Life
It is not the dishonorable army of the enemy —
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
It is not the dishonorable army of the enemy —If anything has besieged us, it is only blessings.And we have built a cage for the heart,Giving thanks has become a great hardship.Calm moments are not enough for us,We cannot bear the light of our own eyes.Our transgression never finds an end,Our business is to shoot arrows into hearts.Even the breath that life bestows,The colorful foods absorbed into our bodies —We never look at any of them with a smile,As if the skies and roofs were not about to fall!The shining sun is mourning to us,We find no delight even in the moon at night!Returning a greeting is a heavy chore,For there is not a speck of reason to rejoice!The beauty of dawn, the vigor of day,The mystery of dusk, the magic of night;A peaceful home, the service of friends,The love our parents give without reproach —None of it is worth rejoicing over, alas,Constant complaint and anger are our habit.We are forever wailing, lamenting, crying out,We never stop for a moment, for an hour.Whoever comes into view, that one is bad,Those who stand beside us — why, they are worthless.Every word but ours is a lie,We are the sun, the others are dust, thorns and straw.We have made hurting hearts our daily litany,Patience and gratitude are our enemies, our enemies.We do not even feel for ourselves —Stay away, do not hold us, do not embrace us!These deeds, this state, O children of Adam,Are wholly an imitation of Satan's nature.It is good that life still surges on,That we have not burned alive, are not turning to ash!If a body in the embrace of pleasures and comfortsSuffers even once a little distress —Why, out of respect for all the good it has had,Can it not withstand even a small trial?Why do we see a petty grief as a mountain,Yet cast no glance at mountain-sized sorrow?We hurl ourselves into the fire of Hell —When we could make a blessed journey toward Paradise?!My Lord, protect us from Your wrath,Rebelling against You, our state is pitiful...Our state is dreadful, do not abandon us,Make Your mercy our support!..In the bosom of well-being, in the garden of remembrance,Grant us fruit from the sapling of patience!..In the hour of repentance, bring ungrateful servantsTo the blessing of gratitude!Indeed, though buried in riches and goods,So long as he is oppressed in the hands of his ego,The servant who forgets gratitude and falls into a dreadful stateIs, then, deprived of everything!But whoever has a morsel of bread to eatAnd a bowl of water to drink, and nothing more,And makes gratitude his habit —There is no one in the world as rich as he!05. 09. 2024.Akrom MALIK
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