Three Poems by Exmetjan Osman

Translated and introduced by Joshua L. Freeman

Exmetjan Osman (b. 1964) is widely acknowledged as the founder of the gungga (“hazy”) movement in Uyghur poetry, a modernist school which blossomed after Exmetjan’s first Uyghur-language abstract poems were published in Xinjiang’s Tengri Tagh journal in 1986. As a teenager in Ürümqi during the early days of China’s reform period, Exmetjan developed a strong interest in international literary trends, and in 1982 joined one of the first cohorts of Xinjiang Uyghurs to study abroad after the Cultural Revolution. Completing first a Bachelor’s and then a Master’s degree in Arabic literature at Damascus University, Exmetjan acquired Arabic with such fluency that in 1988 he was able to publish his first Arabic-language poetry collection, The Second Stumble. His first Uyghur-language collection followed three years later, and the years since have seen the publication of six more volumes in Arabic and Uyghur, to great acclaim in both the Syrian and the Uyghur literary worlds.

Exmetjan’s impact on modern Uyghur poetry has been profound. Even while studying in Syria he regularly published poems in Uyghur-language journals in Xinjiang; some of these he wrote directly in Uyghur, while others he translated from his own Arabic poems. Following his return to Ürümqi in 1990, Exmetjan became a fixture in Uyghur literary circles and salons, and published a number of controversial essays on literary theory. In the mid-’90s Exmetjan returned to Syria, where he resumed his active literary life there. But though he has lived abroad for most of his literary career, his work has remained highly influential in Xinjiang, where his admirers and imitators are legion.

The three poems presented from here span a five-year period in Exmetjan’s career, and each yields a different perspective on the poet’s sense of himself as an artist and as a Uyghur. The haunting Sadir in Search of His Five Orphaned Children dates from 1986, when Exmetjan was studying in Damascus. This lengthy poem is built around a series of folk rhymes (qoshaq) attributed to the 19th-century Uyghur hero Sadir Palwan, but Exmetjan interpolates his own modernist verse and transforms the folk rhymes in artful ways, binding the modern and the personal to language of profound historical resonance for Uyghur readers. Sadir Palwan is known to every Uyghur for having been imprisoned thirteen times for his resistance to the Qing authorities, and for having escaped almost as many times. Perhaps thinking of his own long absence from his homeland and his sense of the ominous changes transpiring there, Exmetjan has Sadir reunite with his five sons, only to discover that each has been altered beyond recognition. The first is a kebab grill, no doubt symbolizing the occupation which has become emblematic for marginally employed Uyghur men throughout China. Another is a bat, another a chill; the fourth is a a grave. The fifth son, the narrator, trembles to approach his father.

The second poem, Uyghur Impressions, offers ten brief variations on ten symbols of Uyghur life: cheap moxorka tobacco; the Muqam suites of classical Uyghur music; etles silk; the two-stringed lute known as the dutar. The ten vignettes are unmistakably modernist, and to some Uyghur readers might seem perplexing or even profane when affixed to ten items standing for irreproachable Uyghur tradition. In fact, though, this poem represents an impressive demonstration of modernist poetry’s ability to encompass that tradition. In My Love, on the other hand, Exmetjan expertly weaves his distinctly modernist ethos into the classical ghazal form (Uyghur ghezel), one of the Islamic world’s most widespread verse genres. The poem also makes use of many long-established tropes, including the beloved as the gazelle, and as a carefree observer in the sky as the lover suffers down below. Thus the equation is reversed: the traditional can contain the modern as readily as the modern contains the traditional.

Both of these poems should be understood in the context of the literary debates surrounding the gungga poetry school in the late ’80s and early ’90s. Critics charged that these young modernists—and they were almost all young—simply lacked the skills to compose poetry with classical meter and vocabulary. Gungga poets and their supporters countered that experiment was crucial for the continued vitality and relevance of Uyghur poetry. A fierce debate ensued around issues of tradition and authenticity, continuing for years in the pages of Uyghur literary journals. Read against this context, Exmetjan’s Uyghur Impressions and My Love, both dated 1991, stand as effective arguments for the gungga poets’ ability to combine poetic radicalism with irreproachable Uyghur tradition.

