Primelore Writers Heaven 100th Edition: 115 Global Poets.

Editorial: A Milestone of Unity and Poetic Brilliance

Celebrating (1st edition to 100th edition) more then 1,000 Voices Across Borders: All together The Historic 100th Edition of Primelore Writer’s Heaven

Today marks a monumental threshold in our creative journey. As we unveil the 100th Edition of Primelore Writer’s Heaven, we stand not just at a numerical milestone, but in the midst of a vibrant global movement of art, empathy, and humanity.

What began as a humble dream to offer a sanctuary for words has today transformed into a roaring symphony of 115 poets hailing from every corner of the globe. From the quiet valleys of Asia to the bustling metropolises of Europe, the Americas, Africa, and beyond—this landmark edition brings together a breathtaking spectrum of cultural heritage, languages, emotional depth, and literary brilliance.

To our 115 contributing poets: your verses are the heartbeats of this platform. In a world often fragmented by distance and difference, your courage to bare your souls, your devotion to craft, and your unwavering belief in the power of words have built an unbreakable bridge across oceans. You have proven that poetry is indeed the universal language of human spirit—a sanctuary where every story finds an echo, and every voice finds its place.

We extend our deepest gratitude and highest admiration to each and every writer featured in this grand collection. Your words have enriched Primelore, redefined our mission, and turned this 100th chapter into an immortal legacy of global harmony and artistic freedom.

As we celebrate this historic moment, we invite readers worldwide to dive into this golden archive, listen to the diverse rhythms of our global family, and feel the transformative power of more then 115 united hearts.

Thank you for being the soul of Primelore Writer’s Heaven. Here is to the magic of words, and to many more milestones together!
Afroza Jesmine
CEO
Primelore Writer’s Heaven.

01.
Poem: “ALL ENERGY SOURCES”
Poet: Mustafa Naci ÖZER
From: Türkiye.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

They light up all our homes with ease,
They keep our rooms warm as you please,
They help our cars reach distant places,
All energy sources serve our needs.

Factories produce every day,
Goods and services on the way,
Bringing comfort to everyone,
All energy sources help our way.

The wisest choice for all of us
Is using them with proper care,
They were created for our benefit,
All energy sources everywhere.

Coal and wood are used at home,
Gasoline fuels the cars we own,
They help advance humanity,
All energy sources have shown.

With mighty dams we generate
Electric power far and wide,
Bringing light into the darkness,
All energy sources by our side.

They are not yours or mine alone,
These resources belong to all,
They require saving and good use,
All energy sources, great and small.
©® Mustafa Naci ÖZER



02.
Poem: “Primelore – Hundred from Heaven”
Poet: Dr. Saiful
From: Augusta, Georgia, USA.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Primelore – Hundred from Heaven
A dream once born in Bangladesh,
With a lovely and warm heart,
Today it reaches a mountain peak,
What a wonderful work of art!

A host of word wizards with spirits,
Have traveled through the door,
Some with smiles, some with tears,
And many more will come for sure.

From Bangladesh to many places,
Primelore has sailed thus far,
Different thoughts and special voices,
Joining along the way together.

You gave the poets a place to write,
You offered their words a home,
And made a little space for everyone,
Where no one ever feels alone.

Your brother feels happy and proud,
To see your dream truly shine,
What you started with love and care,
Has grown and bloomed so fine.

Hundred butterflies are here to fly,
Playing and cheering the charm,
May Primelore color far more skies,
For many more years to come.

May poems bring a little more joy,
May such friendship always stay,
May Primelore keep its door open,
To all poets, dawn to dusk every day.

Congratulations! And joy, Primelore,
For reaching one hundred today,
May your thousand be even brighter,
And never and never fade away.

Happy 100th Edition, Primelore Writer’s Heaven!
With love and pride,
©® Dr. Saiful.



03.
Poem: “Thank you for the 100 publication of Primelore .”
Poet: Mary Garde
From: Canada.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Id like to thank from whom ever would like to join me in saying what a privilege
it has been to join all these people from different places in the world
share poetry I love to see their faces I love to see me with them trying to have a voice for the nomadic
world we have become

it would be our wish to see no wars no more starvation
we live on a green planet

why are some deprived of food the basic
necessity for life

its cruel and unusual punishment for
innocent children

every deity I’ve ever
heard of say

love one another be brother to those in need
how can some

have so much
others have so few
of the even basics for life
©® Mary Garde



04.
Poem: “The Hundredth Doors”
Poet: Vo Thi Nhu Mai
From: Australia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

the moon rests softly
on the shoulder of the night
and somewhere beyond the horizon
a white jasmine opens

one hundred doors of poetry
into the garden with joy
I hear the melody
in the air, deep down the soil

and my heart starts singing
though small as a shell
holds the whole sea of dancing waves
of many poems written today
©® Vo Thi Nhu Mai



05.
Poem: “Spread Out”
Poet: Afroza Jesmine .
From: Bangladesh 🇧🇩.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

If you wish to do something only for yourself,
Then build a barricade around yourself.

If you wish to do something for everyone,
Then set your heart free into the world.

The wind never said,
“I will let only one person breathe.”

The sun never said,
“I will bestow all my warmth upon just one person.”

The moon never said,
“I will shed my light only upon you.”

The sky never said,
“I exist solely above your head.”

The ocean never said,
“Every day, I cast myself only at your feet.”

The flower never said,
“Only you shall breathe in my fragrance.”

The fruit never said,
“I came into this world solely for you.”

Nature never said,
“You alone shall touch me.”

If you wish to remain alone,
build a fortress for yourself;

but if you wish to love,
spread yourself among all.
©® Afroza Jesmine



06.
Poem: “Peace”
Poet:EVA Petropoulou Lianou
From: Greece.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

We found inside us
We are grateful for every hard moment
Because once the tough will pass

We will be in a complete harmony with our self

We need peace of mind
We are in a transmission
And everything is going too fast

Information about things we do not need

Advice about how to react
To live
To eat
To breathe
To exist

We are in need of peace
But first we need to understand

What is Peace
©® EVA Petropoulou Lianou



07.
Poem: “AFTER THE STORM “
Poet: TAGHRID BOU MERHI
From: LEBANON – BRAZIL
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

From the flank of a dune, the wind rises,
carrying sacks of sand
to every direction.

The sky narrows
behind a yellow veil,
and the tracks of camels disappear
at the first sandy bends.

A tent rope resists
in the hand of an old man who has known many seasons,
while a mother gathers her children around a hearth
where a final ember still glows.

Near the well, a palm tree bends
beneath the weight of dust,
and the day moves slowly
across faces and across the herd.

Then,
the wind grows weary
and scatters what remains of its clamor
along the edges of the desert.

Men set out, following the tracks,
and women emerge, gathering
what the storm has scattered.

A waterskin passes
from hand to hand,
and a warm loaf of bread finds its place
in more than one tent.

A pot of coffee opens the evening
for those gathered
around a small fire.

Weary faces exchange salt,
prayers,
and yesterday’s stories
upon the sand.

The traces of the storm remain for days,
but the traces of affection
endure longer than the wind
and farther than the desert.
©® TAGHRID BOU MERHI



08.
Poem: “Love Born From Ashes”
Poet: Lan Xin (Lanxin Samei)
From: China.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Wildfires spread across the mountains of Iberia
Scorched land bears countless wounds of the earth

Ancient Dongba creation manuscripts tell of an ancient covenant
Humans and nature are half-brothers of the same origin
We vow to uphold reverence and accompany one another eternally
Mountains, rivers, plants, birds and beasts are our blood kin
The earth is the mother of all beings, never a resource for unbridled exploitation

Wildfires and global warming stem from human greed
We once ignored the agony of withered vegetation and dried-up rivers
Only when flames ravage our homes do we hear the lament of all living things
Dongba culture advocates boundless love and empathy for every creature
Restrain desire, revere nature, and break the cycle of recurring disasters

A human being experiences two births
The first is the birth of the physical body
The second is the awakening of the soul within compassion

The phoenix achieves rebirth after tempering in blazing fire
Charred land is not an end, but a prelude to awakening
Do not wallow in sorrow amid the scorched ruins
Become love itself, nurture compassion and spread love onward
Even amid the desolate ash-covered wasteland
Hold fast to compassion and gratitude

The boundless cosmic love embraces every victim of the wildfire
Kindred spirits across the globe stand firmly beside you
May tender new shoots break through the charred earth
May awakened love mend every crack of the planet
With the fortitude of the phoenix reborn from flames
With the tenderness of harmonious coexistence of all life
We safeguard lasting peace for our planet
©® Lan Xin (Lanxin Samei)



09.
Poem: “THE GUARDIAN OF THE WORLD”
Poet: Jagoda Sablić
Country: Croatia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

A strange light
Shone from her
Soul.
It illuminated
The night.
The Universe
Bestowed upon her
A wondrous power.
Of sincere heart,
Of warm soul,
With truth upon
Her lips,
With courage in
Her chest,
He proclaimed her
Guardian
Of the greatest
Treasure –
Planet Earth.
All the good fairies
Gave her their oath,
That they would
Keep watch for her
Amidst the
Darkness.
And while they
Tear apart the womb
Of the earth,
While senseless wars
Are waged,
She sends messages
From her luminous
Soul:
“Let the war cease!”
The Guardian holds
The Planet to her chest,
She guards it, and
Sends light
To the whole WORLD.
©® Jagoda Sablić



10.
Poem: “A World Without a World”
Poet: Blerina Pellumbi
From: Albania.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

This world is small, far too small,to gather the light of the soul in the palms of our hands,
to sculpt the human being into shapes and colors torn from nature.

A meager world, too narrow for paths of forgiveness,
wide open to roads of pain,barefoot in oblivion.

A world darkened by memories that kill.Abysses of seconds, minutes, hours,
years hurled into the empty spaces of the heart.

An earth slow in its prayers for hope,blind to unlived loves,
an emptiness in hearts shrunken by the shame of ego.

A sky filled with black clouds of lies,
wounds in the tears of children, of mothers.Silent heroines who split the clouds apart.

Journeys across lands, through deserts of feeling,that swallow fragments of human pain.
Sand sculptures, mirages where a person forgets themselves.
A world without a world.
©® Blerina Pellumbi.



11.
Poem: “Poetry Orphanage”
Poet: Yeon Myung-ji
From: South Korea.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Carefully, I pass through the narrow birth canal of words.
Voices that used to run across the prairie scale the wall, lightly,
as if gossiping about a stranger.
People who loved words (horses) gathered them to build a house,
and they receive congratulations on giving birth.
Saying they love living words that bruise the reader’s heart,
the words mumble, munching on carrots.
At the table where unsafe words, having lost their mother’s hand, keep piling up,
I am picking apart and eating the words of someone I do not know.
Sometimes, a thorn pricks my eye.
When I encounter a sentence crouching inside a faded photograph,
sadness scatters away like dust.
A sentence that slides open my past days soaked in the rainy season,
and gently touches my forehead—it keeps me alive.
Pouring water with all my heart so that the words may grow well,
I stroke them softly, then pat them on the back.
I stroll delightfully between daily life and my daydreams.
Between the pages of the poetry book, where it seems as though nothing will ever happen,
fingerprints gather, welling up. Abandoned poetry books.
The night that recalls forgotten things is the most terrifying.
On days when an error window occasionally pops up in my head, I move forward, twisting
my waist.
There are days when, after sitting inside a poetry book for a moment and standing back up,
the words meet the dawn as if playing a prank.
All the birds that leave the poetry book become orphans.
©® Yeon Myung-ji



12.
Poem: “IN YOUR DREAMS, MY LOVE”
Poet: Concetta La Placa
From: Italy.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Keep me alive forever in your dream,
so long as the memory of me
may always dwell within your heart.
It matters not if, in the time spent without me,
the North Wind
lashed without respite.
Hold me fast, my love,
safely kept within the casket
of your most precious desires.
This is what you engraved back then
and which, you told me, no other passion
has ever been able to erase.
Keep me bound to you, by that invisible thread,
and I shall be your chimera
and our silences will speak of what never was.
Our dreams
are made of desire,
eternal and never-ending.
There is, and always shall be,
the longing to find ourselves held tight
in a single embrace.
Who knows if that time will ever come
when our bodies will burn as one,
no longer in imagination, but framed once more by real passion.
©® Concetta La Placa.



13.
Poem: “O’ my Ludic Limerance”
Poet: Tajalla Qureshi
From: Pakistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

O’ my Ludic Limerance
The joyous—
eyes your face has, the silk neckerchief, the curved-moustaches
leaps up the heart, soothing the sights, leading towards the height
euphoric forelsket you are, when I recollect my compassion and affection every night

O’ blosoom-like beloved—
Ballad you become, when I write thy cognomen, the name you’ve
Music you become, when I sing thy deliberation, the magic you’ve
Cupbearer you become, when I strive thou an entire validity
Rush love-wind you become, when I crave thou, my delicate tranquility

O’ dearest of all dears—
Brighten daylight even less bright before thou enigmatic mystery
Vigorous thy aura, elan thee wear from twilight to twilight, glance of artistry
I relish and embellish thy wireless vocals, shimmering brown eyes, pointed snoot, and bloom

O’ tiny ludic limerance—
Thee presence is masterly gifted to the innocent peacock
resilience, strength and solidity are thou daggers and revolvers
dignity, diligence and celibacy are thou magnanimous shields and shades
Clouds encircle thy visage, thou the muse, the ink and the words of the poetess
claps and clasps, clinch and clunch, soft and draft confess.
©® Tajalla Qureshi



14.
Poem: “I Am a Sagittarius Girl”
Poet: Nisreen Masha’leh.
From: Jordan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

am a Sagittarius girl.
Half woman,
half wild horse,
born beneath an open sky.
I carry a bow beneath my fingers,
a burning arrow resting on the string,
my eyes drawn toward a place
no map has ever dared to name.
I was never made for cages—
not the gilded ones,
not the ones disguised as love,
not the quiet prisons built from promises
that sound too much like chains.
I run when the world whispers, stay.
I leave when they ask me to belong.
I choose the road
simply because it vanishes
beyond the horizon.
There is something untamed in me—
a restless wind beneath my skin,
a midnight fire that refuses to sleep,
a thousand distant places
calling me by a name
only the wind remembers.
My arrows were never meant
to wound a heart.
They were made
to pierce the limits
set before me.
So I aim at the impossible,
draw the string,
hold my breath,
let go—
then watch the sky
open a path
for my dream.
Call me reckless.
Call me wild.
Call me too much.
I have spent my whole life
becoming exactly that.
I do not want someone
to tame the horse within me.
I want someone
who can run beside me
without asking me to slow down.
So if you find me
beneath a sky full of stars,
a bow in my hand,
the wind tangled in my hair,
do not ask where I am going.
I am a Sagittarius girl.
The horizon is calling.
I am already
on my way.
©® Nisreen Masha’leh.



