Poppy flowers are blossoming
on hill of Birke,
the myriads of perfect beauties
and sweet girls in red blissful wearings,
made from designers of Heaven
these flowers dancing so attractive
on morning sunlight and wind
only one or two days,
then all withering, disappearing and tramping down
or cutting by mowers
so cruel and merciless.
On the scale of these great tragedies
of mother nature
I found out something like small refuge
from my love
so big and painful,
like blue majestic mountains
Kara-Tash, Tiger Shrine, Babash-Ata,
stretching to heaven
far behind the sea of green hills.