Davlat Rahmoniyon, poem
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Davlat Rahmoniyon
Davlat Rahmoniyon was born on April 15, 1965, in the state farm named after S. M. Kirov in the Vakhsh district. In 1990, he graduated from the Faculty of Tajik Philology at Tajik State University named after V. I. Lenin.
From 2002 to 2014, he worked at Tajik Television as a senior editor in the cultural programming department. He was also the author and presenter of the well-known program “Saydi Ma’ni” (“Hunting for Meaning”). Later, he continued his career as a chief adviser in the INT department in the city of Vahdat. Since 2015, he has been serving as the executive secretary and deputy editor-in-chief of the national literary magazine “Sadoi Sharq” (“Voice of the East”).
He began writing poetry in his school years. His selected works have been published in various media outlets and poetry collections, including “Resurrection of the Spirit” (1995), “Reed Bed” (1996), “Border of Oblivion” (2002), “Written on the Wing of a Butterfly” (2007), “Rising of the Spirit” (2014), “Tent in the Sun” (2017), the book “Memories and Reflections” (2020), and “In the Shadow of the Pen” (2021). His poetry spans genres such as ghazal, free verse, quatrains, and others. His language is polished and refined, and his observations and conclusions are deep and precise, reflecting his high mastery of poetic expression.
He is an Honored Worker of Radio and Television of Tajikistan.
Recipient of the Mirzo Tursunzoda Literary Prize (2017).
Since 2006, he has been a member of the Union of Writers of Tajikistan.
……………………………
THE TREE OF HOPE
Fortune shall never turn its face away from me;
The older I become, the younger love shall be.
Though time may steal the memories of all I have endured,
My mother's face shall in my heart forever stay secured.
My eyes are crystal springs-if even foes should see
Their own reflection there, they would become dear friends to me.
Wherever one may turn, violence blocks the way;
Would that compassion filled the world in every place one day.
My friends demand from me a worth beyond all measure still;
May my true worth, like my own height, stand equal to my will.
When from my hand the goblet slips, stirred by my blood's fierce flame,
My restless head itself becomes another cup the same.
May every green desire I lay beneath the earth one day
Rise from my dust as a mighty tree that none can bend or sway.
……………………………
GHAZAL
"Who is your last beloved?"-people ask me still.
"Is God alone enough for you?"-people ask at will.
Lost within themselves, consumed by endless doubt,
"Does God exist at all?"-they question all about.
Though they slaughtered lovers without shame or fear,
"What is love, anyway?"-they ask from year to year.
I am a whale dragged from the deep onto the shore,
Then they ask of "saving nature"-nothing more.
From the zero of my sighs my book of verse is born,
"Why are your poems empty?"-they ask with mocking scorn.
My silent lips refuse to speak of all my hidden pain;
They question, without ceasing, from themselves to God again.
In this age of forgetfulness, among those who forget,
For me, this is enough-that they still ask me yet.
……………………………
GHAZAL
Do not ask so much about the health of my heart;
Do not grieve my soul with such feigned wisdom.
Beloved, the perfection of your beauty is a weapon for slaying hearts;
If you must kill, then do not boast of your perfection.
God has forbidden oppression-for the sake of love;
Do not make lawful for yourself what God has declared forbidden.
The decline of my life lies within the decline of your love;
You are my sun-do not turn your face toward sunset.
My heart is like the crucified Jesus upon the cross of the body;
Do not drown it in grief, pain, and despair.
Did you imagine I would not die from sorrow for you?
With both feet upon the edge of my grave, think no such thought.
If your dark handwriting fills the pages of my heart,
Then let that darkened book contain nothing but verses of our state.
Ask not about my heart when you already know its condition;
Do not wound my soul with such pretended ignorance.
Prepared for publication by Angela Kosta
