Poems by Umid Ali
ALISHER NAVOI
He mixed to the air – completely,
And imbiled to land as the soil
His soul-world called “a life”,
Get onto poems a lot of.
His spirit such a pure- honest,
And glorious, mild as a spring
You can sanctify yourself,
If you cry only for himself
Perceive,
The significance – time full of entertainment –
If revived life into your conscience.
A sirit is in the sky and your body is in the earth…
If the soul floats in the air
BABUR
Feelings of hazrat Babur after eating a slice of the melon which delivered form Homeland.
The melon cleaved tongue and soul too,
Nostalgia cut into slices – a sharp grief.
A sorrow became companion rather than happiness,
On the glorious way night and day
Every moment a soul flutters,
Every moment an embodiment misses.
In the moment the tongue seals,
“You became my dissatisfaction, Andijan!”
If a dove flies on the sky,
Or suddenly the wind blows,
Appears the spread of thoughts,
“Even if it is not from homeland…”
I became a king in Indian land,
O, but I still aspire to motherland!
I am alive however I will die thousand times,
I have my sky, but I don’t have the sun, the moon.
My soul is burned in the fire of a parting,
If only oppressiveness stops.
A soul is expiring in the storm of a life,
And the edge standing while pierced to my soul.
YOU AND ME
It is me – a cut tree from its root,
It is you – a river which had lost its watercourse.
It is me – a couple of palm inside palms,
It is you – a crying shame inside the eyes.
It is you – the moon which is visible to stars,
It is me – a drowning day into nights.
It is you – a bourn depleted its edges,
It is me – a voice deprived of a melody.
It is me – a pain which destroyed hearts,
It is you – a white flower which its thorns decorticated.
It is me – a brave man who are with broken swords,
It is you – a widow into tabernacle without husband.
A pain of a life is endless… too many,
A life is without a collar and a sleeve.
When you left, I found a response to the question,
I can not live without you.
UMBRELLAS…
Umbrellas open their wings,
The sences are looking at somewhere.
There are wings but flying… hopeless,
“Birds” looking for a salvation while crying.
The ocean breaks the universe,
It precipitates drop-drop from the sky.
The soul wich loves the rains,
Floats as a ship and looks for salvation.
The air is fresh but more painful,
The universe is full with cries.
The umbrellas are waiting for deliverance,
Every head has a salvation.
A rain is drizzling…
The colour sticks to my eyes,
Or green, or red, or white and blue,
Until now I didn’t recognized,
An alien colour – it is life, there no miracle.
A sence will born soon,
Neither gladness, nor care, but stranger feeling
Not a blood in my tendon, rather a wine,
I am the basin neither new, nor old.
My ears are slave for one melody,
Its’ tunes neither playful, nor sad,
My worlds fill with thought-
The muezzin is calling for pray.
The lightning which lighted up my mind,
Preparing the fifth season for me
My feelings are painted… white,
The world which I selected is a real.
PHILOSOPHY OF THE COLOURS
I
WHITE-
The stone which melted by breath of the morning,
BLACK-
The tear which dropped from eyes of the night
YELLOW-
The ray which kissing the heart of the day
RED-
The tambour which filliped at the time of sunset
GREEN-
The blood of a verdure which has spat out
BLUE-
The last destination (place of ghosts)
II
The clean smile – white,
The weeping – black,
The laugh – absolutely white,
The tear – pitch black
The feelings – green,
The sence – red
The love – quite green,
The soul – a ray (God)
The life – blue,
The age – golden,
The spirit – divine,
The soul… colourless
DON’T BECOME A DISH BUT BE WATER
Don’t become a dish but be water inside the dish.
Bruce Lee
A handful of water…
If you spill it becomes a plant,
Then lovers’ breast fills with a lawn.
Unless you sip,
The groud fills with a grass,
At that time may you wanted,
To become a handful of water?!
LOVE
You put fire into my root,
The sorrows could evoke a soul.
I separated myself from myself,
And realized what the soul is.
Soul is happiness, an angel and honor –
A frill of the eighteen thousand of worlds
If any spark falls into my heart,
It is great “Hamsa” of a poet Navoi.
Here the body, here a soul, heart –
They are giving up because of love.
What a pain you have given to me?
I am not even taking breath without love.
PROCESS
The clock…
The room fills with moan,
Moments are not obeying (mad)
Among the four fences,
Life is an alien to itself.
A silence crawling on the top,
The soul is mixing to the air.
The world is full with regret,
Cleaving…
Cleaving…
But when?
The heart.
Umid Ali, Uzbekistan