1. Sadir in search of his five orphaned children

My name Sadir is known to all,
but the government office has my file.
Read my file and you will learn,
my five children are orphans now.1The land broke apart
in the palm of God.
From within that cloud of sacred dust
rose Sadir.


—Bow down…!

Sadir knelt,
pressed his forehead to the dust.
As he raised his head
God disappeared,
lightning blazed,
the throne of Heaven thundered.
flew before him.
Rays of light tumbled to his feet,
he closed his eyes a moment.


—Open your eyes…
Gabriel greeted him,
Sadir bent down,
placed his hand upon his heart.
Gabriel unfurled a rainbow,
and Sadir walked atop it
offering up to him


He dropped down from the rainbow
to the Thousand Buddha Caves.[ref]The Thousand Buddha Caves (ming öy in Uyghur) are ancient systems of painted grottoes located around Xinjiang and in neighboring Gansu.[/ref]
The caravans
had vanished long ago.
The Buddha Caves—
a thousand fallen bells,
still ringing.


Nodding off,
he laid his head upon the dusk.
A butterfly flew by,
perched a moment on his eyelash.
Its colors dripped down
to Sadir’s pupils.
The colors:
The fifth—
the season lost
in the lonely spaces of the year.


—My children!
Sadir leapt to his feet.
From the branches of night
dropped into his palm
five stars.


In Mollitoxtiyüzi[ref]Mollitoxtiyüzi is the village where Sadir Palwan was born.[/ref]
he came upon
an old man like a grave.

—You Sadir?
Come my son
I’ll show your children to you.
The old man
led out from his house
the five daily prayers.


On Sadir’s face
Boghda Mountain
cracked open.
He shouted out:
—My children…!!!



Up to him ran
a kebab grill.

Sizzling on a skewer
was Sadir’s heart.

Folk rhyme:
There’s a story they call Sadir,
one of my sons was left a child.
If you ask my son he’ll tell you,
only one skewer of heart is left.



Up to him flew
a bat.

The lights slowly faded
from Sadir’s eyes.

Folk rhyme:
There’s a lamp that they call Sadir,
one of my sons was left a newborn.
Look into his eyes and see,
only a pair of hollows are left.



Up to him ran
a chill.

Drop by drop froze
Sadir’s blood.

Folk rhyme:
There’s a spring season they call Sadir,
to my son I left a prayer amulet.
Look at my son and you will find,
a withered chinar tree[ref]The Platanus orientalis, or Oriental plane tree, is called chinar in Uyghur and various other Eurasian languages. A tall, long-lived, deciduous tree well-adapted to hard climates, it can be found from southeastern Europe to China.[/ref] is all that’s left.



Up to him ran
a grave.
Written upon the stone:

Folk rhyme:
There’s a cry that they call Sadir,
one of my sons was left alone.
If you ask my son you’ll learn,
a single echo is all that’s left.



I trembled as I approached him,
fluttering dimly.

The gravestone fell
deep within me.

Folk rhyme:
My name Sadir is known to all,
one of my children was left an orphan.
If you ask my child,
in his body my body was left,
in his soul my soul was left.


The gravestone broke apart
in the depths of my silence.
From within the smoke
rose Sadir.


—Bow down!

1986, Damascus

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﻳﯧﺘﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﻐﺎﻥ ﺑﻪﺵ ﺑﺎﻟﯩﺴﯩﻨﻰ ﺋﯩﺰﺩﻩﭖ

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺩﻩﭖ ﺋﯧﺘﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ﺩﺍﯕﺰﯨﺪﺍ ﺧﯧﺘﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.
ﺧﯧﺘﯩﻤﻨﻰ ﺋﻮﻗﯘﭖ ﺑﺎﻗﺴﺎﯓ،
ﺑﻪﺵ ﺑﺎﻻﻡ ﻳﯧﺘﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.


ﭼﯧﻘﯩﻠﺪﻯ ﺯﯦﻤﯩﻦ
ئالقىنىدا ﺗﻪﯕﺮﯨﻨﯩﯔ.
ﺷﯘ ﻣﯘﻗﻪﺩﺩﻩﺱ ﺗﻮﺯﺍﻥ ﺋﯩﭽﯩﺪﯨﻦ
ﻗﻮﭘﺘﻰ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ.


—ﺳﻪﺟﺪﻩ ﻗﯩﻞ…!