15.
Poem: “THE WIND BLOWS ON”
Poet: Patti Thomas Woosley
From: Texas
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

A baby cries in his Mama’s arms.
She holds him close and she keeps him warm.
And The Wind Blows On.
He goes to school and he learns to write.

He goes to church and searches for the Light.
And The Wind Blows On.
A young man now he takes a wife.
They have a child all the joys of life
make the young man smile.

The wind blows east
and the wind blows west.
He prays his child will always
have the best.
And The Wind Blows On.

There’s a raging war in a far off land,
where the young man fights
and takes a stand.
The wind blows far,
and the wind blows wide.
In the far off land the young man died.
And The Wind Blows On.
Oh! Oh!

Now his baby cries in his young’s wife arms.
She holds him close and she keeps him warm.
And The Wind Blows On.

The wind blows cold
and the wind blows storms
while the baby sleeps in his Mama’s arms.
And The Wind Blows On.

The wind blows on in a young boy’s dreams.
And it blows as hard as this world seems.
It carries through to the very end.
Then life begins anew again.
And The Wind Blows On.
AND THE WIND BLOWS ON AND ON AND ON.
©® Patricia Woosley (Patti)



16.
Poem: “Tears in False”
Poet: Til Kumari Sharma
From: Nepal.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

We may fall down in falsity.
People do not know my intension.
The truth should be resulted.
Labor should be respected.
The happiness can not be in falsity.
Satisfaction is on truth.

Humanity leads truth.
Morality makes my head high.
Tears are in truth searching.
Eyes are fetching truth.

Me is happy at true standing.
Me as innocent and honest in height of creative function.
Happiness is not in tears.
Tragic condition appears in falsity.
©® Til Kumari Sharma



17.
Poem: “CRUSHED MEMORIES”
Poet: Gordana Kovačević
From: Serbia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

December smells like finished messages
and the ones I never sent
lost in the smell of cinnamon and sweet cherries.

In the phone — thousands of black and white photos,
in me — a few immortalized by pain
and the pain disappears in a heartfelt farewell.

The city lights up as if nothing happened.
I collected the days like change
from the pocket of an old jacket of forgotten walks
with sleeves made of paper sighs during breaks.

There was laughter that echoed into the morning
and silences that lasted longer than winter.

Some people I let go like balloons without a string,
some I held too tightly
until they became memories
because memories are not a place to stay.

In the calendar, everything looks neat and regular,
in all seriousness — crumpled pages.

However, as the last night counts down,
I realize:
the years have not changed me suddenly,
but quietly
in small moments that I now call — life.
©® Gordana Kovačević



18.
Poem: “Happy Life”
Poet: Bertha Galán
From: Bolivia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

A rainbow in bloom
this is how happy life reveals itself,
each petal a sigh of the soul,
each color, an instant of eternity.
A mantle embraces the sky
a soft breeze awakens the heart,
in its countryside one hears the promise
that to exist is the miracle of living.
The air invites us to fly without borders
hopes are painted in the dawn,
gestures of light bestow wisdom,
like hidden gems within the soul.
Happiness, a celestial promise
reflects immense rays of life,
a flight of light made essence,
that adorns the path with flowers.
Life is not the absence of shadows
but springtime in the gaze…
where it can blossom into hope,
and every silence can become a song.
Thus, existence becomes a rainbow
herons between the fleeting and the eternal,
a radiance that reminds us…
that to live is the art of fullness!!
©® Bertha Galán



19.
Poem: “In the Dream”
Poet: Latifa Harbaoui
From: Algeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Without your tiresome, chattering body
and wherever your soul may be now
the fever’s howl won’t reach you
nor the clatter of coughing
this sudden expulsion of air through the throat
recurring, again and again, over a flickering fire —
what exactly did Ibn Sina mean by it
perhaps between them… a brow that never meets
the essence and the corpse
It is happening now
that you will not cross one leg over the other to read The Prince
nor laugh inside the fat waiter’s head
as he sterilizes your table of the spray
of the invisible
Virtue is not possible
half animal, half human
the argument ends
and Machiavelli remains, the speaker who will not fall silent
It is happening now
that in the unseen, Socrates has come to know everything
and the sophist Protagoras has stopped orating
having discovered, at last,
that eloquence is everyone falling silent
It is happening
that Schopenhauer still suffers
even as he finally sheds his body
Nietzsche did not despise his body, but it is
weak
weak
weak
It is happening now
that you too are alone
And it is happening
that Van Gogh
is explaining The Yellow House to the dead
Isn’t color the thing a human surrenders his soul to
however painful the body may be
And many things
are happening
many things
in the agonies of waking.
©® Latifa Harbaoui



20.
Poem: “Medusa”
Poet: Helen Pletts
From: UK.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I shade my own eyes;
when my glance returns
like an unwelcome lover’s kiss,
Planted here upon my forehead
amidst the snakelet eyes; the
twisting heads. My hairdresser works
blindfolded, with bows and beads but
he is confounded by bites; his charges

are extortionate.
So, I may let myself go;
an untidy, serpenty, wrangle-headed
single. The stone-turning hardly
compensates for the cavernous,
solitary echo of slither and slithe.
©® Helen Pletts.



21.
Poem: “Wine and the Poet”
Poet: Ma Yongbo
From: China.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The wine within the cup stirs the inward soul,
Half‑drunk, I behold the world with a smile grown deep.
All bounds fall down, self and other fade away;
Trace and form dissolve, self and world are made new.
Drunk deep, I melt into a realm beyond mortal dust;
In the void I watch bubbles rise amid the sea.
Let this fleeting life grow drunk within the verse,
And let the spirit wander free, seeking its own true way.
©® Ma Yongbo



22.
Poem: “Why My Heart Beats Like Thunder”
Poet: Dr Ratan Bhattacharjee.
From: India/Virginia
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Why My Heart Beats Like Thunder
My heart beats like thunder
the moment your name
rose in the quiet chambers of my mind—
a sudden storm of longing
breaking against the shores of my ribs.

Your touch, even imagined,
is a lightning‑stroke—
white, wild, ungoverned—
splitting open the night
to reveal the trembling truth of me.

I have loved before,
but never with this fierce electricity,
never with this molten ache
that turns breath into fire
and silence into a hymn of desire.

When you walk toward me,
the air itself learns to pulse—
each step a drumbeat,
each glance a spark
igniting the hidden forests of my soul.

If thunder is the sky’s confession,
then let my heartbeat be mine—
raw, unrestrained,
a storm that refuses to quiet
as long as your love
moves like rain
through the waiting earth of me.
©® Dr Ratan Bhattacharjee



23.
Poem: “Baby”
Poet: Andromachi Benekou
From: Greece 🇬🇷.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

It was a May evening
a bee buzzes around
and the palace midwife
calls you a “painting”!

You appeared at the window
naked and frightened.
as a bee you stick to the pollen
you fit in a handful.

They dress you up as a prince
you have a complaint on your little lip
you ask why they don’t leave you
at your mother’s house.

Fairies follow you
they came to give you!
a thousand gifts scatter
my blue, my dear angel!

You brought us Sunrises
that shine in the eyes!
You bring us sunny joys
your hands are full for us!
©® Andromachi Benekou.



24.
Poem: “The Barren Trees”
Poet: Hanh Chau
From: San Jose, CA, USA
Primelor e Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

In a quiet, silent whisper
comes the autumn breeze
sway through the Maple barren tree
in her skeletal, naked branches
of the futile painted display image
exude in a subtle, lonely stage
with solemn picturesque scenery
drive the fruits into the empty state
from its own shedding-colored leaves
of the splendid green flourish diminish
falling from the high flight ride
down in a soft, delicate touch
enfold in a yellow canvas floor
tapping into the rustling noise
bringing in different shared
memory stories with each learning lesson
set a reminder for a renewed life form
from the changing seasons
with the embrace of the celebration
instilled a sense of appreciation
©® Hanh Chau



25.
Poem: “Enchantment of Naran-Kaghan Valley”
Poet: Syed Shah Hussain
From: Pakistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

In Naran-Kaghan Valley,
There blows soft, cold breeze.
We can find wildflowers in dense forests
Under pine and alpine trees.

And sitting under the trees,
Listening to the whispering of streams,
Enjoying their melodious voice,
Breathtaking landscape screams.

Watching the morning dew
On the petals are like pearls,
My sight spots some peasants
And a few agile squirrels.

The floating clouds and gentle,
Cool breeze which climb the peaks,
Exploring the fountains, mountains,
And climbing hilly steeps.

The sunlight screaming through the gaps
In trees gives mysterious delight,
The rising moon, the glittering stars,
Which caught my sight.

Watching millions of stars,
A bright moon in a shiny Milky Way,
Water streams and speedy winds
Blowing in each way.

Himalayan bears roam,
Snow leopards prowl the land,
Golden eagles soar above,
Majestic and grand.

Among wild roses and junipers,
Flora abounds,
The Naran-Kaghan valley,
Beauty in every corner astounds.

Purple iris and buttercups,
Dots the grassy floor,
Where foxes wander,
adding charm to the lore.

At lakes like Saif-ul-Malook,
Their tales inspire
Legends of fairies
That never seem to tire.

Ansoo,Lulusar and Dudipatsar,
Reflections so serene,
Nature’s splendor surrounds,
A breathtaking scene.

Shogran’s meadows,mountains of Himalaya
And Siripaye’s trails hold their grace.
Among towering pines and Alpines,
You’ll find peace and solace.

Rich history lingers
In ancient monuments of grace,
Islamic, Sikh, Hindu, and Buddhist
Cultures leave their trace.

The Naran-Kaghan valley,
A paradise on Earth,
A haven of wonder,
A gem of priceless worth.
©® Syed Shah Hussain



26.
Poem: “FOR THE MANY”
Poet: Aminu Femi Jamiu
From: Nigeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Upon the tree of hope,
We lingered on leafless branches,
Like the bereaved owl,
We are left alone,
Humming our sad songs.

The same songs,
that sounded from our soil,
that defiled our mutual harmony,
and raped our generation,
with hideous hands of the unknown.

The wind wailed in self-pity,
The sky lamented in agony,
Justice neglected,
Crime ravaged,
And the cost of living exploded.

Common man wept uncommonly,
As famine continue to feed many,
With empty bowls of filthy fingers,
And suicide sings her ugly lullaby,
To lure the feeble minds to rest.

Where are the political Lords?
Like worm burrowing the soil,
They are busy looting,
Looting the nation’s treasury,
Robbing Peter to pay Paul.

Woe unto thee!
Those whose cup already overflowing,
Flowing in blood,
And agony of the masses.

Where’s the world’s pendulum swinging to?
My quill questioned my muse.
When will Mother-Earth be reborn?
When will this ravaging storm cross over?

For the tears, I shed.
For the blood,
I bleed on my canvas.
For the many I care for,
For the many I write for,
For the many who hope,
to shine with the Sun,
and bathe in the blissful rain again.
©® Aminu Femi Jamiu

27.
Poem: “When poetry sings”
Poet: Jelena Jovanović Jov
From: Serbia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

When poetry sings,
The birds were speechless for a moment.
The seas calm down and foam.
The rocks dance to the rhythm,
words and light.

When the posy sings,
There are dawns everywhere,
Full of pink light.
Lips move by themselves.
Mom’s whisper and smile.

When poetry sings,
All the beauty of words and letters,
Signs and the silence of the sea.
He knows how to enchant an ordinary dawn
He knows how to conquer a young mountain.

When poetry sings,
We are all slowly becoming her.
So big, great,
And always unique.
©® Jelena Jovanović Jov



28.
Poem: “Set Me Free, Let Me Go”
Poet: L.J. Bechtel
From: Melbourne, Florida, USA.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I’ve moved on, darling, through storms and strife.
Found new shores, rebuilt my life.

Your hollow whispers no longer ensnare.
Yet here in the shadows, you linger and stare.

You think you’re a king in this twisted game.
A narcissist’s heart, wrapped up in shame.

You use me like fuel for your selfish flame.
But I see the truth; it’s all just the same.

With others, I thrive from the laughter and the light.
While you haunt my thoughts, stealing sleep every night.

Your “love” was a mask, a web finely spun,
Deceit woven deep; now I’m finally done.

Let me go, oh let me break free,
From chains forged in silence; you never loved me.

Your heart is a mirror, reflecting your will.
Your soul is a weapon, a tool, designed to instill.

I won’t be a pawn in your play or your scheme.
No longer the vessel for your empty dream.

You thought I’d be lost, forever to roam.
But I’ve found my power in me, I’m taking back home.

So step aside, with your empty embrace.
I reclaim my own, I’m finding my place.

Your grip fades to nothing, your shadows retreat.
For I am unbound, and you face your defeat.
©® L.J. Bechtel



29.
Poem: “So, Tulips”
Poet: HyeKyung Ahn
From: Seoul Korea.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

As I walked down the hospital stairs, sorrow clung to
my ankles.
What kind of flowers should I bring to the hospital
room?
Tulips cried out, “Pick me! Pick me!”
But their voices were trapped in the sound of the
rain.
Tulips had a history that didn’t suit a hospital visit.
I decided to insist that empty hands were the most
beautiful kind of flower.
On the hospital stairs lingered the sighs of those
living only because they couldn’t die.
Those who arrived early, and those who never
arrived at all, leaned on the same expression.
The hospital room—
The only place where even sorrow can be a remedy.
Tulips aren’t needed.
©® HyeKyung Ahn.



