Taj-Mahal
Baburians began the period of renaissance of Central Asia in India.
Жавоҳарлал Неру
(epic poem)
I
The dawns do prayers
to morning wind
The power is
in quietness of hardship.
The witness of the holy –
Love of Jamna
Is worshiping
the faith with weep.
In the cradle
of an eternal greenery,
Worrying crops are
telling prayers.
In a green Indian garden
like love,
The fate of two couples
finds peace.
The memorial is
world’s love crown,
The love does praying
in its dress hems.
The heart of flowers
burnt from this fire
Is seeking the truth
from their fairy-tales.
Hey, love’s fate!
How attractive you are,
The unforgettable ink
of evil recollections.
Around are weak sighs
of Shahjahan Mirza,
Who is not getting used
to the separations.
From the layers
of unexpected souls,
there the tender feelings
rise their heads.
From the edges of grieves
unable to house,
There flooding out
is bitter and bitter tears.
On the ground the darkness
is laying its net,
From the sky are coming
the heaven’s armies.
The days suffering
from the tortures of love,
Are coming up to you
for sharing their secrets, yes.
How well love’s charm
decorates you, darling,
The stars pay fees
for dating each night above.
The entrance made of gold,
crowns – of diamond
May crown welcome
the wreath of love!
II
The winter shall not sprinkle
its poison here,
From heat the Indian
will become weak.
Seasons will not
change green is ruler
On this land any anger
will melt, seek.
From heat the banana fields
grow damp,
From plantations are
reluctant to flee.
The wind its hands
blackened from the sun,
Smooth the white body
of a palm tree.
Opening its souls
to such unusual days,
Beautiful Ardjumand
is gathering the dowry.
A feeling is heating
her soul and body,
She had dreamt
of a divine love being merry.
She wanted to face
directly at fate’s eyes,
What is inscribed
in her soul steppe’s fate?
There came a saint
from Fotihpur Secry,
Seeing the lines of the fate
he began to read.
Is if someone poured
cold water on the head,
To say a word she was
dumb and shocked.
Having been a fortuneteller
he regretted,
The girl’s fate was
soothsaying to be marked.
From the sad silence
he is looking a way out,
This lady had cost
a high price for history
The future dawns are
filled with eternal honor ,
But with other name
you’ll find pleasure, merry.
The love you will share
with honor, dear
May the mortal country
present you happiness…
The long caravan of the time
has felt well,
The saint is telling
words perspiring sweat.
How can she tell:
to be a famous in the world,
Death comes to your entrance
trampling its feet.
Your love, faith,
charming death-sad mourn
Presents to the world
a memorial – a crown.
III
The flag carries
the liberty and honor,
In the fire
the Motherland nightmares.
Turn into ruins
quite all at once,
The flower-gardens
with full breast.
Sometimes the foes
occupy the land,
Sometimes the battles
are for honor.
The Boburiyans fighting
for the crown
Sometimes would
murder one another.
Whenever Mirza took
a ride anywhere,
He’s escort was
Arjumand – lionhearted.
The woman’s soul
was a secret, the sea,
She was not afraid
of any death, bad.
In Ajmir, Dekkon
and in Registan ,
The angel was her
sharer, her Ram.
During the trip
to Kashmir city,
She entertained,
calmed Hurram.
The hard, endurable
days of the exile
In the shrubby
fields and woods.
The Princess wearing
boost with Shah
Walked in the caves
with web soot’s.
She was holding
shah’s hem like a child
It was a soul that
was hurt by pure love.
She was followed
by a flaming shadow
The bodyguard angel
with charm bow.
The cloud was swimming
on a green sky
The storm can not
blockade her goal.
Her dreams are higher
than herself
Hurram is consenting
with her soul.
The battles are not free
from danger,
The Shah said
to her beloved impatient.
—the trip is dangerous,
stay in the castle,
Having done
we shouldn’t regret, lament,
her eyelashes are arrows,
ready to shoot,
she is aiming,
targeting at his adore.
the fire torment is
flaming in her heart
the tear pearls are
running down more.
where should I have
a rest and relax,
if I am unaware
of the state of your soul.
if thorns sting
into your breast hard
With my lashes
should be able to pull.
If you are detained
in the dungeon
If there was no news
from your side.
Why should I need
the luxurious life
Without you being
with me the light!
