Azam Uktam (Azam Khudoyberdiyev) – Uzbekistan

 
Azam Uktam (Azam Khudoyberdiyev) – Uzbekistan
 
Azam Uktam (Azam Khudoyberdiyev) was born on October 4, 1960, in the Buvayda district of the Fergana region, Uzbekistan. He graduated from Tashkent State University, Faculty of Journalism. His six collections of poems and two prose books were published.
He translated poems of Rabindranath Thakur and Nikolay Rubtsov into Uzbek. Azam dead in 2002 in Tashkent.
 
 
AN INTERVIEW WITH TUMARIS[1]
 
My life is like spring air,
I stepped on the thorn as a flower,
It’s an ember, which I considered ash.
I have no obstinacy to be like anyone,
I have no patience to be like them.
My eyes satisfy when I look at you, my dear daughter,
Let me be fascinated by your worship and piety.
The Prophet says to his daughter so:
“I can’t help you on the Day of Judgment.”
As long as I’m alive, even the wind won’t touch,
Whoever avenges you, believe: he is dead.
Let the whole world oppose you, no impede,
I wish you would never mention God as your enemy.
I felt the wraith by myself of,
Miracle as a life and death as a blessing.
I don’t want my son to do what I have done to my father,
Don’t return what I did to my mother, my daughter.
 
 
TO MY MOTHER
 
With a smile resembles a cry,
I’m coming back to you again.
I am expressing to you my respect and honor.
Which no one cared and adored here.
I fell from heaven to earth,
The betrayal of friends bowed my head.
I was tired of love and meeting,
Even happiness made me bored.
There are so many days without poetry – within a pain,
My happy days increased so.
Inspiration calls me as “Hardworking, hey unfortunate”
As a stubborn princess.
When I lift my head bent over the paper,
My heart excited and spoke barely:
He is not the poet who put the word in a thousand tunes,
The poet is who felt thousands of pain for a poem!
I feel nervous when I look at the world—
Orphans and widows will still face.
The lust of furnace of war is evil—
Children and flowers will be firewood for it…
We have to get to that sacred address,
The end of the battle is happiness.
Sacrificing life is also a blessing,
We need the homeland, we need a motherland!
If you don’t live your whole life is useless –
As love and happiness in one heart.
You should not go for the blue future,
As the ominous “black letter” of goodness.
My destination is far away, wish for me a safe journey,
Snow-white like a diaper or shroud.
If equality would be stable on earth,
The fate of the world will even be brighter!
 
 
A FLOWER IN A POT
 
I didn’t remember during days, but the nights
Your helpless whisper was completely astonished me:
“Is the motherland just a piece of land for me,
Why doesn’t the nightingale land on my branches?”
They loved you for a long winter,
As if a symbol of eternal beauty.
Today being fascinated by the gardens,
They forgot you, the flower in the pot.
We go to spring, for tulip festival,
It leaves alone in a big room.
In hope find its worth again,
The flower in a pot that cries and longs for winter.
 
[1] The name of the poet’s daughter.
 

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