Heart of the poet
You know, there isn’t the place of sorrow in my heart,
No place for the darkness of dense forest.
No place for today’s and tomorrow’s grieve,
No place for light of my self-burning candle.
My heart breaks to hundred parts,
My heart breaks to hundred parts.
Love sound doesn’t come to my ears,
No more tear come to my eyes.
Romantic look went through my calm eyes,
Love moments are pleasing of colorful world.
My heart breaks to hundred parts,
My heart breaks to hundred parts.
Why?
May be you ask me,
Isn’t more extended of perishable world of poets heart?
If breaks to hundred parts,
It isn’t the end of love world?
I say- let the poet’s heart be as your heart,
But more sensitive, as it is the mission from (of) God.
Greatness of poet’s heart is that embraces the pain of the world,
If separate to hundred parts, but never don’t die.
Even cries whole life, but bring jolly,
Burns fall in my hearts and bring spring.
To heart of each man brings kindness and peace,
Brings spring in the spring,
Brings flower scattering spring.
Abdukakhor Kosim
Writer and editor
Tajikistan