While passing
across the rivers,
He hardly fell
in the trap of death.
The calamity fell
hard on her head,
On one of those
difficult days.
When an elephant
was crossing Orissa
Its legs were said
to have slipped, clear.
It went into rage
splashing the water
The beauty Moh
flew into the river.
The wild river was
running with roar,
The water pulls
the preys into its breath.
Being energetic and
committed like him
A brave servant saved
her life smooth.
Like an eagle
clawing its lusty prey
The river foams
thirsty for blood.
Argumand has
escaped from death,
The Shah sat
from fear, shocked.
IV
Love drops down
from her fingers
As if a loveless world
is a gold cage.
As if fish is thirsty
in the water
It misses in each second
with rage.
From the soul garden
of Khurramshah
Is picking
the bright flowers of love.
The rays of these flowers
like a candle
Are lighting
her black nights above.
When Mirza leaves
for a battle field
Coping hundred verses
from Quran.
And ties like a talisman
on his robe
Without him noticing
in early dawn.
The moon in the sky
pities her
No rest Moh gives
to the stars.
The sleeping armies
can not capture
Him who makes
prayers at nights.
Her eyes burn
with flames,
Out run fears
and grieves, riddle.
It is not life
without Hurram, says
Having laid
her feelings in a cradle.
Should love be said
so caressing
Is it to do sacrificing?
of one’s spirit
From the claws
of this big flame
Can’t the patience
crawl out the limit?
V
That brave angel
was so courageous
She was as energetic
as the river
She would not hurt
any animate,
She had become
kind, pitiful ever.
She did hunting
for pleasure,
She was a bower,
a sharp shooter.
once having hunted
she regretted
Fruits of sorrow
she picked, bitter.
For the sake of wishes
she cries bitterly,
Aiming at the mother deer
she shot.
The milk is dropping
from her breast,
soul was burnt,
burnt was her heart.
At the eyes
of the poor animal
Dying with fear
she stared hard.
Her feelings
noticing something
Made a regret
breaking her heart.
The mother deer
gazed with sigh,
The tears are pleading
in her eyes.
A bitty fruit
of unhappiness
– Her baby
Was left in her cave,
sighed voices.
At the moment
she felt the tragedy
As if the blood
ceased in her vein.
When she felt
orphan’s cold eyes,
Her soul came
to her throat in stain.
VI
From the sky
descended happiness a lot,
In the сharts
of the clouds of his dawn.
Dressed in a gold crown
glistening
Hurram is burning
for dream of crown.
Allah has the bestows
pouring down
There come flowers
to congratulate.
The voice of pride
raises is head high,
From mutiny
a love feeling is born great.
She who was
a companion in the deserts
Moh was a secret sharer
of grieves, all.
From the flood
of love to Argument
He presented the award
“Mumtoz-Mahal”.
Her sorrows and
woes Mumtoz had left,
Housing all in the cover
of a sunflower.
To lead a life
of the mournful days
She burnt in the oven
named the past ever.
Suddenly she
remembers the saint
Smiling she
tells herself too:
—What’s this fate,
my name has changed?
The words of the Saint
are coming true.
To become famous
in this world now
What should I do
to realize my dream?
Something is causing
trouble to my soul
But may it be a hint
for goodness scheme!
When love is
running in her body
She was pleased
with her life, so merry.
Her dreams were
higher than herself,
There was no death
in her vocabulary.
VII
The world is
anxious like a soul
The riots, mutiny
wouldn’t end.
The tortures live
continuously,
With blood
the swords don’t feed.
Fed up with
murderous battles,
Shah was ready
to ride to Burkhanpur.
A pregnant angel
bodyguard
Followed him
like shadows hanker.
Her pains are
hurting her still
Her wounds
haven’t healed yet.
Since falling down
from the Elephant
Her fear hasn’t gone
far away, bad.
The roads were
zigzag, stony, dusty
Full of dangers were
the battle in turn.
To the hardly light
burning in site
But the brave couldn’t
say to return.
The mercifulness
cost expensive
The virtues were
equal to ages, sad.
From the edges
of his painful heart
There ran out,
a thousand regrets.
At dawn shah had
Seen a strange dream,
A tender grass
bathes in the dew.
From the heaven
angles descend
There fall pearls,
a lot, not few.
There is fragrance
scattered around
The feelings are aflame
like flowers.