ﻳﯜﻛﯜﻧﺪﻯ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ،
ﻣﺎﯕﻠﯩﻴﯩﻨﻰ ﻳﺎﻗﺘﻰ ﺗﻮﺯﺍﻧﻐﺎ.
ﻛﯚﺗﯜﺭﮔﻪﻧﺪﻩ ﺑﯧﺸﯩﻨﻰ
ﻏﺎﻳﯩﭗ ﺑﻮﻟﺪﻯ ﺗﻪﯕﺮﻯ ﺷﯘ ﻫﺎﻣﺎﻥ،
ﭼﺎﻗﺘﻰ ﭼﺎﻗﻤﺎﻕ،
ﮔﯜﻟﺪﯛﺭﻟﯩﺪﻯ ﯬرﺷﯩﯫﻻ.
ئۇچۇپ ئۆتتى ﺋﺎﻟﺪﯨﺪﯨﻦ.
ئاﻳﯩﻐﯩﻐﺎ ﺗﯚﻛﯜﻟﺪﻯ ﻧﯘﺭﻻﺭ،
ﻛﯚﺯﻟﯩﺮﯨﻨﻰ ﻳﯘﻣﺪﻯ ﺑﯩﺮ ﻫﺎﺯﺍ.


—ﺋﺎﭼﻘﯩﻦ ﻛﯚﺯﯛﯕﻨﻰ…
ﺳﺎﻻﻡ ﺑﻪﺭﺩﻯ ﺋﺎﯕﺎ ﺟﻪﺑﺮﺍﺋﯩﻞ،
ﺋﯧﮕﯩﻠﺪﻯ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ
ﻗﻮﻟﻠﯩﺮﯨﻨﻰ ﻗﻮﻳﯘﭖ ﻛﯚﻛﺴﯩﮕﻪ.
ﻳﺎﻳﺪﻯ ﺟﻪﺑﺮﺍﺋﯩﻞ ﻫﻪﺳﻪﻥ-ﻫﯜﺳﻪﻧﻨﻰ،
ﻳﯜﺭﯛﭖ ﻛﻪﺗﺘﻰ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﯴﺳﺘﯩﺪﻩ
ﺑﯩﻠﺪﯛﺭﯛﭖ ﺋﺎﯕﺎ


ﻫﻪﺳﻪﻥ – ﻫﯜﺳﻪﻧﺪﯨﻦ
ﭼﯜﺷﺘﻰ ﻣﯩﯔ ﺋۆﻳﮕﻪ.
ﻏﺎﻳﯩﭗ ﺑﻮﻟﻐﺎﻥ ﺋﺎﻟﻠﯩﺒﯘﺭﯗﻧﻼ.
ﻣﯩﯔ ﺋۆﻱ –
ﭼﯜﺷﯜﭖ ﻗﺎﻟﻐﺎﻥ ﻣﯩﯔ ﻗﻮﯕﻐۇرﺍﻕ،
ﺗﯘﺭﺍﺭ ﺋﯩﺪﻯ ﺟﺎﺭﺍﯕﻼﭖ.


ﻗﻮﻳﯘﭖ ﺑﯧﺸﯩﻨﻰ ﮔۇگۇﻣﻐﺎ.
ئۇﭼﯘﭖ ﻛﻪﺗﺘﻰ ﻛﯧﭙﯩﻨﻪﻙ
ﻛﯩﺮﭘﯩﻜﯩﮕﻪ ﻗﯘﻧﯘﭖ ﺑﯩﺮ ﻫﺎﺯﺍ.
ﺗﯧمىپ ﻛﻪﺗﺘﻰ ﺋﯘﻧﯩﯔ ﺭﻩﯕﻠﯩﺮﻯ
ﻗﺎﺭﯨﭽﯘﻗﯩﻐﺎ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮﻧﯩﯔ.
ﺑﻪﺷﯩﻨﺠﯩﺴﻰ –
ﭘﻪﺳﯩﻠﻠﻪﺭﻧﯩﯔ ﭘﯩﻨﻬﺎﻧﻠﯩﺮﯨﺪﺍ
ﻳﯩﺘﻜﻪﻥ ﭘﻪﺳﯩﻞ.


