Makhfuza
Imamova
MY NAME IS…
A way of life
became a thin bridge,
I couldn’t pass
it without fail.
I have raised
only absence,
But I never
took your heart up.
To come the
fate’s bows,
Aimed only me
among others
Oh, my dear, it
has no tongue,
Of my heart
which believes you.
You are asking
my name again, again,
As If I am
dreaming at night.
Say, why as a
snow fallen hundred years back,
You are looking
down.
I don’t want to
reach you a blemish,
I don’t want to
reach you a victim.
Listen,
My name is a
beautiful patience
My name is a
beautiful distress.
Makhfuza Imamova,
Uzbekistan.
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