30.
Poem: “How do I repent from repentance”
Poet: Muammar Al-Sufyani,
From: Yemen 🇾🇪.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

How do I repent from repentance
When your sin is poverty
and their court is money
then you are the accused

at the roots of time
drowning in titles.
How do I repent from repentance….!
Moamer Alsufyani



31.
Poem: “The Autumn Way”
Poet: Dominique Erecilla Albano
From: Philippines 🇵🇭 .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The autumn breeze, a gentle sigh
Leaves rustle, and the trees wonder why
Golden hues, upon the ground
A season’s farewell, all around

Crisp air whispers, of change to come
Nature’s cycle, has just begun
Summer’s warmth, gives way to cool
A time for reflection, and quiet rule

The way of autumn, a path to take
A journey inward, for heart and soul to make
A time to let go, and release the old
To make way for new, and stories untold

In autumn’s way, we find our own
A path unwinding, to a place unknown
A season’s transition, a life’s review
A time for growth, and a chance anew.
©® Dominique Erecilla Albano

32.
Poem: “SOMETIMES I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THE WORLD”
Poet: William Taleno Mejía
From: San Carlos Río San Juan, Nicaragua
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Emptiness is like an abandoned wound,
even though
dawn burst forth
today in yellow roses.

It spread through the silent hours, in the colorless water
of a fountain, on the wings
of a bird that couldn’t
return through the portal from which
it came.

Sometimes I want to understand
the world, and it’s very difficult
to understand it; the worst part is that
it doesn’t understand me either.

It’s a poetic reciprocity,
a struggle of opposites,
the poles that Heraclitus
spoke of, that constant struggle
to coexist in the universe,
as a whole in matters
of love and coexistence.

Despite everything, emptiness
is absolute, like a body
without organs, like a forest
without trees, like a musical
instrument without the caresses
of hands; it’s like a mirror
without a face, without a smile
of red lipstick.

Now the window is open,
through which butterflies enter

and spirits of old trees.
At this moment the clouds
have opened their floodgates
and the rooftops sing joyfully
in praise, the smoke from a coffee shop
draws amorphous figures
that crash against the tearful window
and I…wanting
to understand the world that
doesn’t understand me.
©® William Taleno Mejía.



32.
Poem: “I Am the Daughter of Dawn”
Poet: Tuliyeva Sarvinoz
From: Uzbekistan..
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I Am the Daughter of Dawn
One day, the dawn called me into its embrace,
Awakening wondrous feelings deep inside.
I sang the beauty of that lovely scene in verse,
Letting no unspoken knot remain within my heart.

The birds were singing with enchanting grace,
Filling every heart with endless joy and delight.
The clouds were drifting slowly through the sky,
Carrying along a weary, wistful mood.

My grandfather Sun had yet to appear,
My restless heart kept waiting for him.
Perhaps I should call him toward my dreams,
To let his radiant light shine upon my chest.

Look! The tender Sun is appearing now,
Peeking gently from behind the clouds.
As I lay my head upon the lap of nature,
She softly combs my hair, strand by strand.

My tongue is powerless to describe your beauty;
I am a radiant trace of this beloved land.
I am happy, my homeland, and sing out loud
I am the pure and luminous DAUGHTER OF DAWN…
©® Tuliyeva Sarvinoz



33.
Poem: “Every Winter Conceals a Spring”
Poet: Elli Lagiou
From: Greece.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Every Winter Conceals a Spring
Frozen silences rest
in the cracks of the sky,
searching for a star
through oceans of doubt.

Dreams drift like lost ships
in the restless wind,
yet beneath the ice
a secret bloom waits.

Winter whispers softly:
“Do not fear the storm;
within every ending
a spring is born.”
©® Elli Lagiou



34.
Poem: “The Power of the Word”
Poet: Rajmonda Qose Shkopi
From: Albania.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

One word
..and the flow of tears stops,
the dam is reinforced.

Flowers of smiles bloom
on the parcel of lips,
flashes of happiness drops fall down,
and happiness slips away
and the soul becomes winged,
the colors of life light up,
around life bolts.

One word
…and the poison arrow breaks
Breaks through the doors of the heart,
the step of life stops,
the pain spreads throughout
the body like a bad virus,
the ceiling of the sky falls over the head legs lose balance,
the compass of the mind is messed up.

thousands of questions are layered,
raising the dividing line,

the broken pieces of the heart
Build a wall,
just one word
The only word,
©® Rajmonda Qose Shkopi



35.
Poem: “Bridges of the Dawn”
Poet: Babacar Ndiaye
From: Senegal.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

There are words we can cast like a bridge in the air,
Above all the clashes, the silence, the care.
When the earth grows so weary, when skies are aflame,
Our culture becomes what no shadow can tame.
From one shore to another, defying the stream,
The poem travels far, a companion to a dream;
It knows of no border, no passport, no space,
Save the home in the heart of the whole human race.

Whether under the sun or a balcony’s shade,
The same human song in each valley is played.
We share the same bread, the same time and the scar,
But art heals the wounds, no matter how far.
From African shores to the hills of the West,
We gather our breaths for a ultimate quest:
To turn all our stories to arches of light,
Where the dawning of peace will erase every night.

Let our voices unite in a chorus so grand,
Writing songs of hope all over the land.
On the ocean of time, may our hands never sever,
And the bridges of culture stand sacred forever.
©® Babacar Ndiaye



36.
Poem: “The Child Upon the Heart of the Earth”
Poet: Menda VRETO.
From: Albania.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

A child walks
across the sleeping belly of the earth.

Beneath his feet flows the blood of the world:
oil, gas, buried riches
that light the nights of empires.

He walks across an invisible river of gold,
yet in his hands there is nothing but dust;
in his eyes, the silence
of one who possesses an immense land
without ever having received its gift.

From those depths, great powers rise.
Distant cities are illuminated.
Fortunes without borders are built.

Yet the land that guards the treasure
remains on its knees before hunger.

The earth is not poor.
It has been made poor.

Its womb has been emptied,
while its people have been left on the margins
of their own wealth.

What greater cruelty
than a child walking upon gold
without being able to buy a piece of bread?

It is not the absence of resources
that extinguishes his days,
but the injustice of a world
that knows how to measure the value of oil
yet forgets the value of a human life.

One day, perhaps, we will understand
that no wealth buried beneath the earth
can ever justify human poverty.

For true progress
is not what we extract from the earth,
but what we are able to give back
to those who were born upon it.

And as long as a child walks
upon billions in wealth
with hunger in his heart,
it will be humanity itself
that walks lost.
©® Menda VRETO



37.
Poem: “WITH THE FORCE OF A HURRICANE”
Poet: Milena Pčinjski
From: Republic of Serbia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Let me live within your gaze.
Take my face between your palms and say nothing.
My tenderness, draw me gently to your heart.
We both know: dreams are the most beautiful way to live.

People say otherwise; I refuse to listen.
This time, I choose to believe only myself.
The world is no safe place for souls
clothed in bodies, suffering like the apostles.
I have always sensed them, always seen them.

In your voice, I shall find my healing.
Weary of all life’s protocols and banalities,
swollen to the very brink with lives never lived,
all the unknown roads intertwine within me,
searching for you on every random street.
Was I born lost, or was I taught to be?

If there is anything I know, let that knowledge lead me to you,
for I cannot see anything else that could quench this ancient thirst.
I will not wait; waiting has made me ill.
With the force of a hurricane and the longing of the Sun,
I will beseech merciful God to grant me you!
©® Milena Pčinjski



38.
Poem: “When the Storms Have Passed”
Poet:Annalyn G. Mercado
From: Philippines.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

When life suffocates you with incessant trials,
Hold on to hope and withstand the pain.
When earthquakes shake and typhoons tear through our homes,
We rise from the ruins and build them again.

Seeing the oppressed makes the heart revolt;
Do not turn blind—speak the truth, get involved.
Extend a hand to those who struggle and hunger;
A grateful smile is a treasure beyond gold.

Contentment in simple living is the key;
Find joy in nature, in its calm serenity.
Lie on the grass and wander by the shore,
For peace in the heart is life’s greatest treasure.

When storms have passed and the skies turn bright,
We learn that hope can survive every night.
Through trials, compassion, and a heart that cares,
We discover life’s blessings are everywhere.
©® Annalyn G. Mercado



39.
Poem: “Inter‑stellar Academy”
Poet: Wan Yilong
From: China.
Translated by Lan Xin
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Within the innermost veins of the cosmos,
the Crystal Kingdom lies amid tranquil galaxies.
Countless civilizations journey in pursuit of light,
assembling at the Heart of Star‑Diamonds to construct the manifold domed halls of the Inter‑stellar Academy.

It is omnipresent, yet possesses no fixed form.
Shattering the barriers of space, dissolving the fetters of time,
it embodies the translucent, pure aspirations of hundreds of millions of sentient beings,
forged through innumerable ordeals across the vast stellar sea.

Divine clans descend, brimming with compassionate universal love;
humankind carries prayers for the peace of mountains and rivers;
dragon clans ride surging nebular tides;
bird clans unfurl their wings wrapped in cosmic gales;
insect clans nurture diverse microcosmic technologies;
elf clans bear the lucid wisdom of mountains and seas;
Cthulhu‑kind draw power from deep‑ocean abysses, harmonizing dim mystic aura;
Light‑clans transmute into flowing celestial radiance, manifesting their manifold true forms;
Mech‑clans pilot steel star‑vessels toward the starlit gates of the firmament.

Beings of all dimensions share one common origin.
No distinctions exist in skin tone, race or species.
Freedom serves as their sail, democracy their wind,
peace their fundamental keynote, and ascension their eternal celestial voyage.
Here there is no hierarchy or inferior status, no territorial boundaries across the four quarters,
no demarcation between large and small planets, no shackles of time and space.
Cosmic treasures carve out the palace halls of the Milky Way.
Sages of all eras dwell within star‑lit lecture halls.
Inter‑stellar sciences, galactic medicine, deep‑space navigation —
the aggregated wisdom of ten‑thousand civilizations flows gently within this realm.

This realm knows no oppression or entanglement, no strife or hollow illusions.
All clans stand united, devoutly pursuing cosmic truth,
for the continuous progress of civilizations, for the perpetual survival of all sentient beings,
for the eternal cosmic righteous law, sailing jointly toward boundless starlight.

When ordeals are fulfilled and primordial hearts settle in depth,
students of every clan return bearing profound galactic wisdom.
To their primeval homelands and countless stars,
they scatter sparks destined to ignite the firmament,
so all cosmic civilizations may ascend perpetually and live without end.
©® Wan Yilong



40.
Poem: “Hymns”
Poet: Mustafa Abdulmalek Al-Sumaidi.
From: Yemen.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

It stretches out a feature-dried face
toward the wind that withered
its first tender buds,
now like rusted iron.

But lightning flashed
in the reaches of distant skies,
restoring to the barren land’s memory
groves whose interwoven boughs
soar toward the far horizon.

Canopied by the cloud—
a nest woven by drizzle
for a bird that carols anew
the hymns of beginning.

O, rain-scented zephyr, linger;
for this land–after Almighty God–
has none but you.

Do you know the air around me
is verdant with living breezes,
And that your sweetness is felt
long before the rain descends?

Should my day pass away
without a drop of rain,
linger;
perhaps the dawn will re-emerge
as orchards of Paradise
whose sheathed fruit-stalks
have flourished from the wafts
of your scented breath.

©® Mustafa Abdulmalek Al-Sumaidi.



41.
Poem: “Virgin Soil”
Poet: Yael Shahar Sarid
From: .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The paper is my paradise.
It is the beginning of so many things
Like virgin soil
And I can decide whether I want it
With Eve and Adam and the Tree of Knowledge
Or to focus on the tempting red color of the apple.
©® Yael Shahar Sarid



42.
Poem: “Behind My pillow”
Poet: Victor Nwankwo
From: Nigeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Before I absquatulate from here
Pay heed to this muse of mine.
My brain parambullates from pilar to pole.
As peace has become pearly.

Vulture is a notorious scavenger
A little wonder he is despised.
But white flies are catching cruise.
And no pollination in view.

The black box is looted dry.
And you ask me not to cry
No one spots the red sky
As thunder warms up to strike.

In the enclave of leaking roofs
No one is a noble.
All wallows in the same mess.
An enemy’s gift tends to be Greecian.
©® Nwankwo Victor Anayo



43.
Poem: “Metaphor Was the Last to Leave the War”
Poet: Reema Hamza
From: Syria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

“Three poets lost their way, so they fashioned a map from metaphor,
and found it hanging on a bloodied wall…”
The First Poet
I drew a flower on the soldier’s helmet
and said: Perhaps it will make him forget the killing.
But he trampled it,
thinking it was an ambush!
Voice of the Wall
In the silence of the wall,
the myth of war blooms
in the eyes of dust.
The Second Poet
I wrote in the notebook of the wind:
“Cannons are columns of smoke
for a heavenly celebration.”
I laughed at my lie…
But the widows believed it.
Voice of the Wall
The smoke whispers to the wall the secrets of the vanished bullets.
The Third Poet
Every metaphor I tried
led me back to a street
clothed in colors.
And when I smiled at the painting,
the red was dripping from the wall.
Voice of the Wall
Specters of red
sing between the folds
of the broken wall.
The First Poet
I taught the helmet to plant a rose,
and whispered to the rifle:
Be silent, so you may hear the birds.
But the soldier crossed the painting
like someone searching
for a lost bullet
in a field of colors!
Voice of the Wall
The rose that dies in silence
is planted
by the bullets of emptiness.
The Second Poet
I wrote:
“The tank is a heavy butterfly
trying to fly.”
Metaphor laughed at me
and danced with me like a wooden puppet,
in a funeral procession
set to patriotic music!
Voice of the Wall
Heavy butterflies dance
to the cannon’s treacherous music.
The Third Poet
I brought the war into my poem
as a broken word.
It did not scream.
It did not move.
It simply waited
for the final period…
Then it killed the reader.
Voice of the Wall
When the word is broken,
the wall explodes
into eternal silence.
©® Reema Hamza.



