Zebo Mirzaeva is one of the bright voices of contemporary Uzbek poetry. She was born on December 15, 1964 in Kashkadarya region. Zebo is famous for her love poems. She published three collections of poems – “The queen of the night”, “Requital” and “Ashes of light”. Passion, originality and spiritual feelings in her poems make a reader to think of divinity. Zebo works for Uzbekistan radio, as an editor. She has recently been to India for International Festival, where Zebo Mirzaeva was acclaimed by many international poets and writers. Her poems were translated into Russian, English, French and German languages. Zebo lives in Tashkent with his son.
All right, you may go off…
As if wild orchids
Cry bitter tears in the moonlit night
Lip of hope will converse in whispers
Begging in your stare beam of light.
and pangs of love that shed
From my eyes begin to wash your track
All right, you go…
But give your heart to me
Last time to kiss for this
You are worthwhile, I say, in any case,
Thanks a lot for those previous days
But never ask to stop. In fact love –life.
No end to this long story and noways!
Look, the sad moon trembles tipsily
In the bosom of a senseless night,
Having forded the river of the tortures
Probably we shall each other find?..
Say no good bye, but just in my eyes stay.
Look, in full of depression I miss.
Take my life,
And wholly take my pain,
Give your soul
only once to kiss!..
No, you never take me out of heart,
In your life I as the sun will shine.
Though you go to million years back, but
As the sky I call to side of mine.
To mornings I with pleasure write your name,
And proceed on leaves of buds to sleep.
No, your luck without me is lame,
Every moment missing you I weep.
I am Fire,
I go on to wrap up all your world.
have you chance to run away?
I shall always ask you from the Lord!
I’m the last raindrop,
The only aid,
But I hasten you to drink it try:
The latest living was left on my hand:
I want your love,
If even: when I die!..
I gave the morning breeze
My life as a whole
I gave a beggar then
The last of my penny
I gave the Lord my own
The breeze went forward
And gave it to the beggar,
The beggar gathered all
And gave the Lord.
The Lord has given me
To you – mistake,
To whom you have believed me,