ESHQOBIL SHUKUR, poet, editor, program presenter, journalist, he has been working for Uzbekistan TV for many years. Published many poetry collections.
A song is creaking in myself,
Creaking: still I don’t die.
If I now weep, no help,
Only for Allah I cry.
A tune is burning all my bone,
I haven’t come to world yet, why,
A half of mine is night, half – dawn,
Only for Allah I cry.
A hairy bridge is paddling fast,
No death, no life, I don’t try,
O, man, take easy it, but just
For merciful Allah I cry.
***
Why do you weep, my hands?
My legs, why do you pull out
Your nails?
We only three millenium live
In the Stone, Iron age.
Why do you cry, my hands,
And why do you, my legs?
Still it’s far to People’s Age.