44.
Poem: “THE HOPE”
Poet: Shaip Z. Zeqiri
From: Albania.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

From today we have a great hope,
to be strong as continent Europe.
To have equality permanent,
but allways to be independent.
Peoples need heath as any safe job,
As well security
And not wars or any foreign dictature,
but reall humanity!
Not anymore propaganda lefts and rights,
Only peace and human’ s rights.
Greatings and best wishes .
©® Shaip Z. Zeqiri



45.
Poem: “Seventeen-Year-Old Miss Marco Polo Sheep”
Poet: Yeon Myung-ji
From: South Korea.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Miss Marco Polo Sheep of the Pamir Mountains loved almond blossoms
and was an aspiring singer
who sang along to K-POP.
An aspirant,
what a beautiful occupation.
Riding the rhythm on the breath of the wind,
an aspirant walking the grassland.
She loves the wild goat
that endured the winter, tightly chewing on festuca grass.
The beasts of winter
must be winter aspirants.
The ghost of the snow mountains, the snow leopard,
must be a snow aspirant.
When you lie face down on the grassland, the grass sways,
and when you flip over the back of a stone, fish swim—
the aspirants of nature.
Only when a river flows from the belly
does the voice break through, says Miss Marco Polo Sheep.
Even if bitten on the nape and blood flows,
the song of the idol goat cannot be given up.
The pop song, which claimed that when the snow melts,
the leopard would melt too,
was plagiarism anyway.
The moonlight darkens,
and the snow leopard of Pamir, a high and desolate land,
drags its long tail across the ridge—
the ghost of the alpine.
The aspirant of a fairy tale,
caught off guard by the seventeen-year-old Miss Marco Polo Sheep.
©® Yeon Myung-ji



46.
Poem: “A CENTURY OF WORDS “
Poet: Dr. Parvinder Nagi
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

A hundred dawns of whispered dreams
A hundred rivers born of streams
Each page a lantern softly raised
Each heart by written wonder blazed

Where silent souls once searched for light
You built a home where words take flight
No walls confined the poet’s sky
Only wings that learned to fly

From ink arose a sacred flame
Where every voice could earn its name
The timid found the strength to sing
The broken learned that hope has wings

Through every verse and every rhyme
You gifted souls a place in time
Not measured merely page by page
But by the lives that crossed your stage

A hundred milestones mark the way
Yet brighter still becomes the day
For every ending gently sown
Becomes another seed well grown

Afroza Jesmine, with vision rare
You taught the world that words can care
That poetry is more than art
It is the language of the heart

May Primelore forever be
A lighthouse on creativity’s sea
Where generations yet unborn
Will greet each hopeful, golden morn

For ink may fade and years may pass
Yet true creations always last
A hundred chapters now unfold
Their greatest stories still untold.

With heartfelt congratulations to Primelore Writers Heaven on its 100th Edition,
and with profound admiration for its founder, Afroza Jesmine,
whose vision continues to inspire countless voices across the literary world.
©® Dr. Parvinder Nagi



47.
Poem: “In conscious madness”
Poet: Prof. Dr. Amb. Józef Tomoń
From: Poland .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I press the thick drift of fog
to my face
I stretch out my fingers for an echo
muted on the shore
of emotion
to long to capture
from the depths of feelings
the last whisper
from which the sad sky
slowly departed
between the clouds
from the gray veil
into the breezes of aspiration
Prof. Dr. Amb. Józef Tomoń



48.
Poem: “When the moon is a plus sign”
Poet: kevin holmes
From: America.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

When the moon is a plus sign
And
Two feet your only design
And it’s raining cats and whiskers
But
Your still feeling fine
And
Randy split two infinitives
And left one dangling participle
Behind
And
All you see is tomorrow.
©® Kevin Holmes



49.
Poem: ““When a Woman Rises””
Poet: SANGEETA GUPTA
From: INDIA.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

One day,
somewhere at the edge of the earth,
a woman will rise—
determined
to journey
from herself
to her truest self;
to guard her dignity,
to reclaim her truth.
Then
nothing
will be able to stop her.
She will choose
her own path.
She will walk
with embers in her breast,
the blisters on her feet
her only companions.
No hunger.
No sleep.
No shelter.
No destination.
Beyond
all loss
and all gain.
Then,
from the churning depths within,
will awaken
Meera,
Mahadevi,
Lal Ded,
Ahalya,
Georgia O’Keeffe,
Frida Kahlo,
Emily Dickinson,
Virginia Woolf,
Hilma af Klint…
—or perhaps,
simply,

herself.
A woman.
Never again
will she bargain away
her self-respect.
The quiet fulfilment
of choosing
her own life
will be enough.
Fearless.
Self-possessed.
She will discover
her truth.
she will become
a lamp unto herself.
Then, one day,
she will flow—
unceasing,
like a river
finding
Its forgotten course.
The music of her soul
will ripple
through the silence,
while the astonished sea
can only watch.
She will walk alone.
She will descend
into the locked cellars
built by
family,
society,
and nation.
There,
she will search
for her own light—
where for centuries
she had stood,
like a tethered cow,
defined only as
daughter,
sister,
wife,

mother—
never
herself.
And there,
within those same dark passages,
she will meet
her own reflection,
mirrored
in the depths
of her soul.
And she will know
she had always
been whole.
That moment
of awakening—
emptiness.
Silence.
Nothing more.
Beyond the horizon,
the entire universe
will walk beside her,
when,
somewhere
at the edge of the earth,
one day,
a woman
will rise.
©® SANGEETA GUPTA.



50.
Poem: “POEM OF THE MASTER”
Poet: Badamasi Ismail Chikaji
From: Nigeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The moon and stars are smiling,
Through the silent light of the night,
Echoing the arrival of great to the cosmos
In love and admiration.

The whisper of the great morning,
The breeze that takes here and beyond,
Gladly the blessd day of master’s has arrived,
For even the air and sun have calmed themselves.

For purpose has found them to rejoice,
On thi devoted dawn joyfully, enunciate,
The wisdom and brilliance have been poured,
Upon this gentle and humble soul.

This minute is worthy of being recorded,
Jubilantly it tells that, there is an Icon,
Of literary productions and masterpieces,
That devoted himself under the cover of _
darkness to the beauty of art.

You stand tall ,O Master of the words,
For gerenations would read your light,
In every book, in every heart your name lives,
For your legacy would burn bright and shine.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SIR
©® Badamasi Ismail Chikaji

51.
Poem: “The Nature of Man”
Poet: Panagiota P. Lampri
From: Greece.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The Nature of Man
No event
can change the nature of man.
Even in the hardest times,
he lives with it, moves through life with it, exists with it.
In hours of reflection,
he remembers the errors he committed because of it.
Yet in all other hours
he has no will to change it.
In the emptiness of life,
futile seems the effort he dares to make—
an effort that would lead him to look deep within
and root out whatever leads him into error.
He would rather repeat the same mistakes,
the very same mistakes, again and again.
Mistakes—so many mistakes—
and it matters not to him whose heart may ache.
And first of all,
his own.
©® Panagiota P. Lampri



52.
Poem: “SHADOWS THAT HURT “
Poet: Kujtim R. Hajdari
From: Albania.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Over far hills, the golden dusk now softly creeps,
The wind in the trees whispers sweet words in the night,
Through windowpanes, the last pale glimmer sinks and sleeps,
Night kisses all the world; all things drowse out of sight.

Along deserted streets, like a sleepwalker, slow,
I walk with memories and with my heart all torn,
The old love whispers to me from the river’s flow,
One day, the wounded spring of love will be reborn.

Stars shine and scatter silver circles on each leaf,
Near me, I recall your steps, so tender and sweet,
In night’s hush, loneliness can find no place for grief,
Past shadows tremble, all hiding like thieves discreet.
©® Kujtim R. Hajdari



53.
Poem: “A wave of a hand “
Poet: Rishiraj Chakraborty
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

‘I was hit by the first burst of gunfire’
A wave of a hand and a thousand dreams,
Motorcycle meanders through salt brines

of desire and grief, while sunsets stood
mute and trapped in melancholic sky.

‘I was hit by the first burst of gunfire’
A small switch and feasting on promises,

Seat in the gallery sails through a storm,
off the boulevard that uprooted sanity,

devoured and crushed in the thunder.
‘I was hit by the first burst of gunfire’

A kiss from you and a tryst with fate
A civilization floats through rivers,
next to my window, discoloured and

laden with murder’d eyes and wonder.
©® Rishiraj Chakraborty



54.
Poem: “A Phantom”
Poet: Ahmed Al-Sheikh
From: Arab Republic of Egypt.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

She sighed and said:
“You are nothing but… a fleeting phantom”
“You plant dreams… and engulf me in death
“You toy with my thoughts… when you grow bored”
“And you think that you… have taken up residence in my life!”
“I shall plunge a dagger to end the falsehood of my tale”
“And return free… just as I was yesterday”
“So erase our messages… and all our longing”
“As if you were an illusion… buried in my heart!”
©® Ahmed Al-Sheikh



55.
Poem: “Adulthood in the era of AI”
Poet: Alex Dieppe
From: Vietnam.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Adulthood in the era of AI.
Broken heart, shattered dreams
Day ended in tense and Skibidi toilet concept
Back to Gen Alpha’s steps
Seoul time of the futuristic floating Oceanix Busan
Two am, more or less

You rush for some essential oil incense
And dying to hear a human voice like Charles Kelly ofLady Antebellum
Another feud at the Smithsonian’s Hope Diamond the true blue
That flew you into another height of neurotic

Diamonds of pressure and precision cuts
Buds of Grand Duke of Tuscany’s exquisite jasmine
That feels like Falstaff roses
Kowtow us, in front of those grandeurs
And wonder, what this richness and thickness of life means

Bills that await, bills that have been paid
Work that braids, in volume and chunk
Yet drunk seems to be the final mood
Adulthood that feels like six or seven or eight or nine
©® Alex Dieppe



56.
Poem: “A branch of an olive tree”
Poet: Xrysoula Foufa
From: Greece.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

A branch of an olive tree
rests under the hot sun
in villages in the south.
Rivers in the high mountains
or shores near crystal waters
become places of adventure.
Plains of cotton and wheat
accompany the farmers’ daily life.
Traditions revive the roots
through songs, dances and idioms.
Archeological treasures of the past
are ready to be truly admired.
Ancient Greek history and philosophy marks the course of antiquity.
Greece is the holy land of miracles.
©® Xrysoula Foufa



57.
Poem: “BAISHU “
Poet: Maria Tosti
From: Perugia, Italy .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

oceanic monsoons blow
heavy rain falls in the dead of night
slowly everything is cleansed
on this crisp morning i’m free and wild
©® Maria Tosti



58.
Poem: “Silence”
Poet: Tanja Ajtic.
From: Serbia/Canada .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

For 100 stars and 100 kisses at night,
for 100 sounds-chirping birds per day,
for 100 breathing plants in fields and
100 Whispering Trees.
For The 100th Edition of
Primelore Writer’s Heaven, Jubilee,
awesome Afroza Jesmine,

My poem…
Close your eyes, imagine a melody,
Think it’s for you.
Chase away the silence
You do not hear anything because of it,
close your eyes.
Do you feel the hear beat and moderate?
Try to remember the rhythm,
Try moving.
Imagine a melody and chase away the silence,
chase away.
Play, sing, live by
looking at.
©® Tanja Ajtic.



59.
Poem: “THE SANCTUARY OF A FRIEND’S HEART”
Poet: Somdatta Mitra
From: India .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

You create beauty within my soul,
Your love and affection truly inspire me to be a lighthouse for others.
In every interaction with you,
I find a mirror for my reflections.

With every word you speak, I am astonished, as though a magician has transformed my perspective.
Those bursts of laughter feel like cherished dreams,
Yet I fear tomorrow may awaken me in tears.

Each passing day is a trial against seclusion,
I seek a friend in you, who forges my insecurities into empowerment.
I am terrified of the darkness that resonate my seclusion,
My inhibitions are the walls of an unseen labyrinth.

Yes, you are my confidante, the one who always invites my wounded spirit to sing again.
As I dance like a peacock in my own oblivion,
I feel a divine rapture in the blessing of your constant support.

Within these tender feelings,
I gather your concern and your shelter of compassion.
You are that confidence ,
that always envelop me in a perfect aura.

Where peace kindles the flame of passion.
In several rainbows, you cradle my desires,
In the embrace of fearless vulnerability,
that strengthens me.
©® Somdatta Mitra



60.
Poem: “The Waves of the Sea”
Poet: Xhuli Spahiu
From: Kosovo 🇽🇰 .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The sea does not speak with a voice,
but with the memory of water.
Each wave rises like a thought
that refused to fade into silence.

The shore awaits without complaint.
It knows that love
is the art of returning,
even when departure seems endless

. I have seen waves
carrying unspoken dawns upon their backs,
and others
drowning the shadows of evening
without asking forgiveness.

The sea knows no defeat.
It transforms wounds into salt,
tears into light,
and silence into a horizon
where hope has no need for a name.

Perhaps we too
are only passing waves,
touching the shores of hearts,
leaving behind an invisible trace,
then returning to ourselves
deeper than before.

When night wraps the water in stars,
the sea goes on breathing
like an unfinished poem.
And every wave that breaks upon the shore
reminds us that beauty
does not dwell in stillness,
but in the courage to rise again
after every collision with life.
©® Xhuli Spahiu



61.
Poem: “Matu”
Poet: Ishaka Bame Kainboy
From: Sierra Leone.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Just you it was in all those troubling nine months,
‎And just you it’s been in all raging storms.
‎Just you it was in those pains of birth,
And just you it’s been clearing my paths while I rotate the earth.

