To Uzbek officials A poem by Rahmat Qurbon What have you done for our nation? Tell us, what is your creation? Here we are, moving the Navoiy Museum, As though we could erase his name. Walls may vanish, stones may[…]
Ҳар сафар ушбу қисқа видеони томоша қилсам, кўзларимга ёш келади. Шеър баъзан қоғозда эмас, бошқа бир санъат тилида ҳам янада чуқурроқ яшай бошлар экан. Ўтган ой Туркиянинг Муданья шаҳрида бўлиб ўтган халқаро ёзувчилар учрашувида Францияда яшовчи истеъдодли ижодкор Тўғче Дарвешоғли[…]
BİR CENNET MEYVESİ GİBİ Hayat bir cennet meyvesine evrildi Sert ve ateş renginde İzliyorum Kefene sarılmış kız ve erkek çocukları Boncuklar gibi saçılmış Şiddet ve kıskançlık Yeryüzünün ebedi sakinleri Bin kez öldüm Burada Kan içinde, milyonlarca kez Ölü bir adamım[…]
My Fellow Tree in Miri On Canada Hill, where cool winds wander through the jungle’s emerald silence, I found you, a solitary dry tree. Why have you withered? You resemble the great rocket tree I once admired in Niah Park.[…]
Хонангиздан чиқинг, ҳур шамол Олиб кетсин бор ҳаёт нуқсин! Йироқ учсам, келмасин малол, Саёҳатлар сизга ҳам юқсин! Ким йўл юрар – топур барака, Не кўргай ким нуқул ўй сурар? Хонангиздан чиқинг, таваккал – Қорнингизни Худо тўйдирар! Мири, Канада Ҳилл тепалиги,[…]
https://petruska-nastamba.com/azam-abidov-a-zam-obid-namangan-uzbekistan/ AZAM ABIDOV (A’ZAM OBID) – Namangan, Uzbekistan Biography; AZAM ABIDOV (A’ZAM OBID) is an Uzbek poet, translator, short story writer, cultural adviser, and world traveler born in 1974, in Namangan – the “city of flowers” – in Uzbekistan. Trained[…]
Dear friends, please join me in wishing a very happy 66th birthday to my dear writer friend, Каримберди Турамурод. Karimberdi is one of those rare voices I know as both active and courageous, an author who continues to write, speak,[…]
In Medina At Gate 97 I lower myself to the prayer ground and gaze into the night— a sky with only a few patient stars. Then suddenly they gather: a soft-winged caravan of angels sliding along a narrow ribbon of[…]
Whispers of Baku In the hushed halls of the Literature Museum I pause before the faded fabric found upon Nizami’s tomb— a whisper of silk, perhaps once brushing the trembling shoulder of his beloved. (If only it were mine— I[…]
The Nation Who Cannot Curse Her tongue was torn out — truth her only crime. No opposition, no marching feet, no true heroes left to follow. A circle of weary activists mime solidarity. No one dares name the sovereign for[…]