Wisdom
Would I ever want you to grieve?
Translated from Uzbek · Original text
Would I ever want you to grieve?Do I need the pains of your heart?Would I press you to a task beyond your strength?!Is a heart that has not wept for you a heart at all?!.If the gardener cuts away a fruitless branch,The fruit-bearing boughs gain more strength.If I tell you too, “Do not run wild, O son,”Will your spurs whirl and your feathers bristle?!Seeing the pruning shears in the gardener’s hand,The sapling may tremble for a moment.Perhaps, having drunk a little of the wine of pain,The sapling will regain its strength.So do not be startled, do not be suspicious,Never look upon your gardener as an executioner.If he did not wish you well,He would leave you in peace amid your rebellions.If good fortune is your lot, many years yetWill be strung one by one like prayer beads.If strangers’ hands do not pluck the unripe fruit,One day the fruit will ripen and be picked.One day the time will come — you too will mature,You will fill with juice and ripen sweetly.Gladly freed from the branch of the tree,At last you will be plucked and fall to the ground.Then someone will eat you, and you will be digested,You will enter the earth like a seed.When you resolve to grow like a tree,At times the torment will leave you no strength.Today the burden of obedience feels heavy,As if someone were holding you like a slave.Pouring the dust of humiliation on your head,Trampling your flower-like body.“I am crushed, I need air!” you will cry out,“If only I could flee from such cages!..”But merciless life, like a mute,Will not lay its secrets open to you.It will simply stand silently and watch,Making a spectacle of your sighs and groans.If you leap up, it will lash your head with a whip:“Where are you going,” it says, “in such a hurry?!”So be assured, cry out no more,Do not say, “Let me see what lies behind the curtains!..”For it is maturity that is offered as a giftBy the pruning shears in your gardener’s hand.Akrom MALIK
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