SIROJIDDIN SAYYID, national poet of Uzbekistan, for many years he worked at the editorial board of the newspaper “Literature and art of Uzbekistan”. Published mnay poetry collections. Currently works at the Writers Association.
CRADLES AT YOUR HOME
Ten years have passed. Ten years have passed. Ten years rolled on.
Do not think that these years very easy hold on,
In the hills no floods are out, soul has gone,
Are the cradles at your home made in gold?
Are these games of the globe from God told?
Getting feather leaves as fowl came into sight,
Even stones in the streams were happy and smart,
And your lullabies for me became as sleep light,
Are the cradles at your home made in gold?
Are these games of the globe from God told?
All inventions of the brides were falsehood and lie,
Sultanas of your garden to me did not come by,
Sans you to settle all the deeds I many years try,
Are the cradles at your home made in gold?
Are these games of the globe from God told?
O my poplars, o my poor weeping willows,
You are being broken down with my sorrow,
It is strange that do I stay or do I follow,
Are the cradles at your home made in gold?
Are these games of the globe from God told?
When I walk by always dream is getting frighten,
Peaches in your slightly garden being lighten,
But what for afflictions to my glimmers tighten,
Are the cradles at your home made in gold?
Are these games of the globe from God told?
You have very floriated and creepy gate,
And the balks that the swallows always debate,
But I have a rumor in the folk desolate,
Are the cradles at your home made in gold?
Are these games of the globe from God told?
