Contemporary World Literature Poetry from Uzbekistan
Two poems by Sherzod Artikov
Sherzod Artikov was born in 1985 in Marghilan city of Uzbekistan. He graduated from Ferghana Polytechnic institute in 2005. His works are more often published in the republican inside press. He mainly writes stories and essays. His first book “The Autumn’s Symphony” was published in 2020.
He is one of the winners of the national literary contest “My Pearl Region” in the direction of prose. He was published in Russian and Ukraine network magazines such as “Camerton”, “Topos” and “Autograph”. Besides, his stories were published in the literary magazines and websites of Kazakhstan, USA, Serbia, Montenegro, Turkey, Bangladesh, Pakistan, Egypt, Slovenia, Germany, Greece, China, Peru, Saudi Arabia, Mexico, Argentine, Spain, Italy, Bolivia, Costa Rica, Romania, India, Poland, Guatemala, Israel, Belgium Indonesia, Iraq, Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, Albania, Colombia and Nicaragua.
The Spring
I like the autumn
I like the golden look of it
I like the smell of the leaves
The cold rains with a sour taste
And thick mists with a sad sigh.
Now it is springtime outside
It rustles as if dancing
A soft wind blows from the south
Passers pass with a smile on their faces
The abricos tree is blooming madly.
I sit in front of the window like this:
From morning till evening serenely
With a cough on my throat
With a pain in my stomach
With a cup of hot coffee
And a book by Garcia Marquez in my hands
Sometimes I glance longingly
To nature, to people, to everyone
And mutter “oh, where are you my autumn?”
But instead of answer
The cheerful spring again
Makes a rustling noise there
Life without Principle
I live without principle
Without any instructions whatsoever
Without goddamn idols
Without authorities like God
My life is so simple:
I get up in the early morning
Run for losing the weight
Taking up boxing in the yard
With an uncomfortably hanging bag
Then I dress reluctantly before breakfast
And in it I drink hot tea or coffee
Enjoying it fleetingly by closing eyes
Then with an old-fashioned diplomat
I rush off to a bloody job
That tires me out
That poisons my soul
That makes me a painful puppet.
Also in evening without any change
Do like what I did in the morning
Run for losing the weight
Taking up boxing in the yard
And do not forget about tea or coffee.
The same…
Only one change
Before going to bed
I reluctantly get undress instead of dressing.
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