BY Erkin Vahidov
Do not travel to any higher place
No matter how far away the shore,
“Hello” he smiled
One of my Uzbek cousins’ll surely oppose it.
The morning when in Colombo we landed,
For the first time, he became a propeller.
Then this city is stinky and humid,
It was Fergana that caught my eye.
In Madoras, the translator is Uzbek
They spoke the same words in eight languages.
He is dressed in a white robe,
He used to put ointment on the Afghan child.
After rebuilding the castle of light, He crossed the Euphrates
Arab room liked the sun.
He grew cotton by taking water from the Nile,
In the heart, Africa is strong.
He appeared like Joseph in Egypt,
In Yemen, it seemed to me Hotam.
This is a clear feeling – no matter what
One’s own person is thrown into the eye like fire.
Today, when I returned from a long trip
In my first line I made you inevitable –
Hey, you, my friends, are far from the country
A belt tied to the service of the country!
I know what a burden of suffering hijran is,
What painful months and years to wait.
I know that you miss Uzbekistan,
Always awake in the depths of your eyes.
It is a world within a world,
One sight is a lifelong obsession.
Earth’s gravity is easy to overcome
The love of Mother Earth cannot be separated.
Stay healthy my friends,
Return home safely from a distant place.
I wish, never, never fate
Do not separate us from Uzbekistan…
Translator: Nilufar Rukhillayeva
(1st year student of the Faculty of Foreign Philology of the National University of Uzbekistan named after Mirzo Ulugbek)