Khosiyat Rustam (Uzbekistan)

Khosiyat Rustam (Uzbekistan)
 
Khosiyat Rustam was born in 1971 in the village of Olmos in the Chust district of Namangan Province. She studied at the Journalism Faculty of the National University of Uzbekistan (1988-1993, at the University of Higher Literature (2001-2004), worked in the Tong Yulduzi newspaper (1993-1997), and since 2015 is the editor-in-chief of the “Book World” newspaper.
His first poems were published in the local and central press.
Her poetry books:
“The house in the sky” – 1997
“Rescue” – 2003
“The mourning dress” – 2004
“The wall” ˜– 2006
“August” – 2008
“Occupation” – 2011
“40:0” – 2011
 
Her poetry books ın foreıgn languages;
Days wıthout tomorrow (in Tukish) – 2008
“Fear” (In Azerbaijani) – 2009
 
Her poems has translated into a lot of languages of the world. In particular Spanish, Russian, English, Arabic, Kazakh, Turkish, Azerbaijani and etc.
 
Rewards:
The great medal of Uzbekistan – “Fame” – 2004
The international award named Mikoil Mushfig of Azerbaijan (for her works in Azerbaijanian and Uzbek friendship) – 2015
The national award of Azerbaijan academy – 2017
The Winner of “Open Euroasian Poetry Festival and Book Forum” in Thailand – 2018
 
 
***
 
The wind shook the trees at once,
When the darkness a burden for the night.
At the moment the blow which is hungry for Love,
Perhaps, my hair is blossoming.
How teeder is your soul line a rose,
Your feelings are spread around line a
Snow to the universe.
My dear, whenever I tried but,
The white flower would open in my hairs.
30 years…
There are 30 seasons in my hairs,
30 years… In my hairs the colours would be mixed
Waiting for you, my dear
The troubles would blossom in a beauty white.
***
When the dew would not wash its face,
When the trees would reject blossoming again,
Wispering your name I,
Again and again.
Prayery I am, I am praying again and
You have not awarened up yet again.
May God, save you in your dreams, my dear,
Alas, how happy and so happy I am,
Wispering your name I did pray,
Again and again.
Cruelly dreaming would wake up the
Dawn itself,
Looking at the day with its sleepy
Rewovalting I am my spirit here eyes.
Fell I down on your feel with that new song,
Empty heart.
How tender it is, as a poem uncomposed.
Calling your name again and again,
Praying I am here,
I am praying again and again.

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