It’s been just you in all my odds,
‎Even when my life seems stuck in muds.
‎It’s been just you that could come through,
‎Even if it takes passing through deadly crews.

‎From you I receive my shield in hustles,
‎Your energy, when weak refills my muscles.
‎From you I receive motivations,
‎Your wings I use fly over temptations.

‎In you I see reasons not to give up,
‎Not even when life chokes me up.
‎In you I see reasons to keep movin’ on,
‎Even when life seems to take a u-turn.

‎In you exist no spirit of anger,
‎Problems you discourage with laughter.
‎In you I see the spirit of a mother
‎And not willingness to murder.

‎Your name I shall fly high in nations,
‎And your smile shall light up every occasion.
‎Your face shall glow with Nile of smiles,
‎And your fame shall spread in million miles.
A promise!
‎©® Ishaka Bame Kainboy.

‎

62.
Poem: “Contours of Inner Pilgrimage”
Poet: Sajid Hussain.
From: Pakistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Tilted vision throbs to lines to lift insight,
Darkness seeps through curtains of imagination,
Surrounded with the hegemony of fallen meditation,
All ways towards the blinks of curiosity dip deep,
Nothing binds me in the cave of measurement,
Aloofness in wonderland amazes with junction,
In the mid of journey new aspect neglects,
The torture of last longing across the eternal span,
The creeping of forever quest for to craze wandering,
Clothes the inspiration with touch of majesty,
Moments turn by turn by shades of decision ,
Spray the novelty aroused by step of life,
Ringing tones of vacuum bestow the bundle of chaos,
Which splendor strikes the pathway of falling.
In the ruins of my memory I search my self,
Mirroring the life with naked reality to compass ,
The journey on the path of truth unveils eternity.
©® Sajid Hussain.



63.
Poem: “I Can No Longer Wait “
Poet: F.Shelton Gonkerwon
From: Liberia, West Africa.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I can’t any longer bear the pain
I can’t any longer live just in vain
I can’t allow myself to be in chain
I can’t allow my skin to remain thin
I can’t allow myself to play not to win
I can’t allow myself to go backward
I can’t allow myself to be just a coward
I can’t allow myself to stop going forward
I can’t allow myself to be a slave in my land
I can’t allow myself to be in the sinking sand
I can’t silence the voice of my marching band
I can’t allow myself to bend low under aliens
I can’t allow myself to be enslaved by villains
I can’t mortgage my own rights in my own land
I can’t auction my own power in my own land
Absolutely, I can’t bear to be slave in my land!!

I continue to exercise freedom in my own land
I continue to be brave amongst my fellow men
I continue to raise my productive country hens
I continue to resist being thrown into lion’s den
I continue to demonstrate my God -given rights
I continue to demonstrate my spiritual might
I continue to show the power of my own rod
I continue to prove love for the almighty God

I can’t be slave in my own land!!
In my own land I proudly sit like a king
In my own land I proudly walk like a king
In my own land I proudly talk like a king
In my own land I proudly dance like a king
In my own land I serve as my own master
In my own land I can’t submit to any disaster
©® F.Shelton Gonkerwon



64.
Poem: “The Only Survivor”
Poet: Ahmed Miqdad
From: Gaza City.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

In the blink of an eye,
A sudden flash appeared,
Then darkness swallowed everything around me.
Debris rained down upon us,
The choking dust filled my lungs,
And silence crept in like a ghost,
Broken only by faint voices
Barely able to utter words.
We were trapped beneath the rubble,
Unable to move,
Unable to escape.
My sun had set,
And my moon’s voice drifted from afar,
Whispering broken farewells.
My stars could not withstand
The merciless rockets
And the razor-sharp shrapnel.
They were scattered into countless pieces.
I screamed with all my strength,
But my universe could neither hear
Nor answer
It had become deaf and mute.
Then, from somewhere in the distance,
A rescuer’s voice echoed:
“Is anyone still alive?”
I wished I had gone with them,
Closing the sorrowful chapter of my life forever.
But destiny decreed
That I should remain alone.
Who will make my sun rise again?
Who will bring my moon back to my sky?
Who will let my star-like siblings
Dance around me like butterflies once more?
I am the only survivor,
Wandering through this dark and unjust universe,
Stumbling onward
Without my family. ©® Ahmed Miqdad



65.
Poem: “The Language of Emotion”
Poet: Nabzo
From:Maharda, Syria .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Come with me, all who are weary beneath the weight of life, and I shall offer you rest.
Come, let us enter the paradise of words, where language is not merely written, but celebrated.
Premiliour.
It is a story with a beginning, yet one that will never know an end.
A golden island adrift upon an emerald sea.
The most beautiful of memories.
To lie upon its tranquil shore, beside its silent boats, is to loosen the chains of existence itself.
Each time you drink from the salt spring of thought—purified through its own hidden grace—you emerge renewed.
There dwell the shadows.
There wander the gazelles of beauty.
There the soul discovers its serenity.
There the whole earth becomes one, gathered together by a poem of love, where emotion translates itself into every language spoken by the human heart.
What a blessed oasis it is, folding us gently beneath its wings.
Then its birds rise with us, carrying us into unknown skies, while we echo their songs until waterfalls of joy burst from the highest cliffs of ecstatic wonder.
Peace be upon you, O Poetry.
Peace be upon you, O Poets.
You are the knights who guard humanity’s highest ideals.
You are the helmsmen steering through oceans of darkness.
Blessed are you, for you belong to those who awaken the sleeping spirit.
Blessed are you, for you ask nothing in return as you place the balm of healing upon wounded hearts and offer the crystal vial of hope whose fragrance quietly spreads across the world.
©® Nabzo



66.
Poem: “A memory of a past life”
Poet: Ruslan Barkalov
From: Ivano-Frankivsk region..
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I revisit long-forgotten places
and a past that no longer offers warmth.
I yearn to return to where the spark ignited, to the realm
of genuine emotions and dreams.
I flee from my own essence, reaching for the stars,
as frigid as my heart.
I have become a stranger to all that once was.
The day concludes, giving way to night,
during which my heart
awakens to beat more fervently
in a torrent of memories
and illusions that rise repeatedly.
Only in the morning do
I rediscover my true self within the vacant walls.
And I aspire to become a star –
Just as frigid, to radiate from the heavens
and remain unattainable to all.
My thoughts drift to distant valleys as
I seek the ancient past that eludes me.
I experience a continual demise within myself,
yearning to feel the warmth of beloved hands,
if only in my dreams.
I escape from my own being by reaching for the stars.
There is no affection in castles built in the air,
and my heart remains shattered.
©® Ruslan Barkalov



67.
Poem: “Wings of the Soul”
Poet: Yasmin Abdelsalam Harmouch
From: Lebanon.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Not every wing is meant for flight,
Some are woven from love and dreams.
They lift the heart above despair,
And guide us through the darkest days.
True freedom begins within,
Where the soul learns to embrace the light.
©® Yasmin Abdelsalam Harmouch



68.
Poem: “Lights and Towers 燈與塔”
Poet: Chen Hsiu-chen陳秀珍
From: Taiwan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The procession heading toward the lighthouse
Is it a pilgrimage to the tower or to the light?
Those making pilgrimage to the tower
Simply seek to capture a historical site
Those making pilgrimage to the light
Possess the heart of a moth

The light shines at the ends of the earth and the corners of the sea
Guiding both those who pilgrimage to the light and those who pilgrimage to the tower
toward a direction.

I am one making pilgrimage to the light
Constantly borrowing your light in the cosmic labyrinth
Now you have transformed from a single light
into a northern star
Under the sky of poetry
I hope you will continue to guide the way
（English translation made by Lo Te-chang Mike）
©® Chen Hsiu-chen陳秀珍



69.
Poem: “AS IS”
Poet: Amb Ruby Meraki Oenomel
From: Canada.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Murmurings of tongues old, in the womb of silence, arise words
Rocks the cradle, proto-sapiens, stories untold, decipher?
The tree, past breath rooted, melodies syllables upon wings
Have the speakers fled, nuances mapping hands, space trails
Bengali sweets, Punjabi dance, Mandarin sections, Latin breathes
The legacy we retrieve, multitude whispers, profound as the see
Boundless and fluid, rivers set free, linking cultures, language
Rich as lore, infinite dialogue, penchant, speech hears old lands
The laughter, the tears, and the shifting sands, wildflower all
As tongues fade, stories they tell, unspoken Braille strife so quell
Collective bridge, Indus follows silk route, Maori Steve chants
Echoes of Unspoken man cave chambers of devout silence
Words are born from the pulse of land, dusted with times tender
Spoken caress, forgotten lands loam, a syllable stretches, ma
Witness tempests, migrations and prayers of those who bled
Soft pulled taut ventriloquist spurs tablets, hieroglyphs long past
Languages of lives lost, worlds seen through eyes dimmed by age
In sound strain of breath a map of origin etches scream of marrow
Face painting, feather spears, in the measure of grandpa’s lullaby
The staccato of a battle cry, what are we without remnants?
©® Amb Ruby Meraki Oenomel



70.
Poem: “THOSE I FORGAVE”
Poet: Adalat Eroglu
From: Turan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Those I forgave
Would never have forgiven
What I forgave.
I would stay silent and let it pass;
They would not understand.

I would share my bread,
But they cast stones.
I would offer my heart,
But they would break it.

I did good deeds
Without asking for anything in return.
I never spoke to anyone
About those who wounded my heart.

I forgave…
But I forgot nothing.
Every betrayal taught me
A truth about life.

Some I deemed friends
Turned out to be enemies
Confronting me;
Some I thought were brothers
Rubbed salt into my wounds.

Yet I did not bow;
I held my head high.
I bade farewell with prayers
To those who abandoned me halfway.

Let them reckon
With their own consciences, sooner or later.
My heart holds no grudge,
But my memory is not blind.

I forgave because I am human;
I did not forget because I have lived.
They tried to break me, but I did not break;
I stayed silent, yet I did not stoop low.

I am a noble Turk, a son of the Turks.
No matter what anyone says,
I continue on my righteous path
With justice as my guide.
I am a man of honor,
For I know
The greatness
Of forgiveness.
©® Adalat Eroglu



71.
Poem: “Beyond the Threshold of Silence”
Poet: Shakil Ahmed
From: Assam.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

he threshold of life does not glow in its own shade,
Revealing fragmented tales of an exhausted and tedious life,
Separated by invisible barriers of ephemeral existence.
Loneliness envelops life where silence grows heavy,
And grief shivers us like fragile reeds in the meadow.
Here existence is like a window — fragile, transparent, and transitory.
Life rushes toward perpetual silence
Like the coaches of a speeding train.

Waves crash inside the folded silence,
Like echoes in a hollow cave.
My wounded heart still stays alive,
Like olive trees in the courtyard.
On the other side, scarlet love splashes
In the solitude of life,
Splitting and melting the icy cold
Before the call of dawn.

The paths of life are windy, slippery, and thorny.
O Lord of the world, lead me toward light and truth.
I am caught in the web of illusion,
Intoxicated by menacing time.
Let my heart spark a flame
That flickers and never subsides.
©® Shakil Ahmed



72.
Poem: “DO ME A FAVOR”
Poet: Hauwa’u Saleh
From: Nigeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

DO ME A FAVOUR
To let your heart beat with my name forever,
For my chest has passion to love you,
My heart beat with rhythm echoing,
For the lily and roses refuse to germinate.

DO ME A FAVOR
The silence has wounded the soul with mute,
My mind got scattered with puzzling,
Cogitating as sun will never fulfill it pledge,
And itching mind flesh with quiet embers,
Zuciya ta cika da kula like skin was set with an embers.

DO ME A FAVOUR
To let my wings surround your kindom,
Holding the punishment of slavery,
Being the reason for my freedom,
So that would glance and set me worthy.
©® Hauwa’u Saleh



73.
Poem: “Missing Hoki Das”
Poet: Zannatun Nur Shahola
From: Bangladesh.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

There once was Hoki Das,
Extremely skilled in culture.
What if he was a priest,
As a student he was very good.
A different culture wanted him
To conduct research on their behalf.
On one side they laid a trap
Through the twists of cultural verses.
Rabeya was the first to be eliminated,
Then Kawsar in between,
At last Hoki disappeared for 15 years.
But Nannu Mia survived
By slipping through their hands.
For many years he was memory-lost,
Today I sent a letter to the world,
May it come into literature’s pages,
May our Hoki Das return.
©® Zannatun Nur Shahola.



74.
Poem: “Bulbul of Medina”
Poet: Dr. Md. Tafazzal Ali Bhuiyan.
From: Bangladesh.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Can anyone tell me?
on a mountain slope,
The kind prophet used to ride sheep
During childhood.

Who is exalted in the light of Allah
Bulbul of Medina,
Prophet is the king of two worlds
Muhammad is the Prophet.

The Prophet says to the deprived
right to give
But why do people die?
Thousands of thousands.

Blood splattered on the bricks
Martyr is Dandan,
Follow the Sunnah of the Prophet
Listening to the narration of the hadith.
The state hero was the prophet
ruler of justice,
Shepherd in Arab countries
Riding sheep.

Tawhid’s Victory Aim
fly muslims
Follow the Prophet
Read the Quran.
Dr. Md. Tafazzal Ali Bhuiyan.



75.
Poem: “Gossip”
Poet: Md. Sohel Dukhai
From: Bangladesh.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Cultivate your own land
Do not seek other’s land
Words are the fault of others
Don’t own your mistakes.
Omuk bad, tamuk lucha
But you don’t go too low
if you are good
Don’t talk about others.
Everyone does their own thing
In fact, no one owns it
If you were someone
Don’t talk about others.
Md. Sohel Dukhai.



