched By mirth in string and straps. Over the clear sky, sun peeps in lean draw Clouds in blossom flake Remain hidden or invisible from the sky Birds hit by flair of flapping wings by flying low and high In noisy chirp or in quiet cast. Continuously, the sun keeps fast leap Towards distant horizon to go down for rest And dusk envelopes the earth, early Lying violin, in angle line, vibrates in melancholic Lone rhythm. © SHIV RAJ PRADHAN India AUTUMN Darkness falls much quicker At this time of year The heat of the summer cools As the winds begin to swirl. Autumn the callous crusader Whips up all the leaves A host of multi colors Floating on the breeze Skeletal trees appear half naked As day loses more time to night Cold weather is now a regular visitor On a never-ending fight. Animals forage to stock pile food With a frenzied air Winter is nipping at their heels Hibernation will soon be their only care. © DONNA McCABE UK THE TREES HAVE WRITTEN The trees have written Already their stories Their leaves are fallen Brown and dry Announcing autumn With their crashing sound. The trees are now already pencils That will start to draw some trees. © BOGDANA GAGEANU Romania SENTIMENTAL FALL silver frost shivers, deliver these days to mock an unaffiliated sun far away seasons of doubtful delays dare our star to flare a sharp swollen tongue lost fields of flowers, in color all bloom invoke calm found below those golden beams ostentatious rays gather enough room to nourish reformations of green dreams wishes sweat surreptitiously met to defy obstinate heavens obscure to regret another seasonal pet naked to ensure a hasty summer completing cycles for raw rainbows thaw unfreeze brown leaves of sentimental fall © MATT ELMORE USA AUTUMN'S POEM Sitting at her desk, she starts to write With the pen gifted to her by the holy tree On the leaves she painted from the day She said goodbye to her sister Summer And nature became her canvas. Kind words bring comfort to the souls Hurt by the shadows' cruel words. A ray of hope pierces through the grey skies, Lighting our way to happiness. Brave words inspire the weak to become bold In the face of life's toughest challenges. The recipes from our ancestors' cookbooks Urges us to taste from the autumnal delights Whether we gathered at the table at Thanksgiving, Or celebrate the spookiest day of the year with ghosts and ghouls Love lifts the heavy as lead sorrow off our heart, Helping us see a better tomorrow. Oh, her pen's run out! And there are many things to write During the reign of the most generous and talented of the sisters. © GHEORGHE LAURA Romania THE AUTUMN I SEEK Though hard to embezzle the colors of autumn Falls in gold and red in suburban mind Sitting on the mound of my imagination Depth precariously observed for the autumn, I seek. Over and around the glass brims Flows the colors of beauty as yellow maple leaves abscission in trees And brush petals of sakura flowers as a fandango of tinge and shade, Dainty colors of sunburns on meadows, with grounded ebony pigment Sky is smeared pure blue hue Flowers bloom in withered trees and enchanting crimson dancing upon the wind that chills I was Painting the vertigo of autumnal fall And I smiled For the glass brims remain still and silent. © SHEILA ANN Malaysia

December 3, 2023 October/November, we offered a visual art/poetry challenge to our Facebook Group members with the option of choosing one of two images. Out of the twelve entries, seven remarkable poets were chosen, their senses in tune, painting vivid imagery with both their keen perceptions, creative perspectives , thoughts and words. THE HAND'S LAMENT: A MOBILE MELODY In the palm of my hand, a portrait lies, A man alone, striding tracks of steel, Within my clasp, our memories harmonize, A tale of loss concealed beneath a digital seal. A secret dance of stolen words unfold, You walked away, distant as a ghost, Through the vibrant canvas, your absence molds, While my fingers traced the path you chose. Each touch a riddle, each swipe a plea, To bridge the gap that remains untamed, Yet in this handheld abyss, you break free, As pixels flicker, our love remains unclaimed. On handheld relic, a world apart, A screen's reflection of love's remorse, These train tracks symbolize my broken heart, As I clutch your fading presence, my life's discourse. But still, I cling to this device, afraid to release, Afraid to let the echoes of you dissolve away, For in this mobile realm, hope finds its peace, And this hand embraces the beauty of our yesterday. © CONCETTA PIPIA USA - A TRAIN - As a child she could hear the sound Of the train, upon the railroad tracks From outside her bedroom window Resounding, amidst the floor cracks A warm, gentle breeze, within the air Sit, at her desk, stare, dream & write Imagine, a world, different than hers Diverse place seemingly out of sight Away from all the chaos, all the hurt Away from adversity, disdain & strife Where her heart, soul, could be free Where there existed, some other life Yet 'er soul was indeed, ever so torn Amidst family responsibility & heart She knew, that was expected, of her Knowin' not another way t' be 'r part Alas, remain'd encased 'n that room Loud voices, amid the winds, circlin' Heart heavier, brimming, with hope Dreams, of that life, o' encompassin'. © MENA SISTO