
POETS (Shoirlar)
Those who burn themselves for the world’s pain,
The awakening of conscience, the soul’s cry.
Slicing their own hearts with a blade,
Dervishes of the word, beggars of the word.
They carve their very soul onto a simple paper,
Burning like a candle at night, fading at dawn.
While everyone laughs, they weep silently,
Accepting grief as their destined crown.
They perceive the universe in a different light,
In the autumn leaves, they see the grief of parting.
They whisper a tale into the ear of the grass,
The sorrow of the earth that you pass by, unknowing.
Sometimes burning in the fire like Mashrab,
Sometimes awaiting the dawn like Cholpon.
Those who could not speak the truth to the world,
Passed through, swallowing their pain all along.
A poet’s only wealth is a single pen,
One white sheet of paper is their everything.
The agony of the heart transferred into lines,
The lamp of faith, in the darkness, shimmering.
They are reborn only after they die,
Their breath lives on within the pages of books.
A poet is the chain that is called the Truth,
The voice of freedom, no matter how it looks.
My pen trembles too, as I sit and write,
Perhaps it is destiny, or perhaps a sting.
When a poor poet passes from this world,
Their words remain, a bright and glowing thing.
Ozodbek Narzullayev was born in the village of Boston, Koson district, Kashkadarya region. Several of his poems have been published in various anthologies and international journals. He has actively participated in numerous creative competitions, earning honorary titles and prestigious awards. He is the recipient of over 100 diplomas and certificates.
Currently, he serves as the Koson district leader of the “Yuksak Parvozim” (My High Flight) project. He is also the author of the published poetry collection titled “Qalb Kechinmalari” (Experiences of the Soul).






