Lobarkhon RUSTAMOVA
Someone knocked on my window. Is that you?.. I jumped out. I looked for the gardens, ran to the canal. But… I couldn’t find it. My body aches from the bitter pains of separation, pressing on the bad situations lying on the earth’s bosom. Tears flow from my eyes from the blows of seperation’s dagger. “What, is this a delusion? Is it not you who clicked on my window, but the wind? I remember… It was autumn. You knocked on my window.
– Get out. Look at nature. Shall we go to the garden?
– I am checking the written work, let me finish it.
You entered the house impatiently:
– You are wonderful! If I tell you to rest, won’t you agree… – You took my pen.
“You don’t understand that my work is extremely necessary,” I complained.
– I understand, I’ll take a look later. And now I want to talk to you for a long time… If you know more, I’ll fly on a donkey.
“Oh, my dear, what’s wrong with the stallion, young boy?” – I laughed.
– You know, when you are old and grumpy, you brag to your grandchildren that I flew in a rosy pony when I was young.
“You confirm, don’t you?” – I say looking at you.
“That’s right,” you say and draw a sad smile. – You still miss these days. Then do not regret!
– Why do you say that? – my spirit falls.
– After all, we are not tied to life. But your presence, being next to me is a world of happiness for me…
I left behind you. I searched for it. But I can’t find it. Now I’m sorry… I’m looking for you, your lovingly nurturing eyes… I want to talk with you, fly on a donkey. But…
Lobarkhon RUSTAMOVA,
Member of the Union Writers of Uzbekistan
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