Oh, my friend
To be honest, I cannot understand you.
We talk to each other in different languages.
You are always saying something I don’t know
And I always answer: “We are colleagues!”

Oh, my friend,
Race and language do not matter for us
Even social status is not important.
I know that you are also proud with me,
You recite poems of Mashrab by heart.

I read works of Goethe for you,
Verses by Pushkin always make us cry.
Dumbadze, O Henry, and Makhtumkuli…
I recite ghazels of Navoi so high.

Staring with astonishment in your picture,
Even though you do not know who I am,
You follow my words only with silence
And you pray God to ask for a safe world.

Either in Azeri, either in Turkish
Or in English language you send your hello.
Oh, my friend,
I thank you bending my stubborn head down
In the destinations of our pure love.

We have the same goal and the same dream,
We are on the way for the same destination.
We both are sharing the same world to live
Saving this world is our ambition.

Oh, my friend,
May we be always proud,
I hope our children will follow our path.
We have pure dream and greatest goal
Because we possess the greatest heart.

Oh, my friend,
I thank you bending my head down…


Grasshoppers chirp with a loud voice
As if Tashkent is being boiled in bowl.
There, far away, with seductive look
Some prostitutes are smoking cigarette.

Cars are flooding in the magistral
They pause a little without any aim.
From Nexia up to Nissan you may see
Smoke of cigarette is swallowed by fate.

Returning from work, hurrying to home
People are on the road whose shoulders in pain.
They think about sorrows and life problems
However, all their thinking is in vain.

Somewhere an infant is crying nonstop
Maybe he was also abandoned by someone.
Maybe his mother now holding a cup of wine
Sharing her kisses to another man.

Someone is crying and praying for God
Hoping that Almighty will hear his words.
Maybe it is the very day written by his fate
In which all his sins will be forgiven.

Something broke down accidentally
The life of complaint came to its end.
Night, why your embrace is full of sadness?
I thank God that I have reached the dawn.


You may rain,
Wash this dirty world,
Wash the street of hatred,
Street of envy,
And the evil of our souls.
You may rain,
Let the earth be clear,
Let the tulips blossom in the embrace of hatred,
Never let children to cry in pain,
And wash the hands of ugliness,
Wash the throat of those whose tongue is poisonous,
Expel the odds to the middle of nowhere,
So that they understand who they are.
May the world be beautiful,
May it be full of fragrance.
May stars never fade in the sky,
Come with hope in every drop,
Actually, peace is the greatest joy.
Oh, my rain,
Rain nonstop.


Never ask me, please, who am I myself
Myself is a couple of verses on paper.
My self will save myself, and I hope
For those who left me it is bad news.
Myself is different, differs from me,
Far away from those who are so selfish,
May myself is not visible for everyone,
But myself will never abandon myself.
One day I will go shaking my hand to all,
From the arenas which disappointed me.
I will tear the dress of arrogance myself
Then I will throw it from mountain.
A moment, only a moment is enough
When myself starts a rebel inside me.
I do not wait for a clap from hands,
For me being myself is the greatest honor.
I am never afraid of foxes, no, no,
Even any jury cannot threaten me.
I am so proud of being myself,
I am thankful of God for being me.
Never ask me, please, who am I,
Rather read my poems, read my verses.


One day I lose my life, it is clear
One day I will return to the Creator.
And all my collected pains and sorrows
I will only retell to my only God.
One day my body will disappear,
Maybe I will be reborn as a basil.
Being happy from my death
One day my haters will have a party.
Passing through alley with silence
I hear all the gossips they tell.
Now my poems will become orphan,
Now I only live in my poems.
But the world remains the same,
Thousand years again it stays still.
All the lies, all the fake faces,
And ignorance in the gene.
All the lips whisper one by one,
Thanks God, I am far away.
Blind souls never recover,
I am not related to earth any more.
The only thing tortures me is
My days that I spent aimless.
And incomplete writings of mine,
My voice that paused on my throat as well.
One day I lose my life, it is clear
One day I will return to the Creator.
Asking God to revive inside of me
I will utter the name of my elder son.








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