Poems by Umid Ali

Poems by Umid Ali


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
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


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.


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 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.


The stone which melted by breath of the morning,
The tear which dropped from eyes of the night
The ray which kissing the heart of the day
The tambour which filliped at the time of sunset
The blood of a verdure which has spat out
The last destination (place of ghosts)


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 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?!


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.


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,
But when?
The heart.

Umid Ali, Uzbekistan