The flowers are shaking
as drunkard,
The world is waving
in wonders.
Being drunk
from love’s wine
Holding Mumtoz
by her hand.
The mounts are
lower than souls
The road challenges
to the sunset.
At once the cloud
covered the sky
It thundered with
lightning today.
The existence leaped
with fright,
The trembling ran
over shah’s body.
The storm stopped,
when his looked
She has turned
into a beautiful swan.
She was dancing
under the moonshine
And she was singing
stirring at dawn.
The swan was
singing melancholy,
From her firing woes
and groans.
The earth and heaven
burnt in fire
Till the melody
ended with moans.
Then swan said
farewell, so long
And disappeared
in the darkness.
The helpless shah
riding a dream horse
Became bent
from misfortune, grieves.
What a nightmare is it
the shah trembled
What deed is this hint for,
what it means?
The smell of misfortune
comes from it
The grieved tells
the water his dreams.
Before its death
like a nightingale
Swan would sing
sadly the songs.
The mounts and
stones would melt,
From its melancholy
melodies.
The agony fallen
in the bottom of its heart
Even wealth, crown
would not melt, yes.
In the silence
a mischievous anguish,
Stands motionless
not swinging lashes.
Being unable to lift
the crown of two gladness
The world would reveal
its self-awareness.
On the gold crown
of love in the Castle
A horrible fate is expecting
for him, sadness.
VIII
Its fire and flame
the sun would blow,
Having climbed top
of heated poplars.
From dryness
the ground would dang,
From thirst seek
water the green trees.
Sweat would drop
tick- tick like rain
The existence would drop
in the shade.
Month and day has come
for Mumtoz
To bear a bitter pain
of giving birth, so bad.
A black cloud
has covered the sky
Is a decree issued
from the heaven?
It poured so much
like cats and dogs,
There stirred a horror
so strange even.
The birth pain reveals
of bitter death,
like a leaf from the fear
the soul trembles.
Moh is battling for
in the life of war
To seek an opportunity
for endurance.
Black dreams
would be surrounding,
She throws herself
from side to side.
She was well aware
of birth pains,
Bearing a birth is equal
to death beside.
She is seeking help
from each sound,
She sees nightmares
in the darkness.
At once Into her dream
there comes,
The mother beer
trembling from sadness.
The beer staying
its breast red with blood
The tears hardened
on its eyelashes.
In her eyes there is
an agony of regret,
Its whole body is full
of sighs and vows.
It says : - this is a world
of repayment
What have you found
killing the beer, sad?
For my child who’s left
weeping that time,
May you experience
my fate, cursed I had.
—Like a human being
I’m a sinner too,
Forgive me; my soul is
full of fire, beer.
Without me there
how Shahjahom lives
I’m worried about
my children, dear.
The world accounts
for the deeds
Why the repent
is returned so express.
I used to be arrogant,
the mercy and pity
I had not recognized
at that time, not best.
The men, stonehearted,
severe and angry
You have not felt
my state, it’s a pity.
May the fruits of your love,
loved ones,
Eat the flesh of one another,
it is bitter!
Making much terror
into the darkness
The beer has disappeared
into the cloud.
Moh was left
in the trouble of hesitation,
Feeling the voice
of death over her head.
Trembling the earth,
sky vomit blood,
The wind is weak
to calm her down.
The princess is losing
strength, weak,
There is no use
for making hope alone.
The rain is reciting
of holy words
The storm is vowing
and reciting the pray,
The baby is born
to bring misfortune,
To his mother who
is passing away.
The girl is born,
but this visit there
Brings no happiness
to a corner either.
The Moh is sinking
into the sky
Pressing on life
bedding like a razor.
—Hurram, she said
at a loss of rage,
Be quick let him
come up to me, fast.
The life is saying
farewell to me.
The death is targeting
my soul, at last.
This notice was sent
by a messenger
The shah arrived fast
like the wind.
The fear has sired
so fast the moment
When he reached Moh
he collapsed.
The beloved’s hair
was spread down,
In her eyes
there wanders a hazard.
From the steps
of the suspicion
The shah smells
the separation, worried.
-The shah of my soul,
the powerful sultan
Will your dawn be light
without me?
My dreams had been
so green still
The dry leaves are
ready for ruling, see.
By smashing, tearing
the lovely soul,
Reciting the prayers
in the dawn, ever.
