"MY HEART IS WEEPING"

I translated the poetry book by Uktamoy "My heart is weeping" from Uzbek into English. This book published in India, 2009.

1
My pillow is an endurance,
The pillow shares my secrets
On it there were painted
Colorful flowers so bright,
Every evening I water
The sad flowers
With tears of my eyes.
The buds would laugh.
Every night make
A compromise with day
The tolerance ending
The missing leaks tick-ticking.
Scared from this noise
Its flight a butterfly would take
Sitting on the flower
Leaking down a little pool
My tears would make.
Being tired of my grieves
The flowers would joyfully float
On the streams down.
No sign is left
on the pillow
from the flowers, alas.
In the desert of love
I’m still wandering
Its tolerance overfilled
The flood of missing
Would drown me one day.

2
Your thoughts would not let me to live
At nights the missing would scream.
The helplessness would break
My hopes into pieces one by one.
Thinking of you, missing you
Escape your thoughts I would.
How overflowing, stubborn they are.
They would come on
Offensive again and again.
In this battle defeating or failing
Tired I was as a restless wind
Should I not think of your thought
They would break out my heart.
Being thought a thousand times
Its sweet taste has gone
The grieves of the dream not realized
Are stinging heavily at my heart.
Drowning me in your thought
Are you on the seventh heaven, my Prince?
When will you liberate me
From the toils as heavy as pain?

3
A passed day is a memory
There is no way back.
I’m autumn turning yellow like hay
Over my head winter
Is sharpening its sword
The mad heart is longing
For spring to come.

4
DAME’S VIOLET
This flower opens only at night
The dame’s violet would wake up
From the noise of the galoshes’
Shriek-shrieking noise
The flowers would drink
Thirstily the moonshine
From the palms of the night

5
In my spirit the mad night
Is dancing, swaying
On each road I’m running
Being tired looking for you
My heart is flowing
In the mad stream of love.
My eyes would go deep
Into the mud of missing
Into my palms are falling
The woes of the grief wowing
Like the false words of yours
Dropped from the sacks of gypsies

6
A FLOWER TREE
I saw enormous flower trees in India (author)
Capricious flowers are making charm
To their cheeks hands would not reach.
On my breast pressing their breathes
On the lips I would lay my face tight.
For a thousand years no word being uttered
The feeling would seem flooding out.
These trees might be lovers
Whose patience has blossomed
Expecting long their beloved.

7
My missing has grown green
The night is grinding it
In a little mortar
Blending in the rose flowers
I would rest with their leaves
I would like to swing hanging the robe
On the pleasant flavor of serine
I would like to tidy up the hair
Of the rays of the moon right
I’m drowning in your world.
In you my thoughts would sleep.
Wherever you might stay dear
My feelings would blossom there.

8
I would make a pillow
The leaves of the basil
Let the basil know well
The troubles of my soul.
The love is flying,
Its wings slapping.
Come, sprinkle water, rain,
The heart is burning, rattling
That heart-beaker of mine
Would not hear my woes
Being in a far distance
Left its victim
Caught in a trap

Uzbek poets from uzbek into English

POEMS BY ASIM SUYUN
IF YOU KILL
As soon as I was aware of you
I felt the flowers names.
As soon as I was aware of you,
I destined to worship you.
As soon as I was aware of you,
I sensed to nightingales’ songs.
As soon as I was aware of you,
I learned the fates of tears.
As soon as I am aware of you,
My passed life I cursed.
As soon as I was aware of you,
Curious…, hadn’t I lived?
As soon as I was aware of you,
I knew, I was water, clay, air.
As soon as I was aware of you,
I was pleasure, sick and cure.
Asoon as I was aware of you,
I wonder opened my eyes,
As soon as I was aware of you,
I became conscious of myself.
2
Winds started, came storms,
The world was covered with black clouds.
Darkness it is.
ind, storms ended,
The sky cleared, light slowly set.
Whiteness it is.

Wind and light days grew into darkness,
Against the faces the wind blew the dusts,
The eyes became blind,
Darkness it is.

Dark nights became deadly dark,
A light breeze spread over the fields,
The eyes opened,
Whiteness it is. Whiteness.

Oh, love, into my life you entered as ray,
Lead me, it is only you who leads my way!