Canada "UNTITLED" Whither thou art going o crown of creation? The path thou moves on, doth it lead to thy destination? Art thou coming out of the dark place or going inside? Art thou fed up with woeful life and going to commit suicide? If thou art ignorant of the path thou moves on, Then thy precious life thou art going to ruin. Thou art alone moving on the path, are others moving on the wrong one? Or art thou moving on wrong path, but thou feel it will lead to thy destination. First contemplate before moving forward, if thou art on the right track If not o crown of creation, then hurriedly return back. © SHAFKAT AZIZ HAJAM Jammu Kashmir, India JOURNEY OF LIFE Journey of life never comes back, my friend. Walking along one way traffic is life's trend Nor sorrow changes, nor the jeer and cheer bend Going alone in a lone path be our journey end. Never look back to the past life to extend Past is past, that will never return at ones end Let me befriend myself without anyone to fend As I will sleep beneath the grave alone, alone in the end. © PRASANNA BHATTA India LIFE IS A JOURNEY If to walk alone, then I must for there's no pain, no strain in it Across the valley of death were fear may appear I shall fasten my belt of faith around my heart So it can shed a light for the path of my mind If no track lay ahead but a dead end, am confronted with May I gather the strength from deep within and face the challenge head on For there's no fear, no retreat, when the mind is focused on the goal If to pack my worries and leave them behind that I'd willingly do If to leave behind the painful past I'd surely do so for I need to move on Yesterday's pain will be tomorrow's gain for me. © JAYNOBO JAYMES Papua New Guinea HAIKU with my springual pen hueing purity and love faded ashy blooms MEHRANGIZ TALAIEZADEH Iran AUTUMNAL FALLS "As I go downward hill into the swarm of sakura blooming Flowers drizzled with snowflakes sprinkling Dainty dandelions, the petals are folding Awaiting patiently for winters fiddling Withered colors of leaves are invigorating Beautiful Violas grow in shing Golden hues of roses are flourishing The dance of autumn is seductively mesmerizing." The nib broke Leaving me ashes to end my letter © SHEILA ANN Malaysia

On October 20th, 2023, ILA Magazine offered a visual prompt challenge, a dove of peace with children standing in various lines holding flags of the world. We asked poets to observe the image closely and write their own perceptions and indeed they did, becoming the peace doves by penning beautifully depicted poems. ILA chose 5 poets out of 16. PEACE Pray for peace Pray for innocent children Caught in the wars Pray for peace Pray for our brothers and sisters Tortured Hungry Homeless Shot Caught in the wars Pray for peace So humans can live In beauty and love Pray for peace A chain of prayer to shield Those in danger Pray for peace. © Bernadette O'Reilly SAVING GRACE Amidst the desolation, a dove flew out from the Ark And swooped over the wild and raging floods Soon after, it was seen fluttering calmly overhead With a green and fresh olive leaf drooping from its beak. A symbol that Nature's wrath has subsided New hope, signs of sprouting lives brightly emerged Another lease on human existence, the Almighty has granted Repentance, faith and devotion from all of us are expected But why haven't we learned from the blunders of the past? The omens keep raging but met them with a remorseless heart The right time has come, let us all heed the call Life is precious, let's make amends and save our souls Heal the world in deep turmoil, we, Nations of the world Wages of sin, ravages of war, all will be destroyed Let the dove of love and peace spread its saving grace And turn our world into a Shangri-la, an idyllic place and hideaway © Gus Perez Amio BLIND I see no color We bleed the same blood I see no religion The same universal God I see no hate It's the same human fate I see no division Only love and compassion I see no misery The same anger doesn't pay I see no evil When Love shall always prevail I see no suffering Humanity restored we bring But I saw red stains In the snow, in vast desert plains. © Floyd Gale Cabus WORLD OF COLORS We are a world made up of colors Different hues Different interpretations But unified in one monochrome. We are a world with different thoughts Different languages Different words But we are unified in one picture. We are a world of colors Cultures, races and even words. But those differences don't matter. We shared the same sun, moon, stars and heaven altogether. We are the colors of the world That painted smiles and happiness on every road That sow the seeds of peace in every land That bears hope and love in everyone's heart and mind. But no matter what differences we have Colors unified us to live as one To make our world a better place To make the world a place we call "Home." © Janet Rose Licudo BRINGER OF PEACE We summon you to inspire us To light the lamp from within So that we may guide lost souls Outside the dark realm of despair. Disperse the fog of hate from our mind, So that we may think clearly And thus become wise mentors To help others make right decisions Together we will live in harmony To make life's song a symphony Heaven, nature, humanity unite To stand up to the forces of evil! © Gheorghe Laura