Autumn is a favorite season of poets. There is no poet who has not sung autumn. For Uzbek poets, autumn is not only a source of inspiration, but also a season associated with cotton, cotton fields, and folk symbols bowing to the branches. Today we present you the poems of the People's Poet of Uzbekistan Khurshid Davron about autumn.
Khurshid DAVRON AUTUMN POEMS
* * *
In front of my eyes are endless gardens,
Golden dust on the leaves.
As the mountains approached,
The air is so clear, spotless.
The rustling evening rain, too
The morning that embraced the districts,
The blackened fields and hills,
Bari is familiar to me, darling.
Loville bonfires in the trees,
I have her taffeta in my heart.
With hazons in the garden
Flying yesterday's spring.
A friend who wants to leave me
The moment you try to stop
I quietly reach out
Towards the burning bonfires.
* * *
The doors suddenly light up in a hug
Sprinkles on the chest of the night.
I close the door, the quiet streets
I'm going to the dance of the moon.
Then I go out into the fields,
The night wanders in the gardens with me.
The clouds are flowing. I keep an eye out,
The grass in the foothills is enchanting.
The night enveloped the city.
Happy women
Men put their heads on their chests -
Flowers wrapped in sheets,
The blanket is as soft as a cat's.
Only in the distance, on the night hills
Black girl with eyes, black girl with eyebrows
Not in the boy's chest, but in the field
He sleeps alone with his head bowed.
1977
* * *
The criterion has passed.
How hastily passed this criterion.
A cart full of harvest sank into the mud
Her hair was white.
The criterion has passed.
How disappointed this criterion was.
He grew old, forgetting his rest and sleep.
He handed it to the stars
The remaining points on the ends of the tree.
Pouring wine into porcelain bowls,
Let's say goodbye to the criterion.
In the winter it is like a close friend
We still remember a lot.
1979
* * *
Night Gardens - Mysterious, Scary,
Especially autumn, especially late autumn.
The guard of the black night
Hardened trees are silent.
Suddenly under your feet
"Chirs" is a broken horn,
But suddenly like a giant bird
The whole huge garden that rises.
The night gardens are like a black hole
Guvs during storms.
Bypasses the garden at night
Frightening pisa clear trails.
1979
THINK OF AUTUMN
Think of summer… Maris Chaklais
Think of autumn,
Think of autumn with snow…
Think of autumn,
A cart with its wheels stuck in the mud
Whipping the unruly horse,
Think of autumn.
Think of the cruel autumn,
Your children who are exposed
Wrapped in a bed,
Think of autumn…
Think of autumn, of thirst
When your lips are cracked between the spring rains,
Cancer is in the sun
Work darkened children
Think of autumn without looking into their eyes.
The two willows could not rub
The choking of a child on a swing,
In the heat of the day a woman whose milk has dried in her breast
Think of the autumn between the sufferings,
Think of autumn, think of autumn…
1981
PICKING GIRLS
Harvest girls
Light as birds on branches,
Imagination of stature,
From the faces of the sun.
Snake
Like overflowing dreams,
Bent at the elbows.
Dreams are like criteria
Flying white
The moon hung in the winds.
Huv… Choked and sang
farther than a bird,
In the endless fields of my village,
Trembling in the white sheds,
Kissing the warm, blue winds,
Sleeping pickers
Bury your dreams in the sun…
* * *
Black night around.
The melody of the flute is played.
Autumn. The wind. Empty street.
Colors plunged into darkness.
Nostalgia burns the tongue.
Autumn. The wind. Empty street.
The flute is a byte of nostalgia.
Black night around.
1983
* * *
Farmers spent the fall
With apples in the cart.
It was full of endless tourists
From the squeaking of the wheels.
The color of the trees darkens,
In the garden he sighed bitterly.
Autumn tracks are like black thread
Stretched - the rains washed away.
Ink stains on a white sheet
Sprinkled - the same day sinks
Autumn gardens from every ghost
Scatter the crows to the sky.
The birds are alert -
Like a black cherry
The image of a hadik in his eyes.
Walking in the garden at night
The longing for unseen snow.
Basket and basket in the cart
Patterned apples look up at the sky.
Autumn took the cart,
The gardens did not fit in the car.
1978
UMRZOQ KUNBOYI…
Umrzak cotton all day long
returns exhausted.