3
Oh, beautiful are not only days,
Dawns are beautiful, so are the nights.
Flavors are beautiful, so are sounds,
Sadness is beautiful, so are sorrows,
On my breast love is ringing, with laughs
The golden, pink apricots,
Are burning from love’s fire.
In the garden a beloved pomegranate
Is breaking out from love’s power,
On my breast love is ringing, with laughs
Now and then birds are singing,
The sunflowers are swaying,
A little flame the stream is making,
Could the day be so lightly shining?!
On my breast love is ringing, with laughs
Hey, willow, your head is always down,
When will you raise it upright?
The alive would not weep all life,
Be my friend, and let’s go, come on,
On my breast love is ringing, with laughs
Oh, beautiful are not only days,
Dawns are beautiful, so are the nights.
Flavors are beautiful, so are sounds,
Sadness is beautiful, so are sorrows,
On my breast love is ringing, with laughs

4
Why have I met you, deep?
Life seems eternally lasting.
There is only light, no darkening,
In your eyes love is burning.

Why have I met you, deep?
Life is target, hunter is this world,
Magic sleep resides in your heart.
In your eyes love is burning.

Why have I met you, deep?
You are both - kind and unkind,
Life is honey, life is poison,
In your eyes love is बू।

POEMS
by Khosiyat Rustamova
ON TO THE TABLE I BROUGHT BREAD
On to the table:
I brought bread,
Tea in the teapot.
Meal in the pot.
Only you are left to wake up,
Only left you are to wake up.
In and out of your room I run quick,
Gabriel Marquis is there lying weak.
From under the red-flower-blanket
Your fingers are seen lying out.
More colorful seems your world
A thousand times than this world.
But Santiago himself alone,
Is making the murdering known.

I WOULD SEND A PHOTO
Meanwhile I would send a photo,
Translated, but spiritless is the photo.
Enclosed a two lined letter in the photo,
As bright as my love it is shining.
Carrying my spirit my body is flying.
Heaven is there nearing.
Here it is the landing.
My heart feels: there in front of the photo,
A Columbian can’t pass without bowing low.

Poems
by Quchqor Norqobil
***
Time is gone,
Is gone a blooming season of life,
In the race of life,
The time I’ve won,
Each day of mine spent,
Is occupied by your mind.
For your sake I’ve lived,
The time thus I’ve forgotten.
Spring used to come back,
As beautiful, gorgeous… look!
In any case this world,
Is not complete, I know.
Sometimes if I say
I am not happy,
The eyes of yours,
Would sob in my eyes, dear …

TRUTH
Poet, don’t write lies, lie not,
A bullet flies like a bird not.
The wounded soldiers are aware,
The bird flies like a bullet never,
For history and honor of mankind,
The cannon was created by man’s mind.
Out the cannon should be fired (smoke in the mouth),
Fall down heaven would not.
What was the victim of war?
Was a difficult question so far.
In thought I fell deep…
A soldier’s grave replied in brief:
“I had died earlier
Than my father”.


POEMS by Uktamoy

SNOW IS FALLING

From your eyelids snow is falling,
The missing paths it is covering.
The snow I sweep with my lids,
Under these sorrows being smashed.

Into my heart the snow would fall,
The days would become colder at once.
The poor missing would plead,
The game is lost by a worthless lot.


In you soul its colors the world changes,
Is the feeling pure which you’ve trusted?
Your days are gone on feasting,
My days are gone on fasting.

Both the revenge and missing
Would shake hands smiling.
In the season of fires
I keep quiet off the fires.
Oh, the snow, falling on my face
Do you know my value I will face.


MY EYE IS A THOUSAND EYED BOILING SPRING

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.



THE SUN BEING TIRED

The Sun being tired
Started to gather
And put its flamed sticks
In its saddle sacks,
Those spades and diggers
With cracked ankles,
Having returned tired,
From the field,
Leaning against the flowers,
Are washing their dusted faces.
Being bored all day
The evening flowers,
Having tuned
Their decorated
Red horns
Are whistling at the sky
Inviting to a jolly dancing,
The glittering stars,
Free bellies of heaven
Impatient trees,
Would applaud,
Clapping it
With all their might.
Their job is to watch
Not only the day,
But also at nights too.
But the moon is heavily
Dancing, moving,
At the music of the dawn.
On the earth there are lovers.
On the Stage of the sky,
There are angels.
The morning rose,
The Sun rose,
Carrying its flamed sticks.
If it sees our naughtiness,
It is sure to punish us,
No comment is required thus,
Said heaven warning us,
The stars went in,
One by one,
The blue stage
Has become empty
As if sprinkled
With water ,
The singers are gone too
Carrying their horns
And flutes on their backs.


