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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