May you pray
for the sake of love
There is no death
for love at all, never.
May the separation
stallion never
Eat up your life
till the end.
Build monuments
of our love,
May it be a bouquet
of faith on land!
Let it make
the sun’s rays prayer-cloth
Let the ray shine
in its entrance.
Let the burned
brokenhearted days
Make the love’s feet
their prayers.
The server opened
the door slowly,
Peeped carefully
into the room, looked.
By holding the white hands
of the swan,
Shohjahon is lying
below shocked,
From such
unexpected losses eternally
The color of the night
had faded on the way.
The place from where came
the paradise smell
Had gone flying
Mumtozbergim for away.
Why she put her soul
in hazard and fear
Who had died
thirteen folds already, mum.
Are the children
the fruits of my love
Or the signs
of devotion to Hurram.
(Who knows in future
these flowers decide,
would grow
a mother-killer or patricide.)
IX
Jamna rolls from grief
She groans her collar wet.
Crying she beats at its banks
A lot of sorrow in her heart.
It came to say
farewell today
Basils yellowed
from grieves.
Are seeing off
to the last way,
By waving
their handkerchiefs.
Being obedient
like sinners
The tree tops
being so low.
The whole India
did swung,
Their souls burned
from sorrow.
The shah vows
“Woe, my beloved”,
His tears like
a stream of water.
All beings trembled
from voice,
They closed fast
heir ears harder.
Could not get used
to the fate
Was what I saw
in my dream, said.
Or was a beautiful bird
flew away
From the garden
of Agra, said.
Even when his parents
had died,
They all had not burned
so bitterly.
What a dangerous evil
this fire is
Which would burn
all bones entirely.
Into the sky
Mumtoz ascended,
The music
has become quiet.
In the palace
of Shah’s soul, pity
The love’s story
was left open site.
He would stare
at the full moon,
His suffering
lasted long, no help.
There scattered
his all wishes,
The Shah asks
death for himself.
His beloved was
his soul’s balm
His dark nights were
lit by Moh.
Now would he live
in the darkness,
Embracing
the black nights, oh.
—“Allah”, pity me,
he says
Give me
a little endurance, Almighty.
To me the joy
is alien, disgrace,
Take my heart,
let dogs thrash me
May my heart
like that of Kohinoor
Be hanged
on the gravestone, so.
May separation
be not bestowed
Even on the heads
of my enemy too.
Let me make fire
on the last way
Of the eternal fate
of mounts above.
So much suffering
was inscribed
On the forefront gate
of our love. –
He retreated
to his small room,
Being enslaved
by his grieves.
Dressed in black
the mournful moon,
Visited each night
to see always.
The darkness fell deep
in its dawn,
From its eyes
the sufferings ran crack.
With the hopes
torn into pieces,
It would go
on the greave’s track.
The separation would
raise the sword
The missing –the witched
tortured severely.
His joy had been
destroyed, tramped,
The fall which visited
his garden early.
He had been a leader,
a strong warrior,
He was not afraid,
feared no death.
In the opposite
of his soulless beloved
His endurance
had broken into piece.
—Is death so sudden
like lash raise?
Is our residence
the eternity, o, God?
I was burnt
in the fire of the hell,
Was the hell all right
in that world?
In his heart the wind
roared wildly,
Already eight days
he had eaten nothing.
The mournful India
is numb and quiet,
The grief’s storm
is a wild and evil thing.
His spring would not
bloom now,
The joy is completely
alien for him.
With courage
he went in his room,
Jahonaro—a candle
went out from grief, dim.
Was hardly brought
out into the yard
When the shah
was in difficulty.
Seeing the endeavor
of separation
The palace people
were shocked, pity.
The officials
and beks wondered
The country witnessed,
wondered.
There stood not a guy
of energy but
An old man
with white hair and beard.
At once the earth
and sky cried out
As if the heaven
was torn down, sad.
Somebody was
cursing their love
Which made the shah
be in this state?
From an unexpected
horrible blow,
He scattered like tiny seeds
at the moment.
The hopes of impossibilities
had broken
Him into pieces,
what is the deed?
The hopelessness
would inhale
The passing away
opened his tied eyes,
The grieves shook him
madly, alas
He’d been a star,
now a candle, yes.
By his decree
for two years this land
Had been in mourn,
became mournful.