At home his wife like the moon,
his wife's sad eyes,
waiting for two bunk beds.
He undresses and washes slowly,
with his wife who is having a little fun -
suddenly wakes up drowsy wind,
The king curtains that vibrate gently.
Umrzaq feels through his wife's eyes,
he has not yet tasted salt either.
"Would you mind eating?" - deb
Umrzak stares into the sad eyes.
The pregnant wife smiles,
Broken cheeks flushed.
He knows his wife very well -
husband who does not eat alone.
The more you look at the crevice
The earrings on the shoulders are a stone of fatigue.
When they have just stretched
Horizon begins to blush like a pomegranate…
1974
A SONG ABOUT THE LAST APPLE
Sunbula's winds
in the garden that alla said,
the ways of the sunbula
when it rains,
The cars squeaked
when immersed in mud
dry and thirsty lips
when summer arrives in autumn,
inter-garden dominance
when children
reddish light fills
last autumn apples
........................................
........................................
Naked as a woman
in this moment of beauty
between the branches
The last apple in the eyes.
Poor blind gadoni
on all fours as you play,
The stone was left alone to fly
to take - from the earth, from heaven
Every minute, every moment
worried
every wind that enters the garden
flies in search of it.
Autumn gardens as you enter
inside the heart,
Talpinar apple branches
to the end - to the star.
Oh, the apple left alone,
how sweet you are.
But you are the same
you are one of the apples.
Just like you are a widow
you are alone, oh you are alone.
A lonely woman to a man
sweet feelings from the girl.
… Climbing districts
faint autumn morning,
the last apple, to your heart
the poison of the sinking winter.
Shimirasan panting
and you pay for the grief.
The more you swallow the cold
you will be so sweet.
Oh, alone like a widow
last apple, goodbye.
I stood in front of you sad,
did not echo from you.
In the sky tonight
suddenly the stars surilar,
at three o'clock in the morning
they will come and beat you.
But no one notices the fall
warmed by fire
in the cold morning air
burnt apple heat…
1980
RETURN TO THE VILLAGE OR DEATH OF THE SPIRITUAL STORM
Umrzaq stork in a white shirt-pants
pressing his chest against the crossbar
mountain term, enticar heart:
"Does he want to see the village?"
He closed his eyes,
gloomy fields
this moment that invades the imagination.
Pakhtazor… Tired land gods
the smell of damp hazon and the mad sky.
… Suddenly wakes up in the middle of the night -
it shakes the sky like an ox tongue
the song of flying birds.
The old man cries and flies away
joining the white storks.
1977
THE NIGHT IS SO DANGEROUS... (Miroslav Florianga nazira)
The night is like that
zim-ziyo -
pattern apples
shines like a star.
The night is like that
pit -
A flying star
falls into the well.
The night is like that
oydinki -
Brides
cut the window.
The night is like that
sokinki -
They are heard
sun breath.
1980.
THE CONTINUATION OF THE FAIRY TALE
The wind shouts in the girl's hair,
The girl's hair like the wind.
The road ends at the house
The girl opened the blue door.
The wind stays on the threshold,
retreat to the horizon during the day.
Paxsa embracing the walls
cries wind silent on the street,
and tree branches in the wind
in a quiet embrace,
scattered autumn leaves
to the porch where the girl lived.
The trees can't stand it either
the murmurs from the window are disappointing.
Unable to take the trees
sarson autumn standing on the threshold.
It's getting thicker
black paint of the black night,
when the girl is wrapped in bed
the garden of the fallow.
It’s out of silence
slowly as the girl's eyelashes close,
the wind that misses the girl's hair
slowly open the window,
and scattering of gold,
to the light play of the moon without looking,
opening a snow-white sheet,
into the bosom of a girl like the moon.
1980
OLD CITY
In the ruins of my grandmother's tomb
The last reflection and fading sun.
He wakes up from the breath of the day
a black tomb asleep.
The narrow, crooked streets are lost,
snake-like forests on a bright night.
Tovlana begins to fill with grief
The reflection of "Ziji Koragon" is in the sky.
Mudrar sensitive birds between the branches,
the winds that disturb their sleep
and stubborn ass niqtab besado
old merchants returning home.
A bright star flying over the roof
herbs when you start to burn,
a day as old as an old man
He was walking towards Shahizinda…
The old city sleeps, mudra vines
hug the cotton walls tightly.