76.
Poem: “Where Have We Arrived?”
Poet: Sheikh Hameedullah
From: ?.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Poetry (English Translation)
Me and my solitude,
often we speak together.
If you were here, how would it be?
You would say this, you would say that,
you would be surprised at one thing,
you would laugh at another.
If you were here, it would be like this,
if you were here, it would be like that.
Me and my solitude,
often we speak together.
Where have we arrived,
walking side by side like this?
In your arms, beloved,
my body and soul melt away.
In your arms, beloved,
my body and soul melt away.
Where have we arrived,
walking side by side like this?
Is this night,
or your hair flowing loose?
Is this moonlight,
or your gaze washing my nights clean?
Is this the moon,
or your bracelet shining?
Are these stars,
or your veil glittering?
Is this a breeze,
or the fragrance of your body?
Is this the rustle of leaves,
or did you whisper something softly?
I have been thinking silently,
though I know the truth:
you are not here, not anywhere.
Yet my heart insists,
you are here, somewhere near. You are the body, I am the shadow.
If you are not, where am I?
Beloved who loves me, where you are, there I am.
We were destined to meet,
no matter which path we took.
Yes, we were destined to meet,
no matter which path we took.
Where have we arrived,
walking side by side like this?
My breath carries fragrance,
like sandalwood in the air.
Your love is moonlight,
my heart is like a courtyard.
My evenings grow softer,
as twilight descends.
Yes, my evenings grow softer,
as twilight descends.
Where have we arrived,
walking side by side like this?
Circumstances bind us,
here and there alike.
Loneliness fills the night,
here and there alike.
There is so much to say,
yet to whom can we speak?
How long must we remain silent,
and endure this pain?
My heart says:
let us break every worldly custom,
let us tear down the wall between us today.
Why should our love burn in silence?
Let us tell the world:
yes, we are in love,
in love, in love.
Now this is the only truth,
here and there alike.
©® Sheikh Hameedullah.



77.
Poem: “FEMINITY WITH STEEZE”
Poet: Princess Dr. Lovelyn Eyo
From: NIGERIA.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Only memories presented
A form of great appeal
Shaped with curves of silky elegance
Not to be resented
Young but adorned
In the colour of elderly earth

The thoughts she wore, transparent
Soft as a cloud without a home
Kneaded strength
Lost to the claws of fish bones
Choked beneath the two hills on her chest
Her vision blinded by his pointed finger

Crippled bed of stones
Chase comfort to a ruin
She holds her tongue so tensed
To avoid cold beards on pretense
Who raise swords against her femininity
With beaks of rocks

They peck till she is broken
The voice of water
Cracks from abuses
Sonorous softness strong sans selfish sacrifice
Is covered in a thick coat of pain
Only to be Used, Used!

Bronze lips, whose letters carry more roses
Yet abandoned, her right to dream snatched
They rather see it dead than fly
Caged in the belly-room
Locked in the bedroom
Use and Use till Useless?

Then, say she is primitive!
Yet she strides across like dawn on heels
Standing up again as beautiful as steel!
How much agony slide in the blackhole
How many memories does she hold
How many secrets safe and untold

When shall human intelligence find its lodge-
Where misogynistic ego becomes once-upon-a-time and dislodged!
Does this greeting of hope have an age!
©® HRH Dr. Lovelyn Eyo.

78.
Poem: “MOTHER, INDIA!”
Poet: Maya Milojković
From: Serbia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

You touch my heart with the melody of the flute,
tears flow for the One
who has taken residence in my heart forever;
wherever I am, He never leaves,
He has bound my soul with a silver moon-thread.
I long to go,
and only death can bring us closer;
that is why I die over and over again
so I may come to meet you in a red sari
upon the sacred soil of Dvārakā.
I wait for you to wink at me,
and we will meet there
where witnesses have slept for centuries,
just You and I
in the eternal city beneath the sea.
O Mother India, you are calling me…
O Dvārakā, city of my wedding,
I am coming to you.
©® Maya Milojković



79.
Poem: “Roses Bloom Along the Edge of the Sword”
Poet: Ahmed Aziz El-Din Ahmed
From: Egypt.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Unbroken
A thousand days have passed, and Gaza’s heart bears witness:
that steadfastness is nobler far than every threat.
A thousand days—yet Gaza never counted them as days;
she counted them as lifetimes of every soul she lost.
A thousand heavy days—each day that passes
carries a thousand sorrows, and a thousand promises.
In every home, farewell has its own story,
and every mother bears a tear within her veins.
The child asks: “Where is our morning going?”
And the silence of the wound replies: “Into eternity.”
Hunger consumes whatever patience still remains,
yet patience refuses the humiliation of restraint.
The earth bears witness: every martyr she has embraced
planted immortality through the quiet testimony of faith.
They said: “Its time has passed; it has grown weary.”
Never! This is its pulse—newly born and beating still.
Gaza is not merely a city in existence;
she is the qiblah of the free, preserved beyond time.
Gaza is a name that, whenever spoken, rises
above the ages and beyond every boundary.
O you who say: “A thousand ages have passed,”
have you ever tasted a day as long as the desert?
Have you ever lived where tents were your dwelling,
fear your provision, and sorrow your daily renewal?
Have you ever lived when bread was but a wish,
and water a silent dream that dared not sing?
If you imagine these were merely years passing by,
then here, each minute is a thousand years of martyrdom.
Ask the ruins of the homes how much sorrow they concealed;
ask the eyes of orphans and the displaced.
Ask a mother’s prayer beside her bed
how much praise has risen above her tears.
Do not forget Gaza—for she is the hope of humanity,
and through her, the true friend of every creed is known.
Blessed is the heart that remains devoted
to the radiant call, and steadfast in its support.
Blessed is the one who makes prayer for her people
a provision that illuminates the darkness with guidance.
Gaza shall remain, as long as faith still draws breath,
a title of eternal glory and steadfastness.
And history shall write, no matter how darkly they conspire,
that letters are forged from sacrifice.
A thousand days have passed, yet hope in their depths
still lives—and bows to none but the One.
For dignity is not measured by the length of time,
but by remaining steadfast upon the path of purpose.
©® Ahmed Aziz Al-Din Ahmed



80.
Poem: “I Cry your love day and night.(Romantic poem).”
Poet: Fadwa Attia.
From: Egypt .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I cry your love day and night.
I miss you, I feel that I need you.

My beloved father, you are still inside me.
Your words, your wisdom, your days, your memories.

I cry your love day and night.
I remember, when I was a child, how you made me a human being and an artist.

I do not know,
except that you are inside me, in my feelings.
You left our world, and I miss you deeply.

But I pray to God that you can feel me after your death,
and that your prayers keep protecting me even after your departure,
my beloved father.
©® Fadwa Attia



81.
Poem: “TRAVELERS”
Poet: Maria Kolovou Roumelioti
From: Greece.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

It was not the wind that blew towards eternity
It was tζhe cry of the will
to change course the vessel
on the seas of the world
Because, the soul
never stoppes searching
for its permanent homeland!…

And thus are
the inexplicable journeys to the afterlife explained
With the boatman helmsman on the ship
offering day and night
services
to every newly arrived –
tired traveler!…
©® Maria Kolovou Roumelioti



82.
Poem: “A MOMENT, OURS”
Poet: Ayesha Imran
From: Pakistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

You and I, and no one else,
Just the two of us against the breadth of the world.
Beneath the shroud of night, as evening fades,
We stand on the rooftop where moonlight dances.

Hands entwined, our breaths in sync,
Even silence speaks the language of love.
The air is gentle, the weather kind,
In this moment, we need nothing else from the world.

You pulled my hand and drew me close to your chest,
And I flowed into you like a current.
I swept my hair back from my eyes,
As your hand rested upon my face.

We playfully tease with the pillow,
Then melt into love without a single word.
No fear of time, no weight of days,
In this instant, our world finds its place.
©® Ayesha Imran



83.
Poem: “Just a touch of feelings “
Poet: Amb. Dr. Tomasz Laczek
From: LUTON UK.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Like a delicate rose petal
Who faithfully serves love
Tears crystals of time past
Today is the unchanging time of the present

Love so thirsty for feelings
Today she is severely wounded by thorns
People in the corner of the shadow pushing her
With an empty heart they destroy themselves

How humanity is to unite
Walking together with one thought
Hearts closed with an iron wall
Stupidity with a lie proclaimed the truth

Even the sun shines less today
For man disfigures his interior
I love you today with great rarity
For every heart of the day is joy

Heartfelt Hearts Covering Today
It makes your life empty
I have great hope in my heart
Humanity will put on love of purity
General Coordinator for European Countries on the shoulder WFHP for people with disabilities.
©® Amb. Dr. Tomasz Laczek



84.
Poem: “FROM DUST”
Poet: Edna Salona- Labrador
From: Philippines.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I’m imperfect from dust I was created
Stars glitter but I can’t ‘coz I have blemishes
Yet in God’s eyes the stain of sins are impassing because God forgives
Stars are high up in the sky
But I’m lowly like the sand
Trampled by the feet of the passers- by
But as God’s creation God sees my importance
He calls the stars by names as my name stays in His lofty mind
I may not be shining like the stars when darkness comes
To our God of love my worth He won’t deny
In life I’m not a shining star
I”m dust yet worthy of a glance
That makes me happy and contented with Jehovah God’s guidance.
©® Edna Salona- Labrador



85.
Poem: “No.. Nay.. A Drawback and Not Applicable:”
Poet: Ahmed Farooq Baidoon
From: Egypt.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Always a victim—that’s the universal law,
Unseen inside a stack of straw,
Douse thine face with paramount yarn,
Helpless and enveloped in the human barn,
Once I did give out a vociferous shout,
Who else could cater for my words a way-out?
Wandered along a margin of time,
It doth waste me, then waste my rhyme,
Tempered with a fleet of “No”,
No trench for lamenting grief, and solace so!
No backasis—verily I triggered myself,
The legit existence called upon me an elf,
That polysemous “yes” did erase its root,
In the justice arena, all indictment got moot,
I looked around hither and thither,
The crowd of flowers with reluctant dither,
How do you dare tremble that scene,
How lovely it shall be, with touching obscene!
In a month, annual or a centennial round,
The fact of nothingness, a granted fact tinged with ruthless ground,
No sign of compassion, nor humane epithet,
Better bite your tongue, otherwise, a harbinger of threat,
I fluttered in pursuit of a breeze of sigh,
Awaiting a soothing sentence to apply,
A shortcoming or a myriad of concession,
To give up inspiration in humanity procession,
No use, and vanity thy name is ‘ plea’,
Incumbent patience and peace—synonymous with ‘so long, no see’!
From scythed ashes I inked my poetic line,
In thin air, a balladeer roamed a farewell shrine.
©® Ahmed Farooq Baidoon



86.
Poem: “O YOU, SERENE OF GAZE”
Poet: Hind Alhassan
From:Yemen.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

O you, serene of gaze, has not the time now come
For your heart to find its peace upon the edifices of thought,
And the children of the inkwell, lest they wander
In the breath of errancy, and fear the stoning?
And you who move with the feather of a phoenix bird,
And a language of the isthmus, in a parallel reality,
Leaning on the staff of your steadfastness,
As the crescent moons lean on the shoulders of the horizon.
O you who have voluntarily withdrawn to the confines of abandonment,
Until the letter comes to you in human form,
Shaking the trunks of the alphabet,
That meaning may fall upon you like ripe fruit,
And you come to your people bearing the calumny of the Dâd.
O you who dwell upon the cushions of a cloud,
You neither hide nor retreat
Before the tempest of fear,
You pour your soul, wrapped in the mantle of exaltation,
Into the cups of fullness.
O you, subtle as a spectre, who do not hide
Behind the veils of doubt,
Who but you, O daughter of the two lights,
Deserves that tears be shed for her?
O you who reside in paradises
Where there is neither bitter jujube nor rare tamarisk,
Even when dissonance has not diminished
Before the dignity of the gathering,
It has remained a cry of linguistic monotony.
And as if I saw no arrogance
In the proud women,
You who are filled with the abundance of genius,
You colour the lips of femininity
With your crimson red,
Not as a coat of beauty nor a ruse of seduction,
But as an act of resistance
Against the outcome of displacement,
To keep alive an idea
In a society that longs
To transform the virgins of passion
Into embalmed mummies
Translated by Abdullah Ingad
©® Hind Alhassan



87.
Poem: “What Did You Say?”
Poet: Prabir Kumar Rath
From: India. Mumbai.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

When a leaf begins to grow,
do you truly see it?
Or when a flower blooms,
can you tell why it has bloomed?
Can you read the heart of a bird?

Dear Dad,
why can’t you understand
what causes me pain?

What! do you really understand?
You do not even know yourself.

Can anyone truly know
with only eyes and ears?
They often do nothing
but waste our time.

Dad, let me grow
in my own way.
Trust me, just a little.

Otherwise, one day
I shall leave, leving your boundary
without saying a single word.

Then tell me—
what will you do?
©® Prabir Kumar Rath



88.
Poem: “The Future of the Clock”
Poet: Young-eun Kang
From: Korea.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

What has passed is simply past.
If it clings
to what has already gone,
without knowing it is gone,
it would no longer be a clock.
A clock knows
that at last
the river flows back into the sky.
Do not wait for me.
I keep leaving.
Even if you come to me,
I will still be on my way.
That is why
I am a clock.
At midnight,
the clock will ring alone.
It will say
that love and farewell
have no tomorrow,
and return once more
to a yesterday

endlessly replaying itself.
You and I
will one day break down.
Even if you never awaken again,
to keep crying out
without stopping—
perhaps that is
the dream of a clock.
Trust the minute hand
and the second hand
of your heart.
Perhaps tomorrow’s clock
will become tomorrow’s world.
Wherever the clock is walking,
that place
will be tomorrow’s world.
Uncaught
by broken time—
that will be
the future of the clock.
©® Young-eun Kang.



