Shokhrukh Usmanov (Uzbekistan)

Shokhrukh Usmanov (Uzbekistan)

Shokhrukh Usmanov (Shoxrux Usmonov – in Uzbek) was bor in 11 August, 2001 in Kashkadarya region, Uzbekistan. He is a student of Tashkent State University of Uzbek Language and Literature named after Alisher Navoi. A young poet and literary translator. His poems have been translated in several languages including English, Turkish, Azeri, Persian and Tadjik.
It’s midnight –
Outside, autumn shivers.
Inside, inspiration is wide awake.
Burning and urgent, facing the easel –
A gaunt old artist, as thin as a rake.
On and on, marrying night to the dawn,
Painting the same work again and again.
The light stays on in this shabby garrett
In a shabby city, as dirty as rain.
No-one else yet knows his name.
For the world he continues a perfect blank
While in here he talks to his colours alone.
He paints… he paints – his only thanks.
On, he dips in his brush for the night,
On, he dips in his brush for blood,
On, he dips in his brush for the world
With no knowledge of the colours it had.
He paints and paints, without any rest –
His hands with the skill of Picasso move.
For him it Is never in everyday life
But in his paint he finds the joy of love.
As he paints, he sees a lovely girl
While the city consoles itself in sleep –
Pouring his whole soul on to the canvas
Until his work ends with the night’s deep.
It’s dawn –
You’re totally forlorn in the land of lost dreams
And even the spring makes your very soul freeze!
That’s when your friend visits to borrow your dress –
Can she wear it on her first date, please?
Yes, I’m carrying on life just the same:
I’m burying my head in homework, see?
And that’s when my best friend just drops round –
And smiling asks for a shirt from me.
In the paradise garden, two lovers locked
In the tender embrace of love sublime.
Tell me why is it, please – I’d like to know –
Our clothes are having a much better time?
is a season
fed up with poets
trees lose hair like me
the orphan earth waits for rain
just Beethoven
and me
memories raining inside
through the window
a book not ending
like our love story
alone like my heart
ready to devour me
It’s raining slowly, no, no
it’s love not rain
and then
the latest drops anger me
as if boasting about happiness
in saying your name:
(* Intizar – is a name of girl.)

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