By: Rakhmon Pirimov
(I dedicate to the 60th anniversary of the birth of poet Muhammad Yusuf, a true son of the Uzbek people, a great soul) The author.
Seventy years have passed, look at one pass,
In front of Charkhpalak, our lives are the same,
When I think of Muhammad, my heart is sick.
Oh, what did you do to Muhammad, Kisgaldok .
“Male stags” are also sullen,
The Venuses remained in torment without Tahir,
Lola also cried hard after her.
Oh, what did you do to Muhammad, Kisgaldok ..
He was a father to his dear daughters,
How do you look into her eyes now?
Uzbegim’s street to the traces of zor,
Oh, what did you do to Muhammad, Kisgaldok .
You beat your hand on the rock, standing on the hill,
Read and cry now your head is pounding
Are there tears in your eyes?
Oh, what did you do to Muhammad, Kisgaldok .
There is no Muhammad who says to kiss your forehead,
He took your soul to the heavens,
A lamp swings over his grave,
Oh, what did you do to Muhammad, Kisgaldok .
There is no Muhammad, long life to the generation,
May people like Muhammad be born as pure,
Hold the torch high, my motherland,
You call us to Kisgaldok.
All memories surround Muhammad,
The souls of my wandering poet are happy,
Their minds are beating in their veins,
Be happy and shine yourself, you Kisgaldok!