Three Poems by Ana May

The Vast World Hurts

I don't feel safe in this world.  

Helicopters frighten me —  

and the word "shelter."  

Like a child… just like that —  

small,  

screaming inside me: "help."

Behind my glasses,  

tear-stained eyes — I hide them in a crowd,  

in an impossibly hot June, once upon a time.  

Anxiety tears at my soul.  

Reality  

instills  

fear.  

I hear the word "drone" more often than  

my own name.  

Unfortunately, alas, from now on.  

What will become  

of us?! (Well, of course — a rhetorical question).  

My vers libre pulses,  

prolonging, perhaps, an author's lifespan.  

Will they become, in form,  

aligned with the times?  

I will spend everything the Russian language has.  

Go back —  

into the past —  

for a while — to find inspiration there.  

Because in the present, there is nothing to rejoice about.  

And not through the back door into the future —  

passing through all obstacles.  

To reduce  

pain to nothing,  

and to let tears of happiness fall from eyes —  

someday.  

Let fire scorch my face,  

let unease cut through my stomach —  

I will bring  

pain to the cross.  

Its details — in verbs,  

in whose endings  

a whisper of a scream and quiet weeping hide.  

The vast world hurts.  

Waiting for that very path home —  

where, at last,  

the sky is peaceful above,  

and in our hearts — peace lives.  

Literature — The Mother of All Arts

The foundation  

of all human experience,  

shaping  

our understanding of the world,  

of ourselves.

As children, we begin  

to discover the world by interacting  

with our first books.  

We learn to read, to write, to understand.  

Later, we become  

children of the classics,  

reading the great works of the world.

Everything begins with the word —  

the highest form of human development.  

Art, like a magic vessel, fills with words  

born of literature,  

which brings it to life and  

gives it meaning.

Literature,  

like magic,  

transforms personal experience into  

universal meaning.  

And us — like sparks —  

it connects  

in a shared search for essence and understanding.

Literature  

is a powerful  

unifying  

force in society.  

Works of literature —  

like interwoven threads —  

weave the fabric of culture,  

traditions, and  

values of peoples,  

connecting past with present and  

bestowing a future.  

Every word, every line —  

like the beating of a heart  

on the ECG of the literary field.

Literature —  

the breath of the night sky,  

where each text is a star  

that shines,  

illuminating the road of life  

with wisdom and beauty.  

This art demands attention,  

reflection, and —  

importantly — dialogue.  

Engaging with works  

from different eras and  

styles  

helps us understand  

how humanity has changed,  

what values we have inherited, and  

toward what goals we strive.  

By nurturing in ourselves  

a love of literature,  

we lay the foundation  

for future generations,  

who will be able to continue this tradition.  

There is no more beautiful sight  

than a person with a book.

Literature  

is not just an art —  

it is an essential part  

of our social and cultural consciousness,  

the foundation for the development and  

understanding of the human being.  

It is oxygen.  

Caring for literature,  

preserving it and nurturing it —  

this is our responsibility  

to future generations and  

to ourselves.

The foundation  

of all human experience,  

shaping  

our understanding of the world,  

of ourselves —  

is the word.

Catch a Cold Souls

Souls are chilled —  

in them, the pain of the age:  

viruses and wars.

We must know: a cold can be cured —  

the prescription is written by writers and poets,  

turning pages  

of tender silence,  

romantic melancholy,  

languid loneliness.

A text is a second pseudonym —  

equivalent to breathing.

Even though pain leaves its traces in the heart:

Do not run from pain.  

Live through it.  

You are not unbearably stifled. Breathe.

Admit that today  

the pain in your chest,  

the one that clenches your heart —  

is an important step.

The first medicine —  

acceptance.  

And then —  

breathing again,  

though with an amber aftertaste of fear.

The second — living through it.  

Not silencing it,  

but embracing it.

Every wound  

will heal.  

Yes, it will leave scars on the heart —  

but it will heal.

A writing person is the link  

between truth and freedom of speech.  

A writer or poet is a bridge  

between time and the people.

In the architecture of words lie not only truth and power,  

but also healing.

The writer helps not only others,  

but also themselves:

*You are you.*  

And this is the beginning  

of your healing.

Author Portfolio:

Makhmutova Alina Railevna

Pen name: Ana May

Russia, Republic of Tatarstan, Kazan.

Author of three books. Poet, writer, photographer. He writes poetry in verlibra or free verse. Prose in the genre of auto-fix.

- Member of the Organizational Council of the International Literary Association "Creative Tribune" (ILACT)

- Responsible for the organization of the Friedrich Schiller International Literary Contest

- Alumna of literary schools: BAND, Creative Writing School

- Graduate of the RUDN University program "Russian Literature of the 20th–21st Centuries"

- Graduate of the University of Pennsylvania program "Modern and Contemporary American Poetry"

Laureate of international and Russian literary prizes. Awarded diplomas and certificates for contributions to the development of world literature and the strengthening of international creative ties. Recipient of medals for contributions to the development of Russian literature

Published in various editions across:

Russia, USA, France, Spain, Italy, Albania, Israel, England, India, Turkey, Bangladesh, Tajikistan, Australia, Mexico, Colombia, Africa, Bir Tawil, Greece, Iraq. 

Works have been translated into multiple languages.