1.
I left, Shurqurghon remained
[1]Leaning at the thoughts
The oaks hardly kept
From crying of shame
I came back
Now I’m a very important person
Changing their robes
The trees ran
To the edge of the roads
With their hands
Crossed down.
[1] Shurqurghon[1] - the village I was born in.
2. A LANDSCAPE
In the blue air its curtain the dawn is spreading,
On to the land endless rays with sparkle are falling.
Wiping its eyes the wind is running,
In the dew a lazy tender grass is bathing.
Make up a dandalion is doing.
Golden may bugs are singing,
Into water a bee is jumping,
On the bank forty girls
are running, hands holding.
An ant is carrying a seed along,
Where is it going early morning?
Watching all, the flower bud is opening
Its mouth wide with a shock striking.
3. MY EYE
My eye is a thousand eyed boiling spring,
Around its edges poplars are growing.
Over its edges water is flooding running,
Over its edges falling woes are flying.
This spring is a blind and helpless revolt,
Of its songs its streams are aware right.
For these days shedding tears openly I ceased,
Everywhere my blindness might not be noticed
As long as there is oppression in the world still,
Not ceasing a thousand eyed spring boils still.
Now into my stomach the tears are running,
Without being aware where they are flowing.
4.
Falling in love deeply
I was ruined entirely
Each forty lives of mine alone
I’ve given to a grass and stone.
My mission in this world
Seems to come to an end,
There’s nothing left for me to do in life
Than to share broken hearts’ pains in life.
5.
A curtain over the garden a velvet night is hanging,
Against the flies a mulberry tree is guarding.
Against the tree the moon is slowly leaning,
An apricot- a bride, its white gown is wearing.
Of the leaves care taking and flirting,
At the moon the wind is blowing, fanning.
In a boat like flower bowel an ant is lying,
Into the water a beetle is jumping, diving.
Over its head the flowers it is throwing,
From joy a grasshopper is singing, chirping,
Its mouth opening wide and without waiting
Its turn, the frog is singing, cwack-cwacking.
The dragon fly is a disobedient dancer, flying,
With its tongue the flower bulb it is licking.
Drunk with the world a dizzy moon, crawling,
In the dawn into its bedroom it goes, fading.
6.Down my heart is spilling
From a nameless feeling.
In my embrace free birds dreaming,
Wake up from their sleeps, singing.
Stealing somebody’s peace
I enjoy breaking his peace.
Into light my nights would turn
From picturing the endless dream.
(translation from uzbek into English Qosim Mamurov)
