Iroda Rakhimova (poem)
Moderator 
IRODA RAKHIMOVA
Iroda Rakhimova was born on August 8, 2005, in the city of Khiva, located in the Khorezm region of Uzbekistan. She graduated from the School number 11 in Khiva with a gold medal and was admitted to Urgench State University named after Abu Rayhan Beruni on the basis of a state scholarship. Currently, she is a second-year student at the Faculty of Philology and Arts at the same university. Her poems, short stories, and articles have been published in both national and international journals. She is an active member of the “Mushoira” literary club established at the university and continues her creative work through this platform.
Mother
Today I saw the silver strands growing in your hair,
And, Mother, today I truly understood
How many sleepless nights you’ve endured for me,
I now see the dimming light in your eyes…
Mother,
Only now I see the reason your hands are cracked…
Your clothes are patchwork and worn,
Each sorrow you’ve borne burns in my heart.
Mother, let me lay my head upon your feet,
And sleep—never to wake again…
I’m weary of the world’s cruelty,
Tired of this noisy, fleeting life.
Mother, your feet are blessed—
To me, even the dust they touch is sacred.
One day I’ll prove myself worthy of your trust—
The fragile daughter in whom you believed.
Mother, your very presence
Is my greatest fortune, my truest joy!
You are the spring of my life, its deepest meaning—
An endless ocean of unconditional love.
Mother,
You are, for me,
The finest creation God has ever made—
A sacred gift from the heavens.
You are the most touching verse of my heart’s Qur’an.
Let me rest once more at your feet, Mother,
And never wake…
Let me live this life in a dream,
At peace beneath your gentle feet—
For your feet have always been paradise.
Today I saw the silver strands growing in your hair,
And, Mother, today I truly understood
How many sleepless nights you’ve endured for me,
I now see the dimming light in your eyes…
Mother,
Only now I see the reason your hands are cracked…
Your clothes are patchwork and worn,
Each sorrow you’ve borne burns in my heart.
Mother, let me lay my head upon your feet,
And sleep—never to wake again…
I’m weary of the world’s cruelty,
Tired of this noisy, fleeting life.
Mother, your feet are blessed—
To me, even the dust they touch is sacred.
One day I’ll prove myself worthy of your trust—
The fragile daughter in whom you believed.
Mother, your very presence
Is my greatest fortune, my truest joy!
You are the spring of my life, its deepest meaning—
An endless ocean of unconditional love.
Mother,
You are, for me,
The finest creation God has ever made—
A sacred gift from the heavens.
You are the most touching verse of my heart’s Qur’an.
Let me rest once more at your feet, Mother,
And never wake…
Let me live this life in a dream,
At peace beneath your gentle feet—
For your feet have always been paradise.
