Faith
I asked myself how much of my life is left,
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
I asked myself how much of my life is left,And found my mind could not even make a guess.I shook my body, “Wake up!” — if only it would open its eyes,If only my heart would say each moment, “The Truth, the Friend, Hu”!..Whenever I looked at my state, I found it in the pit of heedlessness,At times it starts and shudders, as if waking up…Barefoot and bare-chested, I walk through a thicket of thorns,Picking countless thorns out of my heels.To pass through safe and sound I thought a hard-won dream,To keep the seed of rancor in my heart I found a weary load.O you who misjudged us and misunderstood us,You who, when we grieved, rejoiced, or grieved along with us!Knowingly or unknowingly, you caused us pain,The graves called sorrow have devoured the corpse of joy.Whatever came from you, apologize or don’t,But what I have suffered is enough — you need never grieve.I have forgiven all of you what you owe me, may it do you good,May your gossip and your grievances be a stone that slipped from the hand.I have hope that someone — that is, those whom I have hurt,Those whose hearts my bitter words and my mistakes have chilled —May grant me, too, the charity of their pardon and their kindness,If only we ask my God for His mercy upon us!..If, at this, the sea of my God’s generosity would surge,If the waves of His forgiveness would rise above the seven heavens!What wonder if a single speck of it should touch us too,With such a hope, what need is there to pierce the heart with torment?!We are weak and helpless, ailing and infirm,If some pain comes suddenly, we look anxiously for healing.What use is it to hold a grudge against a servant like ourselves?My Lord’s mercy is wider than everything!My God, make our hearts as wide as Your paradise,Count us equally among the ranks of the repentant.We have been wrongdoers and tormentors to our own souls,Grant to us, Your servants, a drop of Your mercy!Akrom MALIK
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