Aazam Abidov

Do not let me dream
Black Color One

Do not let me dream, my dear fellow,
Do not help me when I faint away.
Those past years made me become mellow.

Let me please inspire your intentions,

I kindly ask to have my hands of aid
What you need, take, do not be afraid…

Feathers of my wish I start to trim – 
To let others make long and long dream.  





You oppress me,
Do not test me,
I am only testable,
My colorful love!




The old serpent is sitting on my shoulder,
I cannot open my eyes,
I cannot open my lips
to thank God.

In addition to this it’s raining.

I am growing stout – what is more.

God is sleeping in my heavy heart.


Gabriel, touch me gently…


Gabriel, touch me gently with your wings,
Oh, my gracious - from the backstage - woe stings.

Graves are either gardens of endless delight
Or deep holes of the hell, where Evil flings.

I want to be a spot in hairs of the camel,
Like a leaf my life in windy weather swings. 
The task of time is killing of all lavish gifts,
It never comes anew – life’s chimes – it never rings.

Among the dead, be the most attractive, Aazam,
As Solomon is the best of all earthy kings!





I always look for shadow
Everything is obscure though
The sky sleeps in my eyes,
The Moon is slice and slice.
I’ll find the right shadow
In the doomsday meadow –
When everything fades,
Be only seen God’s shade.





What I’ve already seen,
White and black or green
Is nothing at long last,
We’re still on the go.

A dead ant on the grass,
Without any fuss
Experienced a vast
Of things,
Ages ago.




Referring to Lord
A worshiper cries:
“See, there is a lot
Of wherefores and whys”

Referring to Lord
A worshiper cries:
“I can not afford
To tell you the lies”

A group in the sky
Looks at the earth:
“If there is a lie,
No happiness and mirth!”




Here is the formula:
“Life = Plus + Minus”
How can I see the right way
If I am eyeless?!




I am clay –
Liquid and weak.
I have neither tongue
Nor mouth, to speak.
Everyone likes
To make some figure
From me,
To make a shape.
I am clay –
Liquid and weak.
I always go
Through palms.
I leak…
I leak…



A poem of equality


Who you are – 
A white man,
or red,
You are a boon companion or a threat,
To put you first
how can you well afford,

But look here –

You’re a human being from the Lord!


Who you are –
A Muslim,
You adore –
On man
To play a trick,
With the others
will you not accord,

But remember,

You’re a human being from the Lord!

You are my brother,
You are my sister,
God will look at
not your varied colors, -
But at heart,
And at your good intentions
So, why to kill each other,
Why to fight,
We are equal
and we all have
the same right!

May God take
in due course
our lives,
Just tell me,
does friendship
have a price?
We were given time – 
Very short


we all return back to the Lord!!


Who you are – 
A white man,
or red,
You are a boon companion or a threat,

Pass these words
to others
as a cord:

We’re a human being from the Lord!



In Your Soul

Tell me, o devoted, who else in your soul?
Do you really like me to go hence in your soul?

I wear my sun glasses to hide myself from rival,
It seems there isn’t any “contact lens” in your soul.

You hurt my pride; however, I’m not domineering,
I found the face of shame is too dense in your soul.

It’s my fault - to ring aloud - before you fell in love,
I could not hang acoustic strong bells in your soul.

Belief’s in blood, no mercy, again to whom I cry,
Azam, poor and naïve, is on ‘sales’ in your soul.



Writer angels

Day is breaking in despair thinking of you, writer angels,
I am praying, slowly crying, crowned with rue, writer angels.

Every movement, every motion we consider right for us,
Though in practice what you’ve written will become true, writer angels.

I’m a sinner holding heavy loads on my filthy arms, 
It wishes to be so open-hearted, pure like dew, writer angels.

The book of our deeds in whole weep or dance in old pages,
I forgot my past betrayal; give to look through, writer angels.

Haven’t you tired yet to seat on creature’s shoulders all long life?
Let us change the place for one day, it’s Azam’s queue, writer angels.



A Reading woman


A woman’s sitting in a slum
The slum is in a dump.
As she gets the hump:
The woman is reading.

It is dark in the dump,
There is a dim light
Inside the slum.

The woman is reading
Under the wan candlelight.

Her hope from life is dim, dim…
The reading woman
of my dream!


