THE LAST POEM EDITED BY BRENDA MOHAMMED FOR KAIRAT DUISSENOV PARNAM


04 Jul
04Jul

The last poem I edited for Kairat Duissenov Parman was very significant.
May he rest in peace.

"Death, Please, Cradle Me!
Written by Magzhan Zhumabayev
(1893-1938)
Kazakh Classic Poet

Translated by Kairat Duissenov Parman
Edited by Brenda Mohammed

I got tired of everyone, my strength ran out
It’s sad and cold, the day is covered with dark clouds,
A cowering wind sways and says
About someone’s death
And how he was buried
Saying and inconsolably crying.
Wind, you don’t get dark, stop crying,
The muse of death is beautiful music
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

In the middle of a dense forest,
Shriveled upwind place
Growing single birch
Danced hesitatingly
Babbling banging musical ring
And where did he get sadness
That young birch fell
Seeing the wind cry
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

Holding up the banner
Blade beating in the blood
Spilled like a mountain river
His black eyes spilled blood
In a former gloomy mood
Developing youth –
He died at the front
And the wind read his departure prayer before death
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

Somewhere in the distance in the waterless steppe
In the waterless steppe was the only road
On this same only road the only person
Walked tirelessly on a long night
His feet were wounded by stones
And when the golden morning came
Poor guy died in a waterless steppe
And the wind covered his body with sand
And the wind read his departure prayer before death
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

His face is red-cheeked
And his words are sweet as honey
And he has curly hair
And his laughter is like a scattering pearl
And he himself is like a blooming flower again
It will rise at exactly fifteen –
Beauty cried from grief
And she died of bitter sorrow …
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

Aspiring little baby
Like an angel with a white wing
Like a creeping creek
Giving fun to everyone
Like as soon as ripe strawberries
Like a juicy fresh reed
The jinxed lamb passed away
And the wind kissed his tender face …
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

Far wide lakes
Foam like melted pearls
And beneath this quiet lake
Say there are six
small yurt
With gold plain and silk cords
And everyone has sixteen
And in every yurt wavy braids
And undulating braids …
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

Only a ripe lollipop
When you kiss give pleasure
Oh bathed in the lake.
And wounded a young heart
Hugging young girls
And he died taking in his arms
And the wind learned from the wave lake …
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

Starting from infancy
Hold the beauty in hand
Be friends with all the young men
Take a green birch on your hand
Enjoying kissing the baby
Sharing my grief with a traveler
May I die soon too
Not regretting that I’m still young
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me

Kiss my sweet face
And take my hand and cradle me
Come soon, my death
The soul has ceased to endure
Offended, now does not return
Yesterday’s obstinate heart
Kiss my sweet face
And take me in my hand and cradle me.
My soul was gripped by languor from this music.
Death, please, cradle me and
Cradle me, cradle me!

All Rights Reserved Kairat Duissenov Parman

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