‪_‬ ﺑﺎﻟﯩﻠﯩﺮﯨﻢ!
ﭼﺎﭼﺮﺍﭖ ﺗﯘﺭﺩﻯ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺋﻮﺭﻧﯩﺪﯨﻦ.
ﺗﯚﻛﯜﻟﺪﻯ ﺋﺎﻟﻘﯩﻨﯩﻐﺎ
ﺷﺎﺧﻠﯩﺮﯨﺪﯨﻦ ﻛﯧﭽﯩﻨﯩﯔ
ﺑﻪﺵ ﻳﯘﻟﺘﯘﺯ.


ئۇﭼﺮﺍﺷﺘﻰ ﺋﺎﯕﺎ
ﻗﻪﺑﺮﻩ ﺗﯜﺳﻠﯜﻙ ﺑﯩﺮ ﺑﻮﯞﺍﻱ.

—ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮﻣﯘ ﺳﻪﻥ؟
ﻛﻪﻝ ﺋﻮﻏﻠﯘﻡ
ﺑﺎﻟﯩﻠﯩﺮﯨﯖﻨﻰ ﻛﯚﺭﺳﯩﺘﻪﻱ ﺳﺎﯕﺎ.
يېتىلەپ ﭼﯩﻘﺘﻰ ئۆيىدىن
ﺑﻪﺵ ﯞﺍﺥ ﻧﺎﻣﺎﺯﻧﻰ.


ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﻳﯜﺯﯨﻨﯩﯔ
ﭼﯧﻘﯩﻠﺪﻯ ﺑﻮﻏﺪﺍ.
ﺗﻮﯞﻻﺭ ﺋﯩﺪﻯ ﯰ:



ﻳﯜﮔﯜﺭﯛﭖ ﻛﻪﻟﺪﻯ ﯪﻟﺪﯨﻐﺎ

ﻛﯚﻳﺪﻯ ﺯﯨﺨﺘﺎ ﭘﯩﮋﯨﻠﺪﺍﭖ
ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﻳﯜﺭﯨﻜﻰ.

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺩﻩﭖ ﭼﯚﭼﻪﻙ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺋﻮﻏﻠﯘﻡ ﮔۆﺩﻩﻙ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.
ئ‍ﻮﻏﻠﯘﻣﺪﯨﻦ ﺳوﺭﺍﭖ ﺑﺎﻗﺴﺎﯓ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺯﯨﺨﻼ ﻳﯜﺭﻩﻙ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.



ئۇﭼﯘﭖ ﻛﻪﻟﺪﻯ ﺋﺎﻟﺪﯨﻐﺎ

ئاستا-ﺋﺎﺳﺘﺎ ئۆﭼﺘﻰ ﻧﯘﺭﻟﯩﺮﻯ
ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﻛﯚﺯﯨﻨﯩﯔ.

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺩﻩﭖ ﭼﯩﺮﺍﻍ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺋﻮﻏﻠﯘﻡ ﺑﻮﯞﺍﻕ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.
ﻛﯚﺯﯨﮕﻪ ﻗﺎﺭﺍﭖ ﺑﺎﻗﺴﺎﯓ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺟۈﭘﻼ ﻛﺎﯞﺍﻙ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.



ﻳﯜﮔﯜﺭﯛﭖ ﻛﻪﻟﺪﻯ ﺋﺎﻟﺪﯨﻐﺎ

ﺗﺎﻣﭽﻪ-ﺗﺎﻣﭽﻪ ﻣﯘﺯﻟﯩﺪﻯ
ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﻗﺎﻧﻠﯩﺮﻯ.

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺩﻩﭖ ﺑﺎﻫﺎﺭ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ئوﻏﻠﯘﻣﻐﺎ ﺗﯘﻣﺎﺭ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.
ئوﻏﻠﯘﻣﻨﻰ ﻛۆﺭﯛﭖ ﺑﺎﻗﺴﺎﯓ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﻗﺎقشال ﭼﯩﻨﺎﺭ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.



ﻳﯜﮔﯜﺭﯛﭖ ﻛﻪﻟﺪﻯ ﺋﺎﻟﺪﯨﻐﺎ
ﻗﻪﺑﺮﻩ ﺗﺎﺷﺘﺎ ﻳﯧﺰﯨﻘﻼﺭ:

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺩﻩﭖ ﻧﯩﺪﺍ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺋﻮﻏﻠﯘﻡ ﺟﯘﺩﺍ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.
ئوﻏﻠﯘﻣﺪﯨﻦ ﺳﻮﺭﺍﭖ ﺑﺎﻗﺴﺎﯓ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺋﻪﻛﺲ ﺳﺎﺩﺍ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.