Melon-pears in the sleeping box,
Scented gardens into your dreams.
In the stillness of the night they fall to the ground
a salt that has been damp from the breath of years.
To the city, staring like a child
a dwarf garden on the edge.
1979
LAST AUTUMN
The night after the criterion evenings,
Suddenly in my chest wakes up grief.
I look up at the sky like a tree,
I understand: life is an instant glance.
The day will come when the flock of birds will be long
spinning in the sky and fading -
spring - a trap for thirsty birds,
kuzak - a broken bird cage.
Ketars are drunk with the flight of birds,
black winds howling back.
… Crying in the blood of men,
The old man watching the birds crying.
1980
AUTUMN
Black rain and loneliness, dark garden -
the sad birds migrate as a caravan.
The last leaf from the rain-washed trees
uzilaru flies like a heart.
* * *
Then the fall begins again,
when looking out the window - only
The gray mist mixture is high
the top of the mountain is visible.
You also have a place to put yourself
you can't find… Autumn is cruel!
If you look at the sky… Invisible moon,
The star reminds you.
A sleepless night is a dark danger
in the morning
the letters you crumpled -
white clouds floating in the sky.
1985
* * *
You said to yourself, "Look, hazon."
You said to yourself, "Look, it's autumn!"
The light of the crimson sun fell
A mirror hit your eyes.
You're afraid to look at him, maybe
Forget and distance love
You don't want to see the memory in your eyes.
Oh, may you live like this forever!
Like a bird on a snowy morning
On the porch you ask,
Forget those days like a dream -
Tell me, who do you see in your dreams ?!
Play as you part your hair,
You stare at the sky, tremble with pressure.
No one will come this fall, forget the house,
A maple leaf that no one offers.
Why don't you cry, why don't you laugh,
Life goes on, life is white…
Why passed by your door
Do you look after children for a long time?
1986
* * *
Leaves withered in the dark night -
The last leaf.
The trembling in the bodies ceased,
Tindi soil.
The birds flew before dawn -
do not drive blue.
It hit the horizons,
it's broken.
The fog rises from the mountain
autumn sun.
Drops from a wet branch
autumn tears.
Screams out of sight
one wheel -
Will someone leave or return? - Autumn
should know…
I stare, progressive eyes:
Huv, fields
traces the last fiber between
wet kids…
1986
COTTON
Uzbekistan - cotton field,
Before the horizon, even after the horizon.
Children's reading
A world of cotton.
The night before they came in,
The sun set before the horizon,
Until the cold, thick snow falls
Bathed in the rain, frozen,
Dwarf, with thin fingers
From sharp, sharp ice bowls
They pull the strings and make the threshing floor -
Hirmans, from the high mountains.
More school pedsovers
Not a bad reviewer,
A child picking bad cotton
Insatiable to discuss.
I will never forget but
Between the darkened branches
A flashing light in the dark night
Like an eye-catching bowl
And what I call cotton,
It was late in the day as a fiber
Loose skirts until the evening
Pakhtagamas, full of snow.
O, cotton-grower, O, my childhood
Infinite fields,
You enter my dreams, you don’t
The sad gods my mother said.
In Atlantis, he says, he sank
What happened ?! "Don't go to the notebook."
How many Atlantis
He drowned in the cotton fields.
Yes, it's true, when I say Uzbek today,
About the achievements at the moment
Only you in the infinite pulpit
Speaking of which, cotton.
No, we didn't drown,
Alisheru Ibn Sinoni
These people are not dead, they are alive -
He still amazes the world.
These people have not yet been enslaved,
Still get out of this people's heart,
Poets, every word is coal -
One word will break the darkness.
We realized in the cotton fields
The value of bread, the value of freedom,
We realized in the cotton fields
Motherland, the pain of the people.
We realized in the cotton fields
Mother's sad allasin,
We realized in the cotton fields
Let the ruined Uzbek field.
We realized in the cotton fields
Love of Uzbekistan,
We realized in the cotton fields
Poetry love, suffering.
Is that why I’m not ashamed
On white paper like cotton
I can't tell you the pain of my people,
If I can't make it sound.
Is that why I’m not ashamed
A sheet as white as cotton
If I don't paint, my heart bleeds,
If I don't call people violent.
And to hearts as white as cotton
The most beautiful letter in the world
I am also with the whole nation
I shout, "I'm alive, I'm alive!"