89.
Poem: “MOTHER’S PORTRAIT”
Poet: HONG NGOC CHAU
From: Vietnam 🇻🇳 .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Drizzling rains fall colder and colder
Rising the smell of the own earth
In the sun, flowers sparkle and wave
Heaven and earth blend in love rays

Wind gives grapefruit smell to mom’s hair
Gently spread the true love of my mother
Mother is the source of a nice country
Million far roads, she’s full of love truly

Starlings chirp as hammock rhythms as ever
Mixing a melody with a lullaby of my mother
I suck my mother’s milk to grow up gradually
Mother’s love is higher than mountains truly

It’s hard to love children, mother’s duty
She always brings warm sunshine to me
She’s the moon shining at dark night
She’s as the sun at dawn to give light

Mother’s body is as gentle as the figure of rice
From dawn to dusk, her shadow beside a dike
Bare feet are in muddy water as time passes by
She forgets youthful age in the chaos of her life

She’s full enough of her hometown loving
Follows time rhythm going and returning
Her hair turns silver, her body is full of scars
Mother doesn’t mind although she works hard

Mother’s love is vaster than the seas
And my feelings always remind of me
Repaying the merit of my dear mother
I don’t know when I can pay her favors
©® HONG NGOC CHAU



90.
Poem: “Smile at sunrise”
Poet: Simon Elliott
From: ?.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Sunrise dance for me
Will I ever love beyond the limits
To know myself and stand in love
Can I walk there, will I walk alone

This meadow a sanctuary
A garden forever
Watch it rise up morning golden
Blossom whisper in my quaking heart
Across the thoughts of the day, graceful, easy

Sunrise dances inside my spirit
Performing the morning itself
Singing gentle harmony I give thanks
Brushing across the living garden
Pouring daydreams into love the world craves
I simply paint the way with too many words
Drawing laughter and embrace

I am cherished I grow and grow
A world fully wonderful
Dancing forward to exist purely at day
Spinning toward time’s gentle care
Pushing it to yesterday’s first shimmer of light
When the melody slowly formed
In the presence of the sun
A garden in forever
A blossom step, lips kissed, heart fed
©® Simon bernard Elliott(apoetseye experience)



91.
Poem: “Freedom Of World”
Poet: Elpiola Lluka.
From: Albania 🇦🇱.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Under the curtains stays conscience cold,
hard breathing goes beneath the glass;
Window as a cloud tries to connect skies old,
as raindrops wash the pain without class…

The fear embraces those innocent eyes,
where fire and ashes as a carpet lay down their foot…
Peace soon will touch the skies,
highest way will bloom again the root…

And smiles will paint all face and skin,
new colours will born underneath the heart…
Happiness creates the roads smart,
the Garden Of Eden blossoms as you never imagine…
©® Elpiola Lluka



92.
Poem: “THE BECOMING”
Poet: Vandana Kumar
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

We are all the stories we tell ourselves
When we don’t remember the stories of our youth

We walk hand in hand
We tread barefoot
To understand the roots
To feel the residual rain

I like this knowing without knowing
This being without asking
You kiss me
Waiting for me to remember
What was always there

On a quiet day
Without tremors and forest fires
You kiss me
And the earth remembers its shape
©® Vandana



93.
Poem: “PRIMELORE WRITER’S HEAVEN WHEN I DREAM”
Poet: Melita Ratković
From: Yugoslavia.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

PRIMELORE WRITER’S HEAVEN WHEN I DREAM,
When I dream, my soul is awake In its ethereal form.
The stone keeps the secret of the Earth.
I am a river that flows Toward the source,
a bird with free Wings;
a dream is only Another reality,
a thin Line between two realities.
Who knows where dreams end And waking begins?
A dream is The oldest language of the soul,
In which the stone breathes,
The flower speaks,
and the human being Is one with everything.
©® Melita Mely Ratković



94.
Poem: “prayer with no words”
Poet: Rana Zaman
From: Bangladesh 🇧🇩.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Bare branches hold the sky like a prayer with no words,
While the sun pours gold onto a throat of cracked earth.
The ground is a map of thirst, every line a memory of rain.
Shadows stretch long, but find nothing soft to rest on.

At the foot of the old tree, a rebellion grows —
Two green leaves, small as a promise, loud as a drum.
A single drop hangs, suspended between falling and faith,
Then lands, and the desert holds its breath.

This tree is not dead. It is waiting.
Its roots are letters written deep into dryness.
The leaves are answers the wind forgot to burn.
Hope is not a forest here. It is a whisper.

The world calls this place empty.
But emptiness is just space waiting for courage.
One drop, one leaf, one stubborn root —
And even the desert learns how to begin again.
©® Rana Zaman



95.
Poem: “Flowers bloom”
Poet: Biswanath Kar
From: Odisha,India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Flowers bloom in the velvet garden of love
In the colour of red hibiscus and pink rose
Life fragrances in the language of breeze
Building a monument in coral island’s rays.
Cuckoo reads the love letter of the spring
Where the journey of life halts for a while
Dreams are woven on the butterfly’s wing
Colours spread around with life’s new thrill.
A whirlwind of love makes the life dreamy
Life is meaningless without living in love
Life and love is a very romantic duet rhyme
Colours of the rainbow colour the life in love.
Love and life both are two sides of a coin
Alchemy of love and life is an eternal truth
Like the alchemy of the lotus and the sun
Life ends but love has no end on this earth.
©® Biswanath Kar



96.
Poem: “At Your Lotus Feet”
Poet: Dr. Purnima.
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I long to wash Your lotus feet with my tears,
O Mother Divine.

I possess no gold to offer,
no garlands worthy of Your grace,
no wisdom to recite before You.

Only these tears…
drawn from the deepest chamber of my soul,
I gather in trembling hands.

Accept them, Mother,
for they are the only offering
I dare call pure.

Wash away my pride,
my anger,
my fear,
my restless desires.

Let every tear become
a flower at Your feet,
every sigh a hymn,
every heartbeat Your sacred name.

Keep me, Mother,
not among the great,
but among those
who sit quietly at Your feet,
content to love You
until the last tear
becomes light.
©® Dr. Purnima.



97.
Poem: “Animals Scream”
Poet: Akifa Shazzad Prova
From: Bangladesh 🇧🇩.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Across the quiet valley where the ancient shadows fall,
A sudden shiver ripples through the moss and rugged wall,
The wilderness awakens with a fierce and desperate cry,
As terror writes its message on the dark and open sky.
The wounded stag is calling out in sorrow to the grove,
Where shadows hunt the remnants of the peace they used to love,
A chorus born of suffering, of hunger and of fright,
Echoes through the canopy and shatters all the night.
The feathered hunter dives below to claim its helpless prey,
While frightened voices scatter in a frantic, wild ballet,
For every creature knows the rule written in bone and claw,
Where mercy is forgotten and survival is the law.
Hear the frantic howling of the wolf against the moon,
A lamentation whispered by a cruel and shifting tune,
The ocean depths are trembling as the giant waters churn
, Where hidden monsters battle and the silent currents burn.
It is the voice of nature in its raw and primal state,
A desperate rebellion against a cruel and sudden fate,
The breaking of the silence where the innocent must bleed,
Consumed by ruthless instinct and an everlasting need.
So listen to the forest when the darkness starts to deep,
And all the painted horrors of the wilderness awake from sleep,
For underneath the beauty of the fields and running streams,
Lies a world of constant terror where the helpless animals scream.
©® Akifa Shazzad Prova



98.
Poem: “Sudden Farewell “
Poet: Allah Obhayo
From: Karachi Pakistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

You departed too soon,
without whisper or farewell,
and sleep embraced you beneath the silent dunes.

I was unprepared,
my hands still tender,
to bear the weight of burdens not yet ripened.

Together we had woven dreams,
threads of hope shimmering in the loom of tomorrow.
You promised flowers to adorn my hair,
and journeys to the valley where silence sways
beneath the full moon’s gentle gaze.

But loss came like a tempest,
and I was not ready to drink from its bitter cup.
My eyes remain drenched,
and at night I behold your image upon the wall—
your children awaken, calling “Baba,”
and fear trembles within me.

Tears descend,
pearls rolling upon my cheeks,
for you have left me to steer the cart of sorrows alone.

Yet I am steadfast,
a woman of resolve.
I shall meet the trials,
and one day your spirit shall rejoice,
when your children rise like stars,
their light proclaiming your name.
©® Allah Obhayo



99.
Poem: “Do dreams have an end?”
Poet: Selim BOUMERDAS
From: France.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Do dreams have an end?
Rise higher,
Soar up toward the skies,
Dance with the joyful birds
In their aerial ballets,
Touch the soft clouds,
Caress the wild horizon…
Like in love.

​Behold the vibrant colors,
The nuances that live and breathe,
The rainbow that shines and intoxicates…
Like in love.

​Venture across the salty seas,
Journey through the infinite oceans,
Discover hidden wonders…
Like in love.

​When evening comes,
You wink
At the stars gleaming
With a thousand subtle fires,
Pure as diamonds…
Like in love.

​The moon that sings,
Dark-haired or golden,
Sweet and enchanting,
Utters her incantations,
Mystical vibrations…
Like in love.

​And then, nothing more.
Alone,
Before the threshold of the transcendent
Truth, brutally shattered.
Dreams must end:
Awakening, or finality…
©® Selim BOUMERDAS



100.
​Poem: “Yes to Peace”
Poet: Alam Mahbub
From: Bangladesh 🇧🇩
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

On whispered winds let silent prayers rise,
No clash of arms, no drums of wrath resound;
The earth awakens under gentler skies,
Where flowers bloom and hope renews the ground.

No flags shall fly to glorify despair,
Nor bombs erase the blue from open skies;
But hands united, free from fear and care,
Shall greet the dawn where every dream may rise.

Say yes to peace—let every heart decide;
Let love’s clear beacon shine from shore to sea.
A kinder world begins with us inside,
Where every soul is born to live in harmony.

Let every breath become a sacred vow—
Choose life, choose love, choose peace, forever now.
©® Alam Mahbub


101.
Poem: “THE ALTAR OF THE PARISIAN POETS”
Poet: Lan Qyqalla
From: Republika of Kosovo.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I did not come here as a curious tourist,
but as a poet,
following the footprints of language
along the pavements where Apollinaire invented light
and turned poems into living shapes.
I read Éluard by candlelight,
watching love lay claim to the world,
and heard Rimbaud howl
through boulevards of solitude and awakening,
like a meteor tearing across the night.
Aragon leaned close and whispered:
“There is no such thing as happy love.”
Yet no poem has ever been more beautiful
than one that sings of love and Paris,
even when the city keeps its silence.
Where are they now?
In what labyrinth have their voices vanished?
Buried beneath the hush of Montmartre,
or still breathing
inside the verses
destined to outlive the centuries?
Paris looks at me
as though I were a stranger
I,
a poet wounded by Dardania,
carrying the soul of my language,
heavy as lead,
clear as tears,
to scatter across your dust-covered tables.

I did not come to see Paris.
I came
to breathe in the city
sleeping inside its own metaphors;
to weave this poem
into my own tongue,
in my own name
Lani
in the word that remembers the poets,
and in the breath of these streets,
where poetry
never dies.
©® Lan Qyqalla



102.
Poem: “MIND BEHIND THE BRICKS”
Poet: Abeera Mirza
From: Pakistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I’m building this wall that I am inside
Along beside me are all the feelings I have tried to hide
They beat me up daily of the love ones that I have lost
And I try to remember daily that Jesus was a conqueror and paid the full cost
Trials and tribulations that I go through from day to day
They circle my mind like a lion trapping their prey
The wall is made out of strong bricks so no one can get in
Trying to prepare my mind and an exit sign for all my past sins
It will only go up because I don’t want it to fall down
Whipping like courageous winds in my mind around and around
Times I feel like I have lost some of my closest and best friends
God reminds me daily that he has done it over again and again
Pulled me out of the volcano that was flaming hot
To put me back in my place so I cannot lose my spot
That he has strategically prepared that he won’t let anyone let me lose
And I must keep spreading the gospel because it’s good news
Build me up and give me the strength that I need
Help me to fight this battle ….I will walk while you lead
I cannot go by what it looks like because I will lose my sight
Of what God is doing as I’m working for him day and night
Clear my mind and take over the thoughts that are not mine
Remember my child to be obedient and stay with the saints in line
Your are precious and one of Gods favorite possessions
Remember that In life that it will teach you valuable lessons
The Lord has kept me and I thank him in the peace I will go
I just wanted to leave another reminder for you to know
That life is not always going to be peaches and butter cream
But to always lean on the Lord and to continue to fight watch and pray on his team
©® Abeera Mirza

103.
Poem: “Leave the Crook”
Poet: Mohammed Al-Qaddafi Masoud
From: Libya.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Put down that shepherd’s crook,
you with the polished air.
Stop your circling,
your blind stumbles
out of the dream.
That stick you wave
at a flock of children,
making a holy vow
that only blooms
when your tragedy peaks.
You weave your cloak from a people’s faith,
stitching sunbeams to pretty lies.
When you’re lost in ecstasy,
the desert shows you its face
and I make it into dreams,
so you can offer a rose
to the era that never saw you born.
Nothing promises you anything.
You’re past the end.
No fantasy holds you up,
no color hides you.

You don’t need a hiding cap,
you need a helmet.
Your reflection has changed,
and being different has made you
a slippery, mercury question.
Oh, child of the Boundless.
Translation Dr . Salwa Goda
©® Mohammed Al-Qaddafi Masoud



104.
Poem: “Nameless”
Poet: Sipra Debnath Tultul.
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

What do they see when they call my name?
Is it me, or just the frame?
I’ve smiled on cue, I’ve played the part,
While silence bloomed inside my heart.

The world draws borders I can’t trace,
Each label stitched upon my face.
But in the dark, without their light,
I wonder who I am at night.
Sipra Debnath Tultul.