ﻟﻪﺭﺯﺍﻥ بارﺩﯨﻢ ﺋﺎﻟﺪﯨﻐﺎ،
ﻏﯘﯞﺍ ﻟﻪﭘﯩﻠﺪﻩﭖ.

ﭼﯜﺷﯜﭖ ﻛﻪﺗﺘﻰ ﻗﻪﺑﺮﻩ
ﭼﻮﯕﻘﯘﺭ ئىچىمگە‪.‬

ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ ﺩﻩﭖ ﺋﯧﺘﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ﺑﯩﺮ ﺑﺎﻻﻡ ﻳﯧﺘﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.
ﺑﺎﻻﻣﺪﯨﻦ ﺳﻮﺭﺍﭖ ﺑﺎﻗﺴﺎﯓ،
ﺗﯧﻨﯩﺪﻩ ﺗﯧﻨﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ،
ﺟﯧﻨﯩﺪﺍ ﺟﯧﻨﯩﻢ ﻗﺎﻟﺪﻯ.


ﭼﯧﻘﯩﻠﺪﻯ ﻗﻪﺑﺮﻩ
ﺳﯜﻛﯜﺗﯜﻣﻨﯩﯔ تېرەن ﺗﻪﻛﺘﯩﺪﻩ.
تۈتەﻛﻠﻪﺭ ﺋﯩﭽﯩﺪﯨﻦ
ﻗﻮﭘﺘﻰ ﺳﺎﺩﯨﺮ.


—ﺳﻪﺟﺪﻩ ﻗﯩﻞ…!

1986- يىلى، دىمەشق

From Exmetjan Osman, Uyghur Qizi Lirikisi, Ürümchi: Shinjang Yashlar-Ösmürler Neshriyati, 1992, 91-98.

2. Uyghur impressions

1. Cheap Tobacco

Suspicious blood…
falls from a flower’s mystery-stained face
into a palm where ears of wheat have died.2. Badam CapMourning the steed that drifted from eyelashes…
The stones that saw
ships flow from eyes
will turn to smoke.3. Drum Dance

Divine light’s wind
hurls God down to the dirt,
when the call to prayer sounds from the body mosque.

4. Muqam

Twelve angels
drag a corpse
to gardens of salt.

5. Etles

Atop the rainbow
stretching from libido
to the sun of separation
I saw the grave that searches for my grandfather.

6. Thousand Buddha Caves

Muqam of silence.
The castle—
locked away the goblin of the soul.
The last descendant of the stone dynasty.

7. Muselles

Angel of forgetting!
I’m your dear friend, filled with memory moons,
come, let’s drink
from the skull of the spirit wolf.

8. Clay Oven

On gold will grow
the liquor chased out from the city—
that mind which we’ve forgotten.

9. Dutar

You are
the thorn-crowned tune
that led a caravan of golden camels
through the wasteland of bodies.
am your third string.

10. Heart

The world is locked within the depths
of dew
upon a glass cage.


ئۇيغۇرچە تۇيغۇلار‬

1. موخوركا

گۇمانلىق قان…
سىرلارغا بۇلغانغان چېچەك چېھرىدىن
دومىلايدۇ باشاق ئۆلگەن ئالقانغا.

2. بادام دوپپا

كىرپىكلەردە توزۇغان تۇلپار ماتىمىدە…
تۈتەكلەرگە ئايلىنار
كۆزلەردىن كېمىلەرنىڭ ئاققىنىنى
كۆرگەن تاشلار.

3. داپ ئۇسسۇلى

تەجەللى شامىلى تاشلار تۇپراققا،
ياڭرىغاندا ئەزەن-تەكبىر تەن مەسچىتىدە.

4. مۇقام

بىر مۇردىنى
سۆرەيدۇ ئون ئىككى پەرىزات
‎تۇز باغلىرىغا.

5. ئەتلەس

ھاۋايى ھەۋەستىن
ھىجران قۇياشىغىچە
كۆتۈرۈلگەن ھەسەن-ھۈسەن ئۈستىدە
بوۋامنى ئىزدىگەن قەبرىنى كۆردۈم.

