On snowy winter days, next to sandals, we listened to sweet stories from my mother, joked with our neighbor's children, fought, reconciled soon after. Our childhood happiness was those street games. Life was going on with such pleasant days. One day we were busy making snowballs in the middle of our yard, hearing the news of the arrival of a new guest at our house. I did not know, maybe because I love children, I expected him to grow up very quickly. It was the second day from the birth of the prince, we would argue with our family to choose his name. When I said Muhammad, my brother said Ahmad, my mother wanted to give him a name, which is Mustafa, and my dad wanted to join what his other sons said. Finally, all of us were left blank, and the name my mother told us were chosen, that is, we agreed to name my little brother Mustafa. Mustafa was the candle light of our house, we were a propeller, we were spinning on its top. We had to make a vaccine for his health, so after a week his treatment ended. Just like any other night, this evening we were sitting together near the cradle of Mustafa, laughing and speaking together with him. I do not know for some reason my brother's health deteriorated, that is, he himself fainted. We were all surprised, our eyes were blind, we could not see the right way, my mother's voice, my child, was barely heard! My brother lay with light from his eyes with his red winter clothes, where now if such glowing eyes open! Where their lovely voices come out with a cry song! My mother shouted, my daughter in a hurry, break some dishes. I do not know if this was an old tradition left over from our ancestors, our people thought that it was useful to break dishes on such days. My mother did it herself, unable to bear the fact that I was looking. But where would this work give results?! Where does my brother open his eyes?! On the snowy days of that winter, a car was also not found in our village, so long as we took my brother to the hospital. Our father brought the imam of our neighbourhood, read the verses of the Quran. My brother remained so long after this happened. We were laughing at home with my brother, and suddenly his health is again deteriorated, unable to breathe terribly scared me. My mother was baking bread in the oven that day. I didn't know what happened to the bread on that day, who baked it?! Mommy wept and took my brother to the hospital. I waited for my brother by the door, I cried, why my brother remained that way. I thought when I would take my brother in my arms. We waited a lot, but there was no news, finally in the evening my brother's phone heard a ringing sound, if he answered, it turned out that dad. We are all glad to hear my father's voice, when did we ask you to come? They said they couldn't come tonight and told my brothers that they looked good at us. We were happy to know their situation, but this evening our house looked very quiet and dark. We were all waiting for my brother again in the morning. Unfortunately, these expectations took too long! Too much, that is, by sixteen days, the prince of our house came. But it was the last day I would wait for them to come crying. Seeing Mustafa was a new life of tolerance for us. My dad with my mother was very tired, but even then my two eyes did not lose my brother. I asked my brother why he stayed in the hospital for so long after they had some rest. They replied that nothing had happened, only a little cold. Even though we are children, we do not agree with this and ask my mother again: there will be nothing for my brother, right? My mother laughed like this by stroking us in the head: - Of course… But the evening was very good in my brother's state. We all laughed together and prayed to my God. I cooked “samsa” that night. When the “samsa” was ready, we also gave it to our neighbour, and then we all ate together, Mustafa was smiling in the cradle. Now we would ask God that he would not be ill again. This night sky stars flashed more. We haven't been in peace for a long time, it was a holiday for us late. Until midnight, we were all lying in peace. At that moment, my mother came and said that my brother's condition was not good. Indeed, my brother was not in good condition, breathing very hard. This time, his condition was different. He would take the last breaths of his life. It was very difficult to state this situation. My father's moaning, my mother's word mixed cry is still in my eyes. Dad would cry and repeat this word: - May your father sacrifice to you, Mustafa, open your eyes! Please lovely son! Our house was covered by the sound of mourning. This event made our yard very dark, no one wanted to stay in this house, we had no hope of living, my brother smelled pleasant from all corners of our house. Unfortunately, the treatment of this patient was impossible in Afghanistan.