Taste is different.
But I adore the fact:
Some people
Thirst for post mortem life.





My strength is enough to shed tears from my eyes,
I tie up chains to my hands,
I always drink love
And eat love-prick with great pleasure.

To our life that is mournful and brilliant
Phoenix comes asking refuge
We fly and to our wings
The sky comes near and near.

I don’t care of my body,
Oh, my blossoming soul is the capital of my spirit.
In the slum which is unseen and full of love
A pregnant Happiness bears a child.




With only one word of God
Jesus was born without father from his mother.
You, widow, want to drink from the mercy of Mother Maria
And strive and burn so many years.
O, Mother Maria, the ways of faithfullness is long,

Please ask patience to this widow,
May a word of God comes down from the sky
To raise her head up.




Let me go, take your hands out from my heart,
Set free my soul that is on your way.
Good-bye to you, dream, which helped me recognize myself,
Good-bye, the place, which is full of grief.

Let me go, I have to avoid of delight,
After all, our ways will become different.
I know, you will stay like a virgin, very pure like you are now,
Perhaps I will not be able to live in liberty.

Let me go, and I will ask God to give you long innings,
Let me go, I wish to get rid of everything.
My heart, having stumbled at your permission,
Even if I die with my white and pure love
Let me go!


I will find a beloved


Night falls and my soul worries,
Hey, miracle, please show your face,
My exhausted feelings are confused,
I am poor, I am alone.

My eyes, please cry bitter tears,
You may become blind, it is alright for me,
There is no room in this earth for me,
Will the sky take me to his bossom?

Hey, Moon, do not hurt my heart
Do not hide yourself behind the night
Please be a window
To the country of miracles.

Through the lights of stars
I will reach to you
And when I go further
I will not become a man from the earth.

I will find a beloved there
The pureset and the cleanest
I will give her name – Faithful,
Her surname will be – Miracle.

Night falls, and my heart hurts...



You are pure like a grievous dream,
You are the sky, when someone flies, this sky will revives him or her,
You are the soil, which deserves to rub ti eyes,
You have thousands of qualities, even you are an enemy!

Every night one girl cries and cries,
Love, I do not love any more, it is a pity,
The girl cannot leave a man who is married,
The girl loves the man who has children.




How happy we are


Love is equal to blind one,
A fool woman and a slave man become lucky,
We are not acquaintance at all to this world,
We are so happy!

Our love has priceless,
Our friend is too faithful,
We do not care of this world,
We are so happy!
We are so happy, that
Happiness envies us from cold eyes,
Let’s die, if we do not die in time,
Other people will have premature death.




Where does this river flow?
What is waiting for this river in the end?
Will not this river’s waves wail
When the river sinks into the sands?

River, your water is unclean,
But your soul is very pure.
However, how it is difficult
And how it is grievous
To flow not knowing the end.


Dream in darkness


It was too dark around. In this holy darkness, Love bore a child. The Mother Love knew that it was Dream. The dream opened its eyes. Eyes were so black. The black eyes in the darkness. As it was too dark, the Dream’s heart began to shrink.
“Come on”, - said the Love, - take it easy, give me your hand and I will take you through this horror.
It’s a pity, it was dark everywhere –
In the room,
In the yard,
In the heart.
“The Dream let out a sigh and died.”
The Dream went to lightsome spaces.


Have you ever seen?


It’s a means of warfare,
It’s a friend so close, dear,
Buried with a human body,
Sometimes – too clever, at others – naughty.

It’s color’s golden, grey or black,
Fountains come from its track.
It’s a source for inspiration,
Its’ ears – crescent – very fashion.

I’m surprised, I’m lost, -
Have you ever seen
A lying horse?
Have you ever seen
A horse with almond eyes –



People want to read me


I wear a costume,
Starting from my head to feet.
It’s material is
Arabic letters –
Made of cotton and stone.
The thread is golden,
The cotton and stones are
In the form of Arabic letters.
People want to read me.
They try.
Sometimes cotton letters
T others stony ones
Touch their eyes
They want to read me.

People want to read the one
Who never could read himself!


A universal music

A fairy and I create
a universal music
from leaves and plants
beetles and ants,
quadrants and cones
small balls and stones
A case and drawers
are full of thousands of stuff
to create a universal music.
Birds take the printed music
first into their nets -
warm them and make a tune
then they take the music
in their wings
and disseminate throughout the universe.
The other fairy waits
for her turn patiently.
We create a universal music.
A clef’s scream is heard.




