Sling stone

By Bughda Abdulla

Translated by Abdumijit muhammat



The Tamarisk’s songs are not few,

Though they never float among the familiar echoes.

They spoil themselves at the forest’s skirt or the strand of the sea,

But are never more than spans away from dullness.

If even colors steadily lose their signs,

If even the world feels awful in the powder,

Oh, Lord! What power keeps them alive?

Moments will die, but they live forever.

Where have the dinosaurs gone?

Only their eggs are calcified in the hovel.

Of course, the grey areas are their confidants,

Though, they are not clear before the weasel.

To the blue waves of the Danube and the Nile,

Equal its first prelude.

Its food was born in wild land,

It was opened as a wind,

Before the human era.

They brought the fire in their hearts

They are the Prometheus of grasses,

The wild land comes in to their will.

Time never returns inside emptiness,

The life of the desert is without beginning or end.

Vitality emerges from their blood,

Seeds don’t break stones without spirit .

The sling stones of fortune,

Are desert and human,

They have been created and stuck,

Still surviving, miraculously.

Is their totem their ambition?

Is satisfaction the root of their vigor?

Is poor soil their sustenance?

Is it from their sons and daughters their power comes?

Sacrifice .willingness, forgotten,

Exhaust, missing, struggle,

Recall, belonged, rise

Burn, frustrate, anxious,



Ⅱ



The cloth, tied on the holy tree,

As the leaves of wishes and desires.

The horn of the ram was faded by wind.

As the herald of the world without a spell.

People will return to the flagged stalks,

The spirit is washed in the desert.

The breath will begin from the silence

As the bonfire becomes gold in the blaze.

Night in the darkness of the desert,

Sound comes from the evil wars.

this is a sight without wisdom.

Don’t let me see it, Lord!

Like the stones in the gulley, dried skulls,

if buried a thousand cubits down, will never be jewels.

Opened by wind, grows like a ball

‘(Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t hatred or revenge)

Crashing together savagely.

The bones erupt among the howls,

This is not a star which is falling.

This is not single combat.

Is this the shadow of history?

Is this the result of denial?

Is this the punishment of being conceived?

Is this the celebration of victory?

Is this the fruit of failure?



all that is will be buried in nature,

all that is will be absorbed in nature.

distant, continuing ,

connecting to eternity.

Wind will stop, everything will be still,

The desert will flow without mud, clean.

The dreams of tamarisk are right,

Never knowing pollution .

Nature and fitness

Like sugar favors the undistinguished camel thorn

No more, no less,

This land is like a polished jewel .\

The homeland makes a horn its beacon,

Its stories are the golden key.



It was kept between teeth,

As renewed leaven dough

Listen to the earth with clear ears,

A rhythm will be found among dap tunes.

The swift horse’s running is not lifeless,

Not broken but perfect.

Wild stone caves are not lit but

Can be seen among the grotto paintings.

Then move into the eyes of deer

Will be connected to Noah increasingly’

It will pass ‘through the eyes of thousand pound hoe’

Even the handles of the plough

Even through the breath of shoeless feet.



One end is connecting to the orbit of a planet in the universe.

Sounds are chasing each other.

Like a fish swimming against a stream.

Even a moth or a shadfly,

Is not excepted from those lines.

The cicada’s breath will come to live again,

After knowing that wisdom.

It is a deep quietness,

There is a sparkling droplet in it .

Grow, as growing in a row

Being priceless day by day.



Ⅲ



Days and nights are increased beside streams,

They wrapped themselves in sheep’s skin .

they ride the wild pig like a cow

singing Mukam with all their might.

From whence was this holiness born?

Either from blood and sweat,

Or the result of magic,

Or the chest of Hatem.

Water: a shinning jade,

Desert: a thirsty gourd.

Wind: a trouble maker,

Time : a camel thorn with flown cotton.

The soil flows in its ancient furrow,

The ancient good smell never melts,

There is a holiness even on its Hiyabanidimu

Green grass lives proudly.

Flown, gathered, fixed,

Erected, lived, and collapsed.

Born, drew, drawn,

Struggled, progressed, and ate Nan.

From Karakurum to the Idikkut,

Palaces, temples, gold Idols and gold candles,

Knowers say it is right, the ignorant say it is a tale.



The Orhun flowed farther and farther away.

The Tarim flowed here.

The Tangri Taghi are a great backbone,

A mother toiling with a cradle.



From the juice of the mother tongue,

The children suckling obtained comfort.

Their minds floated on clouds and on the sea,

Laughing in great joy.



Mahmut is riding on the white Pegasus,

He is travelling among the homeland and crowds.

Catching words on his feather pen,

The definitions are not unclear.

Yusup is adding “good luck” to “wisdom”

The future follows his words from the past.

There is a clever carpet under his feet,

The confetti are flying over his body.

Another one is an astrologer - counting stars,

One is a kimyager ,

One is a theologian,

One is a momyager.

The past is a secret concept,

It never asks for any explanation .

Maybe it was left among marrow,

Life is swaying with its power.

Is wildness also ancient?

Humanity comes in ages.

Maybe they know themselves or not,

They seem ignorant of their definition.

they always live with regret,

This is their gap between birth and death.

As the fire dies with a puff of gray,

Eye lids lose their energy,

Is its value in certain jewels?

Or is pride its value