There are a lot of contests for youths that are constituted by our President.Among them,the competition called "Young Reader" has become a sample of my vibrant memories.In fact,in 2022 for the first time I got to participate in the republican stage of this contest. I was left in 4th in the regional stage because of the lack of my experience.After this catastrophic lose of hope for winning,my craving for the reward has died.You may ask,who was the impetus for my constancy of attempts,then I would answer "that's my mom and my dad,they were the motivation themselves" I used to be just televiewer of this contest only, while the winners were gathered in front of the main stage I used to hear my mums words "when I will be able to see my daughter in the group of these intelligent young people?Will I see my daughter holding the main reward,waving the key of an automobile?"As I am a pupil of the russian school,where all the subjects are taught in Russian,I was strictly against to my participation in this contest as if  the sky was going to fall down to the ground. But my mother's request taught me not to lose myself, our national values, literature,not to forget my mother tongue. The terms of the competition were much more difficult, I hesitated too much when i was speaking in public for preparation of the contest. It was too challenging me. How many sleepless nights,cartoonless and phoneless days have I experienced...When I prioritized my perfect participation I dreamed a lot about: discussing difficult topics with the most quick-witted readers from the different parts of my country, creating a group on a Telegram Messenger, and building a brief conversation with them.The most interesting part was the  poetry challenge. I was in 4th in terms of the participants. Until this round I skimmed the whole book that was being presented to first participants.I felt that I should read this book as much as I can in order to answer to the questions of judges,but anyway the feeling of low memory-esteem left no way for me.I clearly remember that the participant  called Shahriyor asked me to lend the book. I felt the powerful fire inside. Soon realized that that's called jealousy.Somehow more powerful river ran and engulfed the flame, and gave back my sense of humanity to myself. Then I gave the book to Shahriyor. I began to turn the book "Little star" of Abdulla Oripov over and over until i was called to the main stage ...Just a minute before leaving the waiting room suddenly I came across the short poem.It was about a pen. I read it just once. On the stage I was required to choose any random number on the screen with random poems behind. This is unbelievable but... overriskingly,I chose the number 13 against the beliefs that it's an unlucky number.The 4 lines of the poem behind the number were the ones that I read 5 minutes ago!!!I was amazed!!!For the whole preparation year for this contest I read this poem only once,and plus once,there,in waiting room.I was confident in describing this poem to judges,as ideas were fresh in my mind.Fortunately,I got the highest score in this part of the challenges.While leaving the stage I was completely convinced that Allah is seeing all my efforts and will not leave them without reward.But at first,I speculate,I was examined in terms of humanity.When I agreed to lend that book,i passed the exam. I could control my jealousy and put the tolerance and humanity as my priorities.From that moment,I started to take actions accepting them as if they are exams that Allah is giving.What if I had not lent the book?!I would not achieve the highest score and stage overall.Thank God,I am receiving the fruits of my hard efforts.Shortly,that competition taught me a life lesson.

Do YOU read your Bible? Do you support the local church or lead one? Do you pray daily? Do you know how to pray and read your Bible? Do you fellowship with any other believers regularly? Would you want for me to pray for you for any reason? Do you need prayer?

Just 1 month until the release of, A Touch Eldritch, the first of an annual series, written for young teenagers. A collection of short stories to make you cringe, horror and spooky stories on the fringe. I am looking forward to hearing the feedback on this my first collection of short stories.