I have spent a day, one more,
The time climbs the future already.
I either won or lost a score,
But for my life I was so greedy.

Where is the ardour and the light,
What’s the result from softy bone?
In my life I see, at last,
What is one is as VALUE known!

Stop pulling back, my old living,
I feel ardour instead of heart,
Now the time is not deceiving,
And my life, I will never cut!




I was told, that I’m a bird,
All the seasons fit to me.
To know myself never I could,
To fly around wings to be.

However, do not sing for me,
So much of eulogy, don’t arrange.
There’s such a bird, you set it free,
But it flies back to the cage.

Please never say I’m like that bird!



The star touches my eyelash every night,
Behind my brows – arises – the Moon.
Knocking the gateway of my heart 
Evening, like a guest ‘ll come soon. 
Each night, calling to the sky – 
Pressing birds – so pure – seem.
“You’re not with us, I cannot fly,
Come”, says the troubled virgin dream.




What is hurt, we do want meeting,
Parting’s nothing - far - the way.
Coming to this world sans greeting,
Full with great love, we go away.

We, through breathing, take refuge,
Heart is broken: laughter, why?
This temporal past is so huge,
From love all the loveless die!




Thanks, noise has stopped. Just Silence.
Behind the home the moon has stuck.
Grief is tired in the wildness,
A weeping one is maybe Luck.

All around the dozy wall,
The naked patience may disgorge.
The endless land - so being small -
Is guarded by the frightened watch.


Too long


strive to go to rich countries
send our husbands and wives
they do hard works
or sell themselves

The other people in the country
make luxurious weddings
for the sent money
and sing a song of happiness

We all work for government

The tongue of the government is too long.


Near and Far


Dread is near to me
Near to my soul, as I am afraid of it
I run away
I flee
And I am far from wit
There is the only thing:
When I fear Him
I will come so near
With my everlasting fear.




It is understandable
To accept bribe and to give it
In business or social life.
People kill me with a blunt knife –
They give and take bribe
To go to Mecca
For purification.

Horny pilgrimage. 



(To Sherry Ashworth)


Early in the morning

Two cats open the Windows
And upgrade the computer:

They write their own story in rows.

It is pouring cats and dogs in the street
Heavy music is heard from far away
The dawn is slowly getting ready to meet
With a happy day.

The writer is watching sunny Uzbekistan
And her first trip –

In her sleep.

Natalia Rendón

Aazam Abidov  poet, translator, was born on November 8, 1974 in Namangan, city of flowers, Uzbekistan. He trained in philology. He has more than 10 poetry and translation books. Literary scholars and readers applauded his English translation from eminent voices of Uzbek poetry, Usmon Nosir and Chulpon, and contemporary Uzbek poetry. His translations from English, American, Indian and French poetry in Uzbek were also acclaimed in Uzbekistan. Founder and head of the Creative Writing and Translation Club, Aazam tries to be a bridge between world and Uzbek literature, widen the circle of young literary translators and encourage them to translate world literature into Uzbek language and Uzbek literature into world languages. The most successful works by Aazam Abidov are Tunes of Asia (English translation of contemporary Uzbek poetry), Dream of lightsome dawns, A miracle is on the way and I leave you in complete boredom (Uzbek translation of world poetry and fiction). He writes both in Uzbek and English. His poems and translations have appeared in numerous anthologies in Uzbekistan, India, France, Korea and Japan and in many web magazines. Aazam’s awards include BBC World Uzbek Service’s award for free speech in Uzbekistan (2005), literary prizes of “Ulughbek” Foundation (1996, 2000); he was a winner of republican contest on Uzbek and Uzbek Literature (1995), winner of poetry contest “My first booklet” among young poets and writers (1990) and winner of the competition “Art Holiday” (1987-1988). Aazam’s poems have been translated into Russian, Assamese, Gujarati, and Hindi languages. He attended poetry festivals and creative writing programs in India, USA, Germany, Russia, Kazakhstan and Sweden. Aazam lives with his wife, journalist Nodira Abdullaeva and with his three sons in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. 

Última actualización: 28/06/2018