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| Jakhongir Nomozov |
LATE LOVE
I loved you—
to forgive,
yet found myself in a place
where forgiveness could not reach.
My hands were not for you,
they opened only in prayer
to stay in love.
I said, when I arrived,
“You will mend my wounds,”
but instead you opened my heart
and turned it into a vast
bleeding sore.
I waited for your balm,
yet you—named my illness:
“Separation,”
and with that name
you hurt me even more…
I saw my dreams in your eyes,
yet to forget them,
I looked at your lips.
First, you conquered my heart,
in the end, I became
a prisoner of your love.
I wept for you—
in every tear, a fragment of affection,
in every sigh, a great truth.
And now—
when I leave, saying,
“I’ll tend my own wounds,”
the hardest blow
is your
“too-late love.”
....
JUDGED MYSELF
I judged myself—
No witnesses,
no lawyer,
no accuser to show the indictment.
Only a mirror…
broken, silent.
I answered
to my innocent guilt—
my answers stretched endlessly.
I did not cry—yet within me
something cracked, shattering.
Words failed on my tongue,
tears ran down my face.
Before me stood I—
yet like a stranger…
Nowhere could I be truly myself.
Only in my own being,
I became everyone.
The questioning marks in my eyes
were wiped away by tears.
In my hand—a notebook,
even the words themselves
refused to write.
I did not write—
Words themselves refused to be penned.
This is no poetic gathering—
it is a trial.
Silence runs in my blood.
Beneath my nails, gathered envy—
gentle as silence,
sharp as pain.
I forgave myself.
I judged myself…
Jakhongir NOMOZOV,
is a young poet and journalist from Uzbekistan.
He is also a Member of the Union of Journalists of and the World Young Turkic Writers Union.