You never know what will come tomorrow: new difficulties or a new victory This story of a new life began in early spring, when a carefree medical student working part-time as a nurse heard about the quarantine measures. For someone the pandemic turned out to be a strong blow to health, for someone to finances, but for me personally, the pandemic turned out to be a «second wind». Every reader will ask how it turned out to be a «second wind». Everything is initially simple - I changed my life, which I dreamed for so long. Let me introduce myself, I'm Farhod Kholikov, I'm from Tashkent, Uzbekistan, I am a 4th year student at the Tashkent Pediatric Medical Institute and this is my story about the role of the pandemic in my life. Let's get started Reading. To be honest, during of my boring life I've read about 7-8 books, not including in this list the literature that each of us reads at school (Pushkin, Gogol, Bulgakov, Shakespeare, Exupery, Hugo, etc.). I was not particularly distinguished by my love of books, because I was one of those people who write myself. While still in school, I wrote poetry and wrote stories. But the pandemic has drastically changed my "dislike". Leafing through the pages of social networks on the Internet, I came across an amazing dystopian novel by G. Orwell "1984". I was so carried away by reading this novel and amazed by it. I began to search the Internet for other similar novels. The next was A. Burgess's «Clockwork Orange». These two novels made me think about being, human essence, the mistakes of consciousness and worldview. Then I started on Fitzgerald's «The Great Gatsby», the denouement touched my heart and I could not hold back tears. Reading led me to the second stage Social network. After several novels, I began to write notes for myself in the form of reasoning about the world, about the value of life. My girlfriend accidentally read my notes and insisted that I open a channel in Telegram (a social network like WhatsApp in the CIS) and publish my notes there. At first, I was against, "who wants to read my mind?". She convinced me. I started writing, looking for interesting facts, videos, pictures and music from the Internet and publish them on my channel. People liked my publications. I noticed the strangeness - people began to share my posts, and they scattered very quickly, but few people subscribed to me. I was not discouraged, and began to spread even more. Now I have 36 subscribers, but views of my posts range from 200 to 500 people. For me it is a victory Sport. Even in the 1st year of my studies at a medical university, I had a desire to start going out to run in the morning, but every day I put off until tomorrow, Monday or the next month. It has continued until the pandemic (4 years). Quarantine measures were strengthened in the spring, people were forbidden to go out. At the same time, I was reading The Great Gatsby. In the end, there was Gatsby's daily routine, where I saw the Sport item. Soon at the end of spring, the quarantine was lifted. Without hesitation, I bought a bike via the Internet and started my morning exercises on May 27. I got up early, prayed and went outside with my new bike at 4:30 a.m. It was dark, but nothing could stop me. The first 500 meters were the most exciting. I finally got down to something that I had dreamed about for a very long time, and there were thoughts in my head: “How long will I drive on the first day? When will I be exhausted?" I set a goal to get to my institute, which was located 3.5 kilometers from my house. On the first day, I did not reach it. But this failure gave me motivation to achieve results on the second day. I still go out early in the morning, and in addition to cycling, I started to do pull-ups on the horizontal bar (now 20 times) Religion. The last and very important victory for me is my faith, worldview and understanding of the values of life. The book - the Quran (consist of 114 suras), also led me to this. I am a Muslim, and for us the most important source of knowledge is the Qur'an, where the orders, rules and goals in the life of every believer are sent down. My favorite point in religion is learning. God loves those who do not stop in development, who improve every day, who get to know this world and science. As a child, my grandmother taught me 5 suras. Now, thanks to the pandemic, I learned 10 more. The suras are written in Arabic, which in turn gave me an incentive to learn a new language. I have not yet started this, now I am studying Spanish. I want to travel the world. Spanish will help me to visit South America, Europe and get to know this world better, learn the culture and traditions of different nationalities The pandemic played a great role in my life, thanks to which I shaken off the dust and started growing. Now I have a goal - to receive the Nobel Prize in the field of medicine, and I will go to it. I know that the path of life is full of difficulties, and I will come to my goal

An early reader poem. Where is the rat He is in the flat. Where is the flat? It is on the map. Where is the map? It is in your hat. Where is my hat? It is on the cat. Where is the cat? He is on the mat. Where is the mat? It is by the fat bat.  Why is the bat fat? He ate the rat. 

