Poetic cycle by Malika Boykhonova
ABOUT THE HEART
Sometimes I ponder and feel pity for the heart —
How much sorrow and grief it swallows whole.
Every being is in need of such a pillar;
Without it, our eyes would freeze to stone.
I pity the heart, my friend, so deeply —
It endures all torments with silent strength.
At times, wishing to console itself with a trifle,
It sends a tear toward our eyes.
I am amazed — it stores its grief with dignity
Inside its quiet chest like a noble chest of secrets.
But when joy appears before it face to face,
It drives it away with loud, ringing laughter.
WHO AM I?
Who am I? A fragile woman —
Thirsting for freedom, restless in thought.
Seeking the Merciful, yet meeting the devil,
Drawing poison while searching for honey.
Who am I? I am a mad teacher,
Whose student surpasses even her child.
Not glory, but justice I have sought,
Finding privilege in suffering.
Such is my station,
Forever sacrificed to betrayal.
Let the pleasures of this world be cursed —
May the next world grant its mercy, I pray!
AFTER READING “LISON UT-TAYR”
When chess pieces line up for battle,
The people of Rum begin their march.
The fierce ancient foe of the darkened host
Launches attack through cunning stratagem.
As rivals gallop their horses in pride,
Kings clash beyond all bounds.
Once they cross the battlefield of war,
The pawn may suddenly turn into a queen.
In the army — pomp, intrigue, and design;
The laws of war are strictly kept.
Someone waits in ambush, watching the hour
To besiege the enemy’s ranks.
A battlefield roaring with chance —
Rarely does such intensity arise.
When one edge of the board is lifted,
The Day of Judgment reveals its face.
No trace remains of war or strife —
All will fit into a single sack, indeed.
Sometimes even the king falls low, believe me,
And from above, a pawn takes his place.
FORGIVE ME, MY FRIEND
Forgive me, my friend — I broke my promise;
Once again tears shine upon my cheeks.
Once again I have turned away from life;
My endurance walks off without looking back.
Do not brandish willpower and patience —
Grief has drained the strength from me.
Did even God, weary of sorrow,
Expel humankind from Paradise?
MY SISTER… HANGED HERSELF WITH HER SCARF…
I saw grief —
Sitting with its head bowed,
As if sunk into an armchair.
Her cheeks hollow, her gaze extinguished,
Her saffron face veiled by a scarf.
I saw grief…
It settled in my eyes day and night,
Stealing my peace, crushing my heart.
One day she counted the years of her life
And sensed the hour of farewell had come.
I saw grief…
Grief stood hanging.
As if flying free toward the sky.
One end fastened tightly to wood,
The other embracing her neck — the scarf…
SUPPLICATION
O Life, do not be angry with me —
I have burdened your head with sorrow.
Forgive me, pardon your weak one;
I mixed poison into your meal.
I have come to water the tree of grief
With the tears of my eyes.
I have come to drink
The bitter wine called “Sorrow.”
Is there more of that wine?
Pour all of it for me.
Only one plea — not a single drop
Must remain for my daughter…
Malika Boykhonova, Member of the Writers’ Union of Uzbekistan.