The end was put
to parties, jolly events
The ruler issued
the strictest decree, full.
Wealthy clothes
would not be put on
in the boxes the jewels
were enclosed.
no fragrance was spread
by basils, flowers
if the wind brings
it would be made lost.
There were a thousand grief
in his eyes,
The nights replaced
the poor days.
The virtues
of two beloved hearts
Became
an eternal song always.
X
“Woe the world,
the mortal world”
You come and
pass once, world,
Display your face
once, world,
Lift your curtain,
face-cover world”.
Its curtain world
would not lift up,
The earth and sky
are in mourn, quiet.
The heart created
from Allah’s love
Should it rotten
in a wooden coffin site.
Neither wealth nor crown
the shah looks
He would go
revealing his soul to the wind.
The separation
is a punishment to a lover
He ran from himself
weeping, no end.
The days passed
like a speedy stallion
The fire of separation
would blaze.
At times in parties
looking at free seats
The shah would sit
shedding his tears.
But the time
named a healer,
Would place properly
in life’s path.
Those grieves became
green eyes
To himself would come
slowly, pass.
The moment the shah
recalled his promise
The hope would dance
in his eyes.
In his heart
there stirred a light of hope,
In his heart’s depth
there came a voice.
- By building a monument
for my angel,
I shall make
my Mumtoz’s spirit glad.
May I spend there
a thousand winters
In the shadow
of the missing, no doubt.
The competition was
declared in all land
To draw the design
of the monument.
The news reached
to all the ground,
The architects came
flowing at the moment.
They came from
the East and West
The famous masters
and stonecutter.
Those who were
the highest professionals
Handicrafts, designs,
carvers and painters.
Hundreds of awards
were gifted to winners
For each project
of the design, with no price.
The master from Bukhara
Muhammad Sharif
Had an upper hand
by winning the prize.
(It might be for this reason
this ancient palace
Might have resembled
to Guri Amir sight.
There in the bell
like carves of the Arch
There are lots of waves
of the Rajasthan site.
What angry, stonehearted
this world is,
It would do
whatever it likes, quilted.
The shah invited
the master architect,
The secret is disseminated
by the wind.
Thinking much, deep
Shahjahon said:
—Your project
has won the competition.
But I have
a condition for you,
It is the condition
hard to recognition.
There is no doubt
this ancient palace,
Is subject to capture
the centuries, fine.
It would spread rays
like the moon
The sun would be
jealous of its shine.
The dawns create
a thousand verses
Under the influence
of the centuries.
Such a palace
would be a priority
May sprit be supporter
for the work, best!
Sorry, to you I cause
a thousand trouble,
Your hands I shall cut off,
I don’t pity.
But I shall bury you
with gold, enough
For your seven generations,
over Almighty.
He gave three days
for thinking,
The masters hope-bud
has faded,
Not tasting the honor
of the wealth,
To return again
to Bukhara wanted.
He could not do
but welcome,
What god decrees
the fate vision!
For him a word
would be extra
The master agreed,
said the decision.
For a new tone
with a new soul
Is it possible
to arrive from darkness?
The great deeds
need sacrifice
What will
this poor humble has.
He could not do
but welcome, the test.
XI
Barsat is a priest
who came to pure
Would bathe all beings
in its basin.
It is a skilful musician,
tunes are fine,
It makes all dances
under its drum then.
In the sky there were
clouds’ caravan
The shepherd –wind
pushes with wishes.
Like the beloved,
his heart filled more,
The sky drops
its feelings by pieces.
The world grows green
from this visit
The existence cleans up
from dirt-dust.
The virgin land sings
thirsty for water
The tree leaves
enjoy merriment almost.
Even the sun takes
vacation in this season
Water runs full
in the creeks and rivers.
The hot stones
give pleasure to the body
The nature is decorated
like Indian girls.
This black rain is pouring
with diligence
For three months
it would not stop yet.
Or there is a hole
in the poor sky,
It could not house
all the secrets, bad.
The land’s aged men
wished good luck
And prayers to begin
the great work, and.
Then said – Oh,
all mass of people
It must be made clear.
at his moment:
To lay the brick
of the monument right
He who does prayers
after the midnight.
And leaves
not a single Nafle prayer
Would lay
this brick right, Almighty.
All round became
quiet as watered,
The silence would
cover all around.