105.
Poem: “The Universe as a Living Poem”
Poet: Saeeda Akhtar
From: Pakistan .
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

In the quiet manuscript of the universe,
every soul is a verse written in the language of light.
The stars whisper ancient melodies,
and the rivers carry the timeless memories of existence.
We are not merely footsteps upon the earth,
but echoes of a greater harmony
threads of love, compassion, and wonder
woven into the infinite tapestry of being.
Even the smallest flower holds a silent prayer,
and every tear reflects the wisdom of the sky.
Life is the universe expressing itself as poetry,
where every breath becomes a sacred line,
and every heart a song waiting to awaken.
When we learn to see through the eyes of the soul,
the world reveals itself as a poem of peace—
a timeless creation where humanity,
nature, and the cosmos
move together in the eternal rhythm of love.
Saeeda Akhtar



106.
Poem: “We Are Not the Same”
Poet: Yusuf Amusa
From: Nigeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

We Are Not the Same
I look around me
I see we are not equal
We are in the world
Where social class operates
Some are born with silver spoon
Some are born in the manger
Some swim in affluence
Some live in penury
Some have more than what they can eat
Some are in lack of food
Some live in mansion
Some are homeless
Some acquires plethora cars
Some don’t have bicycle
Some fly like birds to different nations
Some remain in their villages
In the society we are
We have the rich
And the poor
Indeed,we are socially stratified.
©® Yusuf Amusa



107.
Poem: “The Door Busted”
Poet: Devendra K Mishra
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Sky was lost
in the shocked stillness
when an overbearing day
killed the sun
and eloped with
the cool evening
Sightless season
sighed and slept
tired of waiting for
the vernal bloom
that never happened.
When hope
was about to dry out
suddenly, the restless wind
broke the silence
overcoming its fear
and slapped
the arrogant day
busting the door
facing an eternity.
©® Devendra K Mishra



108.
Poem: “Parting”
Poet: Dr.Kang,Byeong-Cheol
From: South Korea.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

To live
is to meet
and to part.

My father lived for ninety-six years
and left this world.
As everyone does,
he was swept away
by the great torrent of time,
until at last he drifted down the river of time.

My father showed me my future.
No one can make their way upstream
against the torrent of time;
no matter how firmly one stands,
one day, too, one will be carried away
by its relentless current.
©® Dr. Kang, Byeong-Cheol



109.
Poem: “The Scalpel of Love and Writing”
Poet: BOUTI MED.
From: Algeria.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Always there is things writing never says it.
In writing like in love
We need precise scalpel
To dessection the feelling passing
Maybe we need some small wings
Like ant’s wings
To get misery unrelentingly
While we are trying to fly
Without doing it
Maybe we need long rope
To hold it in our midst
While we go down to the far bottom.

We need more time outside sleep
To dream more in vigilance.

We need some time to write
And all the language for love

In writing we need sharp scissors
to avoid idiocy .
In love we need needle
and soft thread for extreme care.

In writing im not trustee to sun
if it skating outside of orbit.
In love, be moon’s guard
and the shepherd for all of galaxies
without eyelash… outside night.

In writing put the dots on dots
Make the sky your palms
In woman’s head… that woman
If The sun suddenly raided her

In writing you have to burn
the dry leaves around you
then carve from that ashes, hope’s tool.
Snowman without gloves.
In love to put your hand
In the pocket of the snowman
To pull a bunch of fresh charcoal
and matchstick .. incendiary language
There is a woman ,
That woman …. Frost kills her.

In writing to sweep the clouds
from your lowest sky.
In love to remove all titles
And you also write on a stone that you left behind.
Leave without destination.

In writing it depends….
To mute the moments of breath
untill you scream inside, like the flute inside water.
In love don’t say anything
while you are resort to heavy noise

In writing…
To give morning some dress,
Serrated memory and floral robe
And colorfull balloons
And a gray field.
In love to undress things.
To take off from her foot
That woman .. her light sandal
to enjoy the goldfinches jump
without trying to pull anyone from them.
Outside of the woman

In writing .. to believe in you
In love….. to believe of her
©® BOUTI MED.



110.
Poem: “Human”
Poet: Juraeva Aziza Rakhmatovna
From: Uzbekistan.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

I am but a helpless human being,
So many trials have passed over my head.
Sometimes I was right, sometimes mistaken,
Time itself would smile, then weep instead.
I endured it all in silent patience,
My body crumbled like grains of sand.
My enemies laughed at my condition,
They scattered stones along my path.
Through these trials my back was bent,
Yet I carried my dreams within my soul.
Never once did I look behind,
In striving forward, I found strength once more.
©® Juraeva Aziza Rakhmatovna



111.
Poem: “For those who read not”
Poet: indrajit roy
From: India.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

the fact is, days are in touch with gods.
but our metallic,defunct eyes,neon glazed ,
fail to read arrows,ever so soft.

our failed arrows,plunk into the gods library ,
the quiet books cry,

‘coz only books can see, the god of fishes ,walk through ,
the god of rain ,
to reach the market before dawn-
to be sliced up for steaks , served to those ,
who have never seen the god of books.
©® indrajit roy



112.
Poem: “The Beauty of Water in Blue”
Poet: Iftekhar Hossain Siddiqui
From: Bangladesh 🇧🇩..
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Water seeks its kindred water, and in their mingling finds its peace;
the moon, unseen, commands the ebb and flow, and the lonely world submits.
Upon the sea the vessel drifts; the river smiles in its flowing waters,
while those who have lost both shores speak the language of sorrow.
Age after age, men have waged their wars around the waters;
but when humanity itself is defeated, its wound shall endure.

Three parts of the world are water, and one part is earth;
thus creation wears its fairest blue in the mirror of the deep.
O Lord, Thou hast made even waters of different hues draw near,
that what is diverse may meet without ceasing to be itself.

So may the rivers of our hearts, though wandering by different ways,
find their destined confluence in Thee.

For water knows what the proud heart forgets: to flow is to surrender,
and in surrender the river finds the boundless.
©® Iftekhar Hossain Siddiqui



113.
Poem: “The Bicycle”
Poet: Sohrab Pasha
From: Bangladesh 🇧🇩.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

Leaves fall before the season of falling.
Somewhere, the bell of being and not-being
echoes in the distance.

Light breaks into hollow words.
Across the yellow fields of late autumn,
winter-stricken mist and fallen leaves take flight.
Life walks on— alone, without a destination.

Dreams, too, are drowned in the clamour of coins.
A worn, forgotten bicycle offers no warning to the road.
The barbed wire of a birth-blind path—
whom shall it seek?
On this bank and the other, fire-seeds burn endlessly.
Gone is the monsoon’s score upon the window.
No jasmine-blooming eyes.
Upon the shore of solitary dreams,
no joyful wind breaks into song.
Without ever learning the language of water,

you search for the far shore in the name of a river.
Still, you keep searching for an afternoon
lit by gentle sunlight.
The lonely bicycle keeps calling.
Translated by Alam Mahbub.
©® Sohrab Pasha



114.
Poem/Story: “Write it as a Palm Tree”
Writer: Abdel Latif Moubarak
From: Egypt.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

The sun was dipping toward the horizon, pouring its liquid gold over the leaves of the trees, when young Mustafa sat on the edge of the irrigation canal, turning a piece of clay between his small hands. His heart was heavy, burdened with the disappointment of a child not yet accustomed to the harshness of days. At school, his classmates had mocked him for his patched robe, and his spirit had snapped like a dry stalk of wheat crushed underfoot.
​At that moment, Teacher Abdel Hamid passed by. He was not just an Arabic language teacher in the village school; he was a wise elder who read the faces of men as one reads the pages of a book. The teacher stopped in his dignified Sa’idi galabeya. His eyes gleamed with the kindness of years, and he looked down at the boy and his broken spirit.
​Teacher Abdel Hamid sat on the dirt beside Mustafa, paying no heed to the dignity of his clothes. He placed a tender hand on the boy’s shoulder and spoke in a voice that resembled the rustling of water in the waterwheels:
— “What ails you, my son? I see you bowing your head to the ground, but the earth does not love those who look at it with humiliated eyes. The earth wants those who tread upon it with a firm step and an eye that pierces the sky.”
​Mustafa wept, and began to tell his teacher of his meager circumstances, of his classmates’ words driven into his chest like thorns, and of how small and weak he felt before everyone else.
​Teacher Abdel Hamid pulled a reed pen and an old notebook from his pocket, which he always carried to jot down his thoughts. He opened it to a pristine, white page, handed the pen to Mustafa, and said to him:
— “Take it, Mustafa, and write a single word in the center of this page that expresses your wish in life… How do you want people to see you?” ​The boy hesitated, then gripped the pen with bitterness and wrote with a trembling hand: “I want to be a bird so I can fly far away from this misery.”
The teacher looked at the word, smiled a smile heavy with noble melancholy, and shook his head in denial. ​The teacher gently erased the word and said:
— “A bird, Mustafa, flies, yes. But it flees at the first harsh wind, seeks shelter if the rain turns heavy, and dies if it leaves its sky. Do not be a bird that is easy to hunt or drive away… Erase it, my son… and write it as a palm tree.” ​The boy looked at his teacher in astonishment, not understanding what a palm tree could mean to a lad who longed for wings to escape. Yet he obeyed his teacher, took the pen, and wrote in firm, black ink: “A palm tree”.
​Teacher Abdel Hamid pointed with his hand toward an old palm tree piercing the sky at the edge of the field—a towering palm that had never bowed despite the passage of years.
He spoke in a language dripping with poetry and sweetness: — “Look at it, Mustafa… The palm tree knows no bowing. Children throw stones at it, yet it does not respond in kind; instead, it drops fresh, sweet, and ripe dates upon them. Its roots beneath the earth dig into the depths of the rock in search of a drop of water, and its crown above the clouds never bends before the storm.”
​The teacher continued his lesson, and the boy listened with every fiber of his being, as if his master’s words were a warm, rural anthem: — “The wind, my son, comes to break the weak trees. But the palm tree sways with the wind in pride, its fronds dancing in the storm as if defying death itself. And when the tempest ends, the palm returns even straighter and more vigorous than before. Be like the palm tree: your life will be lengthened through your honorable memory, the thorns around you will die, you will remain proud, and your fruit will be sweet.” ​That night, Mustafa returned to his humble home, and the hurtful words no longer stung. His old notebook lay open to a single page where he had written, in his own hand: “A palm tree.”
The young boy understood that a patched robe does not diminish a man, so long as the soul is dignified and the spirit is noble. He recalled the words of Teacher Abdel Hamid: “Pride is not bought with money; it is built with dignity, knowledge, and rising above petty grievances.” ​The days ran their course, and many years went by. Teacher Abdel Hamid passed away, and the earth of the village he so loved welcomed him into its embrace. Mustafa grew up, left the village, and studied at the university. In his life, he faced storms far harsher than those of the countryside; he encountered the injustice of men, their plots, and the pressures of modern life that attempt to break a man’s will to turn him into a submissive servant.
​Yet every time he felt weak or felt the urge to surrender, he would open the vault of his memories, glimpse the dark face of his teacher, and hear his warm voice saying: “Write it as a palm tree.”
​Mustafa became a writer and a teacher esteemed by all. He never bowed before a title, nor did he sell his pen for worldly gains. He defended the truth with firmness and repaid grievance with benevolence, exactly like the palm tree that drops dates upon those who cast stones at it. ​One day, as he sat in his elegant study in the capital, a young student came to him, weeping and complaining of the harshness of circumstances and the injustice of those around him. In the pupil’s eyes, Mustafa saw the very same broken spirit he had once carried on the edge of the canal.

​Mustafa, the pupil of yesterday, smiled. He reached into his drawer, pulled out a pen and a notebook, opened it to a blank page, handed it to the weeping student, and said in a tone steeped in the spirit of Teacher Abdel Hamid and the scent of authentic Egypt: ​— “Take it, my son… write on this page how you want life to shape you… and beware of seeking to collapse or flee… erase all words of weakness… and write it as a palm tree… and live all your life in pride.” ​The student looked at the word, while the soul of Teacher Abdel Hamid smiled in the sky of the distant village, seeing that the seed had blossomed into a new palm tree that would never bend.
©® Abdel Latif Moubarak



115.
Poem: “Two Shadows Sharing One Bed”
Poet: Zulfiqar Hamdam Awan
From: ?.
Primelore Published Date: 25 August Tuesday 2026.

At night,
the room becomes smaller than our doubts.
Your coat hangs from the chair,
mine from the nail beside it,
two ordinary lives
waiting for morning.

You sleep facing the wall.
I lie awake
counting the soft machinery of your breathing,
wondering when a shared bed
became two countries
with no border between them.

Yesterday,
you brought home three oranges.
You placed them on the table
as carefully as if they were fragile promises.
I peeled one.
You laughed at the way
the juice ran down my wrist.

For a moment,
there was no question
about where I ended
and where you began.

Then morning came
with unpaid bills,
a cracked cup,
the landlord’s footsteps
on the staircase,
and that old silence
returning to sit between us.

We have learned
the small economics of love:
half a loaf,
one blanket,
the last spoonful of sugar,
your shirt mended at the elbow,
my shoes repaired
instead of replaced.

Sometimes I wonder
if poverty has made us closer
or merely taught us
how to disappear beside each other.

You say,
“Tomorrow will be easier.”
I do not ask
whether you believe it.
I hear your hands
folding the children’s clothes,
one sleeve inside another,
as though order itself
might protect them.

Outside,
the city spends its bright money,
windows glowing above us,
cars passing with their private weather.
Inside,
we share the electricity
between one lamp and two faces.

You turn toward me.
Neither of us speaks.
Your fingers find mine
beneath the blanket,
not searching for an answer,
only checking
that I am still here.

And perhaps this is love:
not knowing
where your loneliness ends,
not knowing
where my fear begins,
yet making room
for both of them
without asking either to leave.

Before sleep,
the moon slips through the curtain
and lays one pale shape
across the bed.

For a while,
there are no two shadows.
Only one
quietly holding
the place
where both of us
belong.
©® Zulfiqar Hamdam Awan

Thanks all participants from global, Also thanks all our readers.
Reaching the historic 100th edition of Primelore Writer’s Heaven is a dream brought to life by your inspiring words.
We extend our deepest gratitude to all 115 extraordinary poets from around the world for sharing their brilliant voices with us.
Your passion, creativity, and dedication have turned this platform into a truly global sanctuary for poetry.
Thank you to every reader and contributor for being an invaluable part of this incredible milestone.