LION OF THE PEN When it rains, it pours!! These last few days epitomized this, with no less than four family members being rushed to hospital, two requiring urgent operations! The usually effervescent energy of the family chat group quickly shifted to a somberness that weighed heavily on the chest, often causing laboured breathing! The lighthearted posts were replaced with constant updates from the hospitals, messages of mutual support, and prayers ... lots of prayers... Then.. this afternoon, the dreaded news... I remembered that Saturday morning when he had called, requesting that I attend the Maritzburg unveiling of his book, "Mandela In Focus" at the Nizamia Hall. I remembered being in awe as he addressed the audience. I had attended primary school at Nizamia, as did my parents, uncles, aunts and many cousins. And so did he, as I surprisingly learnt from his speech! But never before had I encountered the history of the school as he told it! Even the school governing body later commented on the need to document it! After his speech, he made a bee line towards me, with the visible joy of one reconnecting with a long lost relative. He even stated that he now "recognized the family forehead"! He then quickly rearranged the row of chairs where we sat, into a circle and promptly summoned and introduced me to two other relatives, who had accompanied him to the unveiling. The last we had met was when I was a little girl, on holiday, at my uncle and aunt's home in Durban, where he was a frequent guest, up until my uncle's passing. Our paths never crossed again until January this year, when he had approached me with an invite, to be a guest on his talk show. It was only after providing a short bio for the show, did he make the connection and delightedly stated, "We're family!" Even after the unveiling event, the handful of us stood out on the school grounds as he continued exuberantly chatting, clearly explaining exactly how my grandfather was his uncle, and my mother his cousin. He pointed across the field to the house in which my grandfather once lived, next to the mosque. He said he had spent a lot of time there and could still clearly remember every detail of that house... every fruit tree in the garden... everyone who lived there... and everyone who visited... He spoke of how my grandfather "presided over the community" and how we needed to co-author a book about his life. His love for my late grandfather was visibly evident. By this time, Kevin Joseph, the photographer of "Mandela in Focus", and the school principal had joined in the conversation. He introduced me as his niece, to which Kevin quickly inquired: "Another one?" "No! This one REALLY IS my niece!" he emphatically proclaimed. I later discovered that he habitually adopted people as family. All the cars in the parking lot had by now long dispersed, except for ours... Over the coming months, I received regular phone calls... a caring uncle watching over me... a seasoned mentor... I thoroughly enjoyed listening to tales about his friendship with Muhammad Ali and Barbra Streisand, the lavish dinners, the times when her home was filled with people, at the height of fame... and other things... He always ended his calls with a bit of parting wisdom... He also spoke about the book he was writing, documenting his experiences as a journalist and activist. He mentioned the title he was considering ... "The Man They Couldn't Gag" ... and asked me to write a short poem for the foreward. I obliged with "Lion of the Pen" Lion of the Pen He feared not the hunter's bullets in his quest to be heard And a deafening ROAR it was From his written word AdielaAkoo At the time of writing this poem, I never once thought that barely six months later, I would be writing this piece! It's only been a few hours since that dreaded news, and it still feels so surreal. The reality of lifelessness in one normally so full of life, is quite jarring! From the influx of messages being posted on social media, the positive impact that uncle Farook had on the lives of so many people, is clearly apparent. Combined with this, was his wonderful talent of making each person feel uniquely special! He will, undoubtedly, be sorely missed... Part of my own treasure trove of memories is this autographed copy of his book, "The Goodwill Lounge", in which he wrote this message in bold letters: "TO ADIELA, WHO OWNS THE SKY" And that is exactly how he made you feel! Like nothing was impossible! You could take on the world, like he did! They say that when an elder dies, a library burns down. These words have never rang truer than in the case of my uncle, Farook Khan. May you rest in peace, Lion of the Pen! (10 September 1944 – 3 October 2019) by Adiela Akoo

"When you truly reflect on life, you come up with such creations. I like the way Adiela has weaved simple poetic stories out of the complex strings of life in which humans remain entangled. From social to soul exploration, all has been done and depicted neatly in this poetic beauty. As a poet, I especially relate to the poetry style that is made very understandable, yet churned out of an ocean's depth." - Ruchika Pahwa Available here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Aloof? Aloof you say? I'm so sorry if I made you feel that way. It's really not my intention, Though the reaction is of my own invention. You see, long ago I built a wall, A defence mechanism as I recall. So for me to draw close, is still very hard, After misplacing that important trust card. #AdielaAkoo Get Lost in a Quatrain here: https://adielaakoo.wixsite.com/writer/shop