6. مىڭئۆي

سۈكۈنات مۇقامى.
تۇتقۇن قىلغان روھ دىۋىسىنى.
ئاخىرقى پۇشتى تاش سۇلالىسىنىڭ.

7. مۇسەللەس

ئۇنتۇش پەرىسى!
مەن ئەسلىمە قەمەرلىرىگە تولغان قەدىناس،
ئىچىشەيلى، كەل،
ئىلاھى بۆرىنىڭ باش سۆڭىكىدە.

8. تونۇر

ئۈنەر ئالتۇندا
شەھەردىن قوغلاندى قىلىنغان شاراب—
بىزدە ئۇنتۇپ قويۇپ كەتكەن ئەس.

9. دۇتار

تەنلەر چۆلىدە
ئالتۇن تۆگىلەر كارۋىنىغا يول باشلىغان
تىكەن تاجلىق كۈي.
‎ئۈچىنچى تارىڭ.

10. يۈرەك

ئەينەك قەپەس ئۈستىگە
دۇنيا سولانغان تېرەن شەبنەم…

1991- يىل

From Exmetjan Osman, Roh Pesli, Ürümchi: Shinjang Yashlar-Ösmürler Neshriyati, 1996, 27-30.

3. My love

On this night’s farthest continent I had you in my sight, my love,
your blood commanded soldiers and deprived me of the night, my love.
In the sky you feast with angels, on the battlefield I bleed,
the dusk of my lament brought you to earth from that great height, my love.
Shooting stars dripped endlessly onto the paper from my eyes,
yet still the body of the dark did grip my spirit tight, my love.
I’ve hunted all my life and yet I’ve never come to know my prey,
you are the soul’s gazelle, you stalk the hunter in his flight, my love.
You are Creation’s mournful string, plucked by the finger of the light,
a sail of oneness in my soul, my passion stands upright, my love.
I kiss you like a grass of secrets grown in rivers of my flesh,
and to my soul the blood of flowers flowed from your lips’ delight, my love.
The wolf of life begins to howl each time I take you in my arms,
my corpse will be enveloped in the sky’s great shroud of light, my love.
A dewdrop in my belly, you locked in your depths the world entire,
into the blessed wound you dripped, and there did life ignite, my love!

‫دىلبەر‬بۇ تۈننىڭ ئەڭ يىراق قىتئەسىدە كۆردۈم سېنى، دىلبەر،
قېنىڭ لەشكەر سۈرۈپ تۈندىن جۇدا قىلدى مېنى، دىلبەر.
مەلائىك بايرىمى سەن كۆكتە، مەن جەڭگاھتا قان تۆكتۈم،
سېنى ئەپكەلدى تۇپراققا پىغانىم خۇپتىنى، دىلبەر.
كۆزۈمدىن توختىماي قەغەزگە چۈشكەندۇر ئاقار يۇلتۇز،
بىراق روھىمنى قىسقان شۇنچە زۇلمەتنىڭ تېنى، دىلبەر.
ئەزەلدىن ئوۋچىمەن ئولجا نېمە بىلمەس ئىدىم ئەمما،
ئۆزۈڭ ھەر ئوۋچىنى ئوۋلايدىغان روھ جەرىنى، دىلبەر.
ئۆزۈڭ نۇر بارمىقى چەككەن پىغانلىق ئەلمىساق تارى،
ساڭا ئىشقىم گويا روھىمدا ۋەھدەت يەلكىنى، دىلبەر.
تېنىم دەرياسىدا ئۈنگەن چىمى سىردەك سېنى ئۆپسەم،
لېۋىڭدىن ئاقتى جانىمغا چېچەكلەرنىڭ قېنى، دىلبەر.
سېنى باغرىمغا باسقاندا ھاياتنىڭ بۆرىسى ھۇۋلار،
يۆگەر مۇردامنى ئاسماننىڭ نۇرانە كېپىنى، دىلبەر.
ئىدىڭ قارنىمدا سەن دۇنيا سولانغان بىر تىرەن شەبنەم،
تېمىپ قۇتلۇق جاراھەتكە ياراتتىڭ جان-جېنى، دىلبەر!

From Tarim, August 1991: 41-42.