Lola Hotamova
Moderator 
LOLA HOTAMOVA
Lola Hotamova was born on May 7, 2009, in the village of Xonobod, Bukhara district, Bukhara region. She is currently a 9th grade student at the 43rd general education school in Jondor district. She has several authored books published and has participated in numerous anthologies and almanacs. Lola is also a winner of many republic-wide competitions.
The victims of the purge, etched in my album's page,
In the heart of every Uzbek, their sorrow finds its stage.
Their sons, who left behind books that time won't erase,
Their words, like swords, cut sharp, a valiant, noble race.
Hamza, the poet, rose, a champion in the fray,
His verses, songs, resounded, echoing far away.
A victim of ignorance, in that cruel, darkened day,
His name, forever etched, for the Uzbek people's sway.
Has anyone not read "The Past Days," a true story?
Dreams unfulfilled, choked off, a tragic, bitter view.
In Otabek, in Kumushbibi, I see them anew,
A statue for Qodiriy, our homeland, long overdue.
Like a star, bright and bold, he rose in our skies above,
Our people sought to follow, their hearts filled with love.
Those ensnared by his wisdom, so sharp and clear,
Turned Cholpon, too, a victim, a sacrifice, a tear.
We will not forget you, beloved Usman Nosir,
Can a nation forget its sons, who met a cruel resistor?
Your voice, forever echoing, defying any power's stir,
To the grief of the victims, grant our people patience, sir.
To Abdulla Avloniy, the people's respect is deep,
He joined the ranks of the purged, a memory to keep.
The mark he left in hearts, will never fade or sleep,
With honor and reverence, we'll always hold him dear
In the heart of every Uzbek, their sorrow finds its stage.
Their sons, who left behind books that time won't erase,
Their words, like swords, cut sharp, a valiant, noble race.
Hamza, the poet, rose, a champion in the fray,
His verses, songs, resounded, echoing far away.
A victim of ignorance, in that cruel, darkened day,
His name, forever etched, for the Uzbek people's sway.
Has anyone not read "The Past Days," a true story?
Dreams unfulfilled, choked off, a tragic, bitter view.
In Otabek, in Kumushbibi, I see them anew,
A statue for Qodiriy, our homeland, long overdue.
Like a star, bright and bold, he rose in our skies above,
Our people sought to follow, their hearts filled with love.
Those ensnared by his wisdom, so sharp and clear,
Turned Cholpon, too, a victim, a sacrifice, a tear.
We will not forget you, beloved Usman Nosir,
Can a nation forget its sons, who met a cruel resistor?
Your voice, forever echoing, defying any power's stir,
To the grief of the victims, grant our people patience, sir.
To Abdulla Avloniy, the people's respect is deep,
He joined the ranks of the purged, a memory to keep.
The mark he left in hearts, will never fade or sleep,
With honor and reverence, we'll always hold him dear
The article was published without intervention!