Excited to announce that I have been invited to do a poetry reading at The Alan Paton Literary Festival, being hosted at Eden Lassie, in the beautiful Tala Valley 🙏🌹 Come and get Lost in a Quatrain with me on Saturday the 7th March 2020 from 15h00-15h30 I will be reading poetry from my book as well as some new, unpublished poems Love to see you there 💖 💖#AdielaAkoo

I'm 50 years old , a single mom my whole life. my children are all grown, my oldest is 30, my son is 26, and my youngest is 19. my daughter gave me two beautiful grandkids, and my son has giving me one. I have survived addiction to drugs, I work In a nursing home . I'm a certified nurse aide. I'm currently taking care of my parent at home.

I'm 50 years old , a single mom my whole life. my children are all grown, my oldest is 30, my son is 26, and my youngest is 19. my daughter gave me two beautiful grandkids, and my son has giving me one. I have survived addiction to drugs, I work In a nursing home . I'm a certified nurse aide. I'm currently taking care of my parent at home.

I'm a happily single 52 year old introverted proud bipolar from Detroit who is true to her Sagittarius nature. I got a lot of stories to tell and characters to introduce to you. At 18 I won first place poetry prize and I'm very proud of that award. I'm currently working on finishing up my book of poetry as I call myself The Poetress. Also sketching out my ideas for a theatrical skit and looking forward to mingling with more like minded people.

Skupoy , or Skudny lives in a foggy swamp , he breathes wind and eat crumbs and spend a lot of his time with insects . Skupoy often prefer to be away from human beings , but he is in love with village people . He is not a human being but rather belong to nature's creatures , it has been said in ancient mythology that he was a living creature in swamp water , while in other novels it was pointed as swamp itself . Best not to provoke him, not one to be taken lightly , he just may decide to focus squarely on others and people forbid to imply he is a creature , who always lurking right above the surfaces . Over the time people noticed the spread of unpleasant odors , reproduction of parasites where it spread and began to eat crops , while the activity of fungi increased to cover heavily houses , roofs , portals , and houses of reverence . The swamp acquired a nature other than its own nature , the dark water turned into brown viscous clay . Which finally led people to look out in the swamp , the surprising part of this myth when they found the reason , it were only worms . Carried with clouds and thrown by rains into the swamp , it didnt take time to adapt with grumpy swamp as a warm shelter . The swamp was a source of inspiration and many other benefits for those people . They quickly decided to pull uot the worms , they gently remove them . Near the swamp they dug the land to build another shelter for these worms with provision of fruits and vegetables in order to avoid worm's revenge . _____________ This is my first fiction story which i wrote months ago but I did not find time to publish it, I hope I see your impressions on my writings, whether spelling or grammar ...,

At my early twenties, I realized that time when you become very conscious and before having a baby is the time when you have to live for yourself. At this time, it is required to strive to understand yourself as much as possible. However, the question arose how? In fact, it is necessary to find an orientation not only for in a career, but also to find some kind of occupation you love whereby you can figure out what you want to do. As for me, I like everything to record: importance events of my life with those emotions at that time, ideas and future goals, lists of wishes, to do things and so on. At the same time, a record is the way to speak on a piece of paper for different themes, particularly doubt, living through the certain situation. This is the method to feel better! In that context, I would like to add before you want to say or to do something, it needs to think three times through the truth (the thing you want to say is it real and truly?), the kindness (the thing is good or bad?) and the benefit (is it so really necessary to say?). If you answer to those questions, you will know to say (do) or not. For the time being, I am trying to find my place under the sun by utilizing the record and by asking the questions above. I hope my dear reader after reading this you can understand the importance of life which you have.