You live forever in hearts of ours, With boiling verses we all feel smug

STARS’ LULLABY.

It’s said stars neither heat or light,

This kind of illogicality IVe never mean.

If you look, it hurts your eye sight,

Oh, like that truth is so familiar to me.

Ask me about its whispers,

I know it has different dialect.

It’s every sparkle confusing clues,

Soul becomes kind by amazing it.

When suddenly miss feeling surrounds the soul, The stars pour like rain utterly.

Entering your bloodstream secretly,

Glad spreads like summer sunrays.

If only that you know being of that star,

If someone adores you saying: «my star». Avoiding sorrow, grief, distance gently,

Stars’ lullaby, you feel as a balm...

THIS EVENING.

This evening my soul fresh and new,

I’m happy again seeing of your grace.

I stand, my dears, in front of you,

Still with burning heart, with bright face.

Still my treasure — a lively verse,

Lines on my face I accept as glee.

I bow to Motherland, to this sacred Earth, My dream is caravan, my leader — belief.

I’m still wounded, I’m still w^rell, among Dear memories of my parents.

My love — a fire, my parting snow,

Eighty years I lived as flaming torrents.

Hulkar and Omon my noble child,

They are my eyes — my body’s part.

Sweet grandchildren — life's delight,

To each of them I present m3' heart.

Their majesties, my dear mentors, Directions I got — great awards.

And I’m a tree from that descendant,

Its fruits are my sincere words.

My ancestors — profound roots,

Their wisdom's equal to peerless pearls.

And my hopes to future life

Are the art lovers — poetess girls.

This poem garden will never fade,

Young plants bloom here day by day.

If I expire my life goes on.

And these gardens turn into bright ray...

As the Bengal Bay was blue the night,

The nature was in sweet dream.

The limitless lights in the sky Attract everyone with their beam.

A wafting breeze from river bank Could bring the scents of the flowers,

Tunes of birds, songs of Indian girl the unique delight of ours.

Bat the inspiration had advantage of all And daring pens in our hands.

The boiling mushoira went on We’re together with friends.

As the Uzbeks’ nice clay bench,

A beautiful carpet lay on the scene.

As the beam of colored rainbow The lights were magically seen.

Souls strive for truth and ray,

Share their love in this feast of art.

Friends become closer this day,

Though they’re older or the youngest heart.

There’s absolutely skill in the East,

We follow to the Indian habit.

On a rainbow carpet in the feast,

Visitors and hosts cross-legged sit.

The colorful shoes left at the door,

Are the signs of glorious toil.

And from their lands they adore Each shoe had brought the sacred soil.

The best sample of Indian shoemakers Are the shoes made of sandal wood.

They’ve more comfort and in their own way, They’re wonderful and are very good.

What a nice! I also want to tr}' on them,

And travel round the great Hindustan.

Having spend time with friends, then I present love of my Uzbekistan!

China’s and Bagdad’s shoes wonderful,

They are standing side by side.

Iran’s, Ceylon’s shoes colorful,

They seem elegant, snug and tight.

Mongolian boots bow to Punjab heel As if they’re going to tell story.

Eyes are radiant from human will,

Long live the art’s unique glory!

So, I gave a glance to shoes of mine,

They’re my countryman Akhmad’s creation.

I thank you my friend, your work is fine,

You could show the exact art of the nation.

Perhaps a shoemaker from Kashmir or Bombay Compete with you in the field of art.

And wherever he may be like a bright day,

He lives in verses as you so smart.

The tent was full of listening bards,

A man with graying hair rose up to speak.

s -

He remembers well sorrowful hearts,

And trouble in his country big.

Now he sees the bright sun over the Indian skies, And himself he feels young and brave.

We all join with him, then happy eyes,

Sing songs from souls like river wave.

Nice interpreter is the azure sky,

For each soul it's soothing balm.

Come to mushoira and satisfy,

Come nearer, my friend, come!

Tender as love, pleasant as tune,

The Punjab nightingale’s song Her lines charm the stars, the moon.

Her mother soul’s daring and young.

China, Nepal, Vietnam and Russia Tajikistan read their verse.

White dressed Bengals, Indians are People admitted by the universe.

The Sikhs' eyes remind the star,

And their beards dark flame.

Listeners or bards whoever we are,

Our views on life are the same.

Songs were about:

Peace,

Freedom,

And love.

Sometimes smell of banana,

Sometimes baby’s smile.

Sometimes a weak look waiting for bread, Through the lines all were heard.

Oh, Indian nights, precious hours,

What magic is in your azure hug?