POEMS BY MATNAZAR ABDULHAKIM

DATING
The mature beauty of yours alone,
From passion I would like to define.
But before you I feel fully helpless,
Powerful words become powerless.

Though I have been longing for you,
I have never expressed my love to you.
To breath the same air with you
Is a great happiness for me, dear.

A glance you make at me at least,
With light the soul will be filled …,
To see you only once in this world
Is worth to come and leave this world.

A LUCKLESS DREAM (11)

If I could sing jolly songs about you,
Calling you a flower, flirt with you.
Alas, you are not a flower, but a fire,
If I hold my hands will burn, entire.

About you to speak or to sing no one dares,
Who dared their voices burnt from the fire.
It is only clowns, who play with fire,
Out of their mouths they sprinkle the fire.

IT IS NOT A JOKE

Look! A white mulberry they are striking,
All around is covered with mulberry falling.
People are enjoying the mulberry eating,
The tree is suffering from the stick striking.
Ibodulla Ergashev
EVERY MOMENT OF LIFE
***
Understanding the interest separately from duty and responsibility or having inclination for it leads a man not to virtue but, on the contrary, to egoism.
***
Education is not only learning, but it is also application of what is learned. Only in this case it will yield fruits.
***
Unhappiness is not sensing the happiness.
***
Hopelessness, dependence and laziness are the guarantees for unluckiness.
***
If your communicator possesses his personal “I”, seek for his talk.
***
Striving to resemble an angel is a sign of “nothingness”.
***
A man who is unaware of his dignity does not perceive the dignity himself.
***
Strive for things more than enough will cause more concerns.
***
Strive for happiness is good, not to strive is bad, but complete dependence on it is unhappiness itself.
***
It is easier to speak of fairness than to observe it.
***
In order to accomplish fairness it is not enough to speak only of it, but it is also necessary to know the ways how to realize it and to display strictness about it.
***
I would like to remain in their memories like they have imagined me.
***
It is better to keep silent than to make sins by speaking of a person whom you know not.
***
Laughing is not only grinning. A man may have inclination for smiling heartily even though he looks very serious.
***
I am both my own friend and my foe for myself.
***
Don’t forget that the man who tells you today that he is your friend is likely to become your foe tomorrow.
***
If you don’t want to loose your friend, keep to the limits in mutual relations.
***
Living is to be in activity, to help others, and through it you will benefit yourself.
***
The cry of a newly born baby is his first reaction to the impact of a new environment.
***
It is natural that when a man comes into this world crying, but for a man to leave this world crying is his tragedy (weakness).
***
Life is both short and long. Its shortness reveals itself in leading life without leaving anything behind, without any traces. It’s longness is the virtue you have succeeded to accomplish. This is what guarantees the continuity of life.
***
Be a companion not to a man whose only concern is his stomach, but to a man who raises humanism and dignity very high.
***
Loneliness is not only to remain alone.
***
A man who loves “arrogance” will be a narrow minded and persistent, as a rule.
***
It is better to avoid such a living being who wants always to keep silent, approves and applauses what his partners say.
***
A man who knows how to assess himself must not forget to value others too.
***
It is difficult to find a way to everybody’s heart. But it is a tragedy not to find a way to anybody’s heart.
***
Sensing one’s interests is not said to caring for one’s own benefits only.
***
Man must live eternally struggling for developing his good characters, and against his flaws.
***
Everybody has a shortcoming, but it is important that he should not develop them into his characters.
***
Dignity and enmity always compete with each other. What a man is, will be determined for which he has inclination.
***
It is difficult to save the beauty of youth by jewels and decorations.
***
Naturalness is the most beautiful masterpiece.
***
A problem can not be solved with words only, settling it needs the unity of wishes, words and the practical application.
***
A man who knows his dignity may seem persistent and stubborn for others as he would not like to be managed by others.
***
If you blackmail others without knowing it God will forgive you too, but the deliberate blackmailing would not be left without response. The only way out here is to do nothing but to confess it.
***
It is necessary to think first then speak. It is better to avoid those who speak without thinking.
***
It is necessary to do what you can or what the heart orders. The soul and the hand are twins.
***
The high culture is harmony of national and universal human ideas.




(Translated by Kosim Mamurov)