At the table

Every morning at the table,
The bread that my mother covered is only milk.
My father opens his hands to pray,
Get out of out of our house.

My brother and I hurry to school,
My father rides to the office.
When watching us, my mother says,
May you all return safely.

Elite roads lead us to different destinations,
In the dream, the wheel spins in different ways.
My heard falls in love with my house,
Study and work when finished.

My sister and I will set the table,
When he cooks, he brings bread.
I look forward to the rest,
Even as expected dear guest.

Gathered at the table again,
Let’s share the joyful concern.
victory over sorrows,
The heard is filled with joy and forgets sorrow.

Shahlo Abduhamidova Ergash gril is an 11th grade student of school 54 and a member of “Qaqnus” club of Barkamol Avlod children’s school.