Nuriddinjon Abdurasulov Sharofjon
By Nuriddinjon Abdurasulov Sharofjon
In two thousand eight, I stepped into the light,
With Khadichakhon and Sayyorakhan, my guiding sight.
First grade adventures, oh, what tales they spun,
In the heart of our school, where we laughed and we’d run.
A window I shattered, a bid to evade,
The confines of class, oh, the wildness I’d trade.
With Abror, a scuffle, his head met my cheek,
A stone to his window, my vengeance unique.
Red swollen eyes, as Durdona cried,
Fear wrapped around us, nowhere to hide.
In older grades, Davron and I took a fall,
With a grip on his waist, I answered the call.
Salahuddin scribbled, but Hassan found cheer,
Tore up the paper, “The teacher won’t hear!”
Then summer shook softly, the earth trembled low,
A stone from the mountain put on quite a show.
From the ninth-grade window, it thundered and crashed,
Hitting the director’s door, our laughter was dashed.
Aydinkhan and Sitorakhan, with soil from the cliff,
Eating hard earth, in childhood’s sweet rift.
With Jawahir, a quarrel, I struck out in haste,
His father, dear Shuhrat, came to end the waste.
In snow-covered fields, we played without care,
Yet as graduation loomed, silence filled the air.
In tears without glasses, our hearts heavy sighed,
In twenty-seventeen, we spread out our pride.
Davron, Mukhlisa, and Durdona, my friends,
In Jizzakh Law College, our journey transcends.
Through quarrels and laughter, we took our great stride,
In the halls of our youth, where our dreams would abide.
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