Do not call my scribbles on the paper poetry,
There is no ornament in my words, no frills. I simply put into words
Poetry: Life
Poems by Akrom Malik, newest first. Pick one for your mood.
I kiss the hand that stabbed me with the blade, my friend,
Give me poison again, I will drink it without a doubt. So be it, I will die by this hand of yours, my friend,
Do not tell me, “Your friend has sold you out,”
Do not say, “Your own dear one spread slander.” Even if a blade is plunged into this weak body,
If the heart is not entirely filled with faithfulness,
If loyalty and sincerity have not conquered it, You will never bear the slightest cruelty,
Often I suddenly start in fright,
A trembling plays through my whole being. There is a knocking at the door, an ominous knocking,
If you have become friends with some brave man,
You will never be unaware of his state. First of all, ask God for faithfulness,
As long as man lives amid the turmoil,
Time’s work, indeed, is plunder and pillage. Tearing a person’s life to pieces,
Losing is hard, losing is bitter,
It is as if a piece of you were gone, alas. Every loss is a stabbing pain in the heart,
I was seventeen, eighteen, nineteen,
I was twenty-three, or twenty-four. In short, I was young, and never once
When, opening just a crack, the heavy door
Of bitter life, all made of steel, swung wide, A youth, hearing a restrained cry,
Like a violet left out in the rain,
My head was left beneath the falling stones. Like Azrael taking away the souls,
Like a wolf that chews its prey for a long time,
Sorrow seems to want to chew me long and to digest me. Like a chimney with black smoke boiling up inside,
A few moments passed in ease,
On the tongue, glorification and praise, repentance, seeking forgiveness. Even sorrows became like a dream,
Let me tell the truth to those who say “I'm your friend,”
Perhaps the fickle ones are unaware of it. First fill with light the eye that is called the heart,
To a man worn out by the burden of hardship
A young father suddenly spoke: “My offspring has come into the world,
One day dear friends gathered, glad at heart,
And talked about the bleeding of the heart. Their hearts took flight like birds,
There's a great secret to living happily,
Perhaps not a secret, just a simple truth: Even if it's your own child, never
A friend never comes from the people of this world,
They can never bear hardship for a friend's sake. For a friend they can't give up their sea of pleasures,
You moan that you have no loyal friend,
Blaming people who know no kindness. Everyone else is weeds, and only you are the grain,
The world is a well: whoever drowned and sank in it
Never managed to reach its bottom. Whoever poured into it the love of his heart
God created this world and
Made the world a dwelling place for man. So that they would support each other in joy and grief,
The beauty of this world has no permanence, by Allah,
The world's beauty is naught, for it is other than Allah! Hazrat Alisher Navoi
When does the heart become so narrow
That not even an “ah” comes out of it? When it is filled with sorrow — for then
There are many hard days in life,
Sometimes your heart bleeds from torment. Tasting poison, thinking it is honey —