Lost in the paths of time – the body – the beau,
I will move to the past,
With my body captured by the unaware
I will spread my wings to fly.
Where is my place, my own – that belongs to me?
I miss Yassawy so much,
The other day, I came across Mashrab,
He was peeking through my room’s glass…
My heart, do not grieve in despair,
Embrace yourself in the past- the golden cradle.
I wish I could cry with Navoiy,
Placing my head on his chest!
(Translated by Muhtor Adashev)
