Saidvafo Yuldashovich Boboev, poem
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Saidvafo Yuldashovich Boboev
Saidvafo Yuldashovich Boboev was born on December 10, 1961, in the village of Pasurkhi, Boysun District, Surkhandarya Region, Republic of Uzbekistan.
In 1978, he graduated from Secondary School No. 5 in Pasurkhi village. In 1983, he graduated from the Tajikistan Agricultural Institute.
Since 1983, he has been actively engaged in journalism and has worked for various newspapers and publishing houses throughout the Republic of Uzbekistan for more than four decades.
Saidvafo Yuldashovich Boboev is a member of the Writers' Union of Uzbekistan and the Turan International Writers' Association. He is widely recognized as a poet, writer, and translator, making significant contributions to contemporary literature.
To date, he has authored and published more than 55 books, including scholarly, literary, and translated works, which have earned recognition among readers and literary circles.
Alongside his literary career, he has made valuable contributions to the promotion of culture, literature, and the education of younger generations.
He is married and is the father of three children-two daughters and one son. One of his daughters is a journalist, poet, and employee of the National News Agency of Uzbekistan (UzA). His second daughter is an economist working in the banking sector. His son is a lawyer serving in the law enforcement system of the Republic of Uzbekistan.
Mr. Boboev is also the proud grandfather of four grandchildren.
Through his scholarly and literary achievements, Saidvafo Yuldashovich Boboev has made a remarkable contribution to the development of Uzbek literature, intercultural dialogue, and the strengthening of friendship among nations.
THE MERCILESS
The world itself is not unfaithful-
It is people who have grown untrue.
This worldly life is only temporary,
Yet all cling to its fading traces.
The blind refuse to open their eyes,
Unheeding the cries of the broken-hearted.
As though they could carry this world away
Into the life that comes hereafter.
As long as the oppressed still live,
Do not torment them with pride and power.
Do not despise the helpless, O misguided soul;
Every deed will one day be weighed in justice.
Do not kick the poor and the destitute,
Nor trample those who have no one to defend them.
For every action has its reckoning,
And every wrong its destined answer.
Do not grieve, O troubled heart, over everything.
Neither pain nor this brief life will last forever.
This wounded body will one day become
Food for worms beneath the earth.
And then, not even once
Will you be able to utter a single word of gratitude.
21 June 2026
MY DEAR, THE WORLD WAS CREATED IMPERFECT
Know this, my dear0the world was made imperfect;
Neither a magician nor a faithful companion was created within it.
Love is sweet at times, yet bitter at others;
Where lovers exist, separation is born as well.
The crescent moon adorns the sky with longing,
While the rising sun plays with streams of light.
In the night's vast heavens the stars seem near,
My dear, this world is narrow and imperfectly made.
The nightingale sings, asking, "Where is the rose?"
In the rose garden, blossoms wander in drunken dreams.
The heart's deepest wishes are never fully fulfilled,
For the sanctuary of love was created in ruins.
Do not weep; let not your tears become a river.
Its waves never rest, its shores remain apart.
Like shattered clouds scattered through the darkness,
So are the paths of destiny-darkly woven.
My flower, you and I are only passing travelers.
One day every desire will fade0who will remain to wait?
The sigh within my breast, the tear upon my eye-
Know that they were born of faithlessness.
Autumn weeps through leaves that fall in sorrow.
Winter wanders with my sighs in bitter cold.
Summer burns the body and the soul alike,
And spring itself leaves the world restless.
Saidvafo Boboev
Tashkent, June 26, 2026
Prepared for publication by Angela Kosta
