Petry of chulpon

SPRING PRINTING

Oh the dream of a dark long winter
Don't look me in the eye in the spring!
The unbearable pain of separation
Simmer on green, grassy faces!

A little ... a little comfort in the spring
Beautiful red peach face,
Don't be fooled
At the word of the young man who nodded.

A soft girl smiles in front of me
It's a flower in the middle of blue grass.
I cried a lot, damn it, draw a series of my youth
And the beautiful girl in front of me is an asshole!

Spring… The nightingale does not sing,
My Tanbur has no tongue.
She's a beautiful girl.
I have no hope.

The song of every spring in my language,
Love for every beauty in my heart,
A cry from all the sadness in my eyes,
A sign of deception on my face.

Am I the only one who cried in the spring?
Am I the only one who has been deceived in all his hopes?
Am I the only one who got my chest pierced?
Am I not the only one who is happy?
O bright bride of spring,
Why do you make me cry? …

DEATH OF AN ACTION

Who are the angels crying in my heart?
Mothers of the East, young people?
Who are these souls crying in front of me?
The people of the slave country?

Why in their voices
Tone of past centuries crying?
Why in the game of Fate
Every walk pierces my heart like a razor?

Space Blue Imagination
Has the enemy buried all hope?
A country in perpetual captivity?
Did the candles that were burning in your head go out?

The deadly darkness of the night,
Did he dream of the salvation star?
The right, the right of so many prisoners
A handful were sacrificed to the earth?

Rays of the fire of Achim,
Can't find any in the East Chest?
The roar of my chest,
Doesn't he laugh at sleeping hearts?

WHEN YOU LIKE IT

You are the queen of beauties,
I read it in your eyes.
I read that my future is a bird
I made a golden cage out of my imagination.

Sinners sang in my ears
Tired of talking, it's not over yet ...
The nightingale cried in agony at night
The end of your pain isn't over

The content of the story is in your eyes,
When I was a poet, I cried.
This is my old wounded heart
I wish I could read the lines.

Dressed in the crimson of my imagination
Have you seen the fairies rushing?
From roads where flowers are planted
Have you lived in the universe?

A withered leaf as it sings a poem along the way,
Brings music to my ears.
When your voice is musical
, does that mean you love me?