The souls are darkened
as if the heart
Was stumbled
by a wandering cloud.
Down they bent
their heads too,
The arrogant beks
– high officials.
To go out they fear
from Almighty,
The Imams and hajjis
stand in silence.
There is silence
running within
Not a single human
would go out.
Much time passed,
at that moment
Into the centre came
Hurram bit by bit.
A bright streamed
into the hearts,
Suddenly the mass
stirred and move.
With confidence
and love in soul,
All stared at the side
of Hurram now.
Here began
an unusual creation
Guided by the Architect-
Shah this way.
On Indian Land
is a big volunteer work,
All being plunged ahead
night and day.
XII
The praises were read
and recited,
The Castle is ten meters
higher than land
The eyes which saw
would be blind
Its glory would truly charm
all the ground.
In the front
there is a pool - a mirror,
The Charmer Taj*
sees its reflection.
From the sky
the sun pours its rays
Like the tears
of a merry fountain action.
Each flower bloomed
in his garden,
Came to show
sympathy to the ruler.
The heritage left
from the ancestors,
Its famous diamond
like the Kohinoor.
Hangs on it
with the highest pride,
The tombstone (sg`ana)
sparkled bright.
The white marble
is a lucky dream,
The swan sings
grievous songs with might.
That was the day
when Taj-Mahal was built up.
The sadness and agony
came to the last sight.
The shah saw a dream
when the palace ended
On the pool the swan
swam with delight.
Happily Mumtozbegim
was walking
Along the paths
of the garden – the paradise.
In her eyes there is the moon
shining bright
In the wind her dresses
were dancing nice.
From her black hair
there comes
The fragrance
of the paradise flower.
Caressing she glances
at her beloved,
With a thousand prides,
thousand allure.
Sitting on the shoulders
of two lovers,
The nightingales were
singing songs, sure.
—This life originally
is a lotto,
The box is full
of unfamiliar secret.
In order to ride
the horse of luck,
It is necessary
to lose something, sad.
If I don’t leave
you never burn, never
In the flames
of missing far away.
The grieves and
sorrows didn’t drag,
Never in the raptures
of missing way.
The love is eternal,
And is your palace
Would not descend
in any storm.
The destiny
of grieving love calls,
The world will visit
to see us from.
This old shop
is not worthy, never
To your burned looks
by grieves.
For a woman
the blood was vomited
On the night you were
drowned in tears.
If I wasn’t gone,
you’d not erect
The palace worth
of centuries, a sign.
My body would be
covered with earth,
It is eternity –
a sign from the divine.
The lotto is thrown
by lotto-player,
Though we didn’t
digest the fate.
Two crowns can not
be kept equal.
You have to lose
one of them, no doubt.
Close to Sultan
came up Mumtoz,
With jolly tears
as pearls on her neck.
Said, My Sulton,
don’t bent your head low,
Welcome this Toj
- the entertainment, take.
XIII
In the land the battle
was in high swing,
Same is the pleasure of victory.
The annihilations
had not ended yet.
Or the sorrows
of the defeat is much, very.
So tired is the shah
from leading wars
There was no stimulation
for fight, just.
he would distribute
his wealth and power,
What shah desired
were only rest and rest.
The sons were enemies,
fighting for wealth
Between them
there had grown a conflict.
In bitter summer
he waited on the sultanate.
From calamity
the shah was at loss, strict.
The eyes of Aurangzeb
filled with blood
His desire is deep,
multiplied without end.
With anger, devil,
coaxing and deceit,
He had tormented
all his close relatives, bad.
In his sparkling evil eyes,
there is
The hell’s breath
is ready to gulp, pity.
The blood shedding
would raise swords
The fruits of regret
are always bitter.
From the flamed love
of both lovers
Had grown
wonderful bight pearls, lot.
Should be a bloody,
father-cursed?
The behavior got
from garden’s plot.
Should the drug be
the fruit of love?
What an evil sign
it is so better, wrong.
The sons are snakes,
spray their poison,
In this case neither spirit
remains strong.
What might have happened
to the princes?
Should the deer’s curse
had affected them?
See, should four of them
battling for power
Had eaten the flesh
of each other, then.
The world had not seen
such jihad
Since the world
appeared into being.
The heads of them
are the same brothers
Aurangzeb was about
to cut it, seeing.
Swimming in the sea
of grieves, shah,
Had inflected
to a hard sickness, strict.
This surface
of the earth suffered,
And retreated
to immortality, pathetic.
With his deceit
Aurangzeb had taken
His father
for home arrest in Agra
Showing torture
by decree of conviction
Placed him
for a porter to take care
Even a bird
couldn’t approach the Arch.
The anger
of the stonehearted flooded
With kindness of his heart
he had grown,
Could’t come to see
the garden around.
(Let’s not waist time
to reproach Aurangzeb
Do care of the true land,
religion, this bek.
The empire which was
going to rotten.
He had saved
for his canyon people’s sake?
The father was in flame,
broken by love,
He didn’t think
of the empire’s affairs.
To build the Toj
for twenty years period,
He had already spent
half of the riches.
Even when his Tojmahal
was finished,
He was going
to build another one, sad.
From the black marble
on the Jamna
Only then he might be
satisfied, pleased.
May be thinking
of these affair Shahzoda,
Not to put an end
to the fight for rule,
He might have used
this cheating right.
This might hold
some specific wisdom sure.)
The concern in his heart
had not faded.
His Tojmahal he
would like to glimpse.
There comes
the fragrance of both
the rose and that of
missing grieves.
But the unfaithfulness
filled his house,
In his heart the envy
had built a nest.
The grief’d not end,
nor would the rains.
There stirred up storms
in the loving pest.
There were left
the sweet thoughts,
Behind the locks
of the palace Castles.
The flowerlike hopes
were to rotten,
Among the layers
of unlucky dreams.
On the handles
of the Arch’s doors,
The lover of hope
would hang a lot.
It is a space buried
completely alive,
The steams would not
fade away, not.
Sometimes when
the dream rings its bell
On the left bank
of the river Jamna, nice.
Would build a palace
from black marble.
I’d better be in the embrace
of Mumtoz, says.
May white and
black palaces encounter,
May Jumna be a bridge
for them, believe.
The unlucky dream
would not be hard,
The poor would have gone
to her grave.
The grieves in her
were like a river,
The woes had crystallized
in her neck.
From the missing of her eyes
there streams
Out a sorrow
full of missing, so black.
The more the woe grows
the more it tramps.
The castle is high,
long its bars around.
Even not a single crow
can fly into it,
The sparkle of his hopes
had faded end.
The candle of love
is about burning out,
Into the heaven
his thoughts would move.
Aurangzeb might have given
permission
To the brokenhearted
Jahonaro’s * groove.
The white marble,
embracing it’s beloved
Would miss his Toj-Mahal
day and night.
The anger would sigh
like a winged horse,
His groans an woes
would cover the world.
—The dungeon
is a inhuman well,
Each tiny passed in it
is equal to a year, heavy.
I had been a brave man
defeated never
But I was defeated
by negligence and envy.
From the borders
of the lover’s garden,
Come blow, hey,
informer winds at once.
May the rays lighten
my dark thoughts,
May you bring a notice
from my Mumtoz!
From weeping
his tears have dried up,
In his body the sorrows
would tremble.
Having pitied
the relatives and folks,
Would bring
a lens mirror*, a little.
The sufferings
would melt a little,
As soon as he
looked into the mirror.
Close to him came up
the beauties,
To ask about
his health, state, more.
The more he looked
into the mirror
The more his soul
would calm down, be glad.
As if the mirror
would take his suffering,
His sorrows would melt
beyond doubt.
It was only the mirror
he shared secrets with,
To it he would speak
his grieves always, in case.
- For seven years
I have looked at your road,
All my expectation
was the road to Mumtoz.
I was arrested
by the black loneliness,
To run away tied
were my leg and hand.
Both luck and dating
had neglected me,
Please, let me see you
in my dreams, beloved.
From looking into the mirror
all day,
The rays of his eyes
had flown down, alas.
May that stonehearted
red fortress speak,
As a witness
of those dark days, a witness.
The canning grieves
made to go mad
He used to speak
with himself alone.
Night and days he used
to groan and moan,
He would talk
with the spirit of Mumtoz.
The life would reach
to the end of the road,
In dungeon his hopes
would go into pieces.
To strive for there was
no anything for him,
His dreams were left
in the box of secrets.
The grieves would breath
him into their heat,
A ray would challenge him
into the bliss.
He would like to take
a flight to his beloved,
To be far away
from sorrow and grievance.
A ray would challenge him
beyond the sunset.
But hopes were directed
towards the dungeon.
The death came knocking
his door slowly,
The thoughts were left
in the world’s suspicion.
The world had turned
into a dark,
The soul was stuck
in his throat.
The last sighs and
woe of Shohjahon,
On his black pillow
fell downward.
The fortress suffered
much from grief
Released from grief,
slowly silent.
The suffering came
to an ended,
Let his shoulder pits
see to lament.
He had gone quietly
into a dream about,
He ran away from grieves
of eight years.
Now being
next to Argument, eternal
He lay quietly
opening his embrace.
How burning
the story of love affair is,
Could the heart endure
the fire quilted?
telling the story
of the lovers’ grieves
The tears of my eyes
have rolled downward.
XIV
Speaking of pure love
to the periods,
In the process of
five centuries act.
The eternal monument
of faithfulness
Tojmahal has stood
as a love result.
Becoming a less
from sufferings Jamna,
Is an alive witness
of love’s lot, in the land.
For five centuries
it’s been telling a story,
Of live not causing
any tiredness of love, yet.
Within and out
of the enormous palace,
The spirit of Hurram
is still in move about.
The heart which
hasn’t consented to parting
Stream’s out
from the heaven bright…
The breast of Jamna
is a box of secrets
But would not reveal
these secrets in sight.
When the palace building
was finished,
The shah had
architect’s hands not cut, lie.
The palace’d charmed
months with wonder,
Even the night held
its collar of shock,
If see once the flowers
would enjoy rest,
The master’s fate
was in misfortune, not joke.
The shah was aware
no one would endure
Such severe grief
for twenty years, torment.
The master could not
build such a palace,
Either his life or energy
was not sufficient.
But this shah is a lover
with no treatment,
He had loved his beloved
with foolishness.
Even being envious
of his own spirit,
He had been burning
in the fire of jealous.
By decorating and
ornamenting the palace,
The master wanted
to be liked by shah, in case
As if it was
not the marble wall he was
Smoothing
the white body of Mumtoz,
What misfortunes
Shah Hurram suffered,
His heart and soul
broke tearing into part.
The lover’s eyes
were blinded by jealousy,
The sentence was passed
on the architect.
For hardship he suffered
for twenty years
To him this “award”
was thus presented, alas.
The master whose both hands
were cut off,
He would consent
to the destiny at last.
Till the end of his livelihood,
the architect,
Had been wandering
like a spirit in the Castle.
When he died in a corner
of this garden,
He was buried
witnessed by Jumna, better. ..
Through the periods
of battles, conflicts.
The wealth of Toj
had gone lost of blow
The severe people
with an intention of foe
Wanted to destroy
this palace of love.
The robbers robbed
the Arch many times
There remained
only the crown on its top.
As if the bride who
had her dowry robbed,
It was left nude
with nothing to lose, no hope.
May this Taj
was not so magnificent,
Its love fate is more glorious
than itself and.
In it the respect of love
is grandiose,
For woman his word
he did fulfillment.
I feel proud,
my Motherland mates,
Are to make
a beautiful love, so kind.
It isn’t the Indian land
which charmed
The world but
the holy memorial land.
Don’t say the Boburians
are foes, never,
His power developed
these buildings there.
They have ornamented
this land forever,
To do sightseeing
the world pours here.
My Andijan gave birth
to the Great Bobur
It has much virtues,
its soul is full of fire, pity.
The nations of Turon
are saying with pity,
There is no Toj-Mahal
in Andijan city !
The curious world
is longing with a desire,
To see this beauty
of the world once, real.
In my heart there is
a feeling of pride, it is
My grandfathers who
built this memorial.
From all four parts
and corners of Tojmahal
There comes the fragrance
of Great Turon.
In each inscription
of its stone wall
There is the long lost
past of Uzbekiston.
In each dawn the sun
shines the ground,
The Tojmahal sparkles
with gold color above.
When exhausted
there comes the entire city,
To see and listen
to the legend of great love.
The wind recites
the prayers for the dawn,
The sad image
falls in silence endless.
This ancient Castle
developed by love,
Stands its head
touching the sky, doubtless.
translated by Kosim Mamurov, from uzbek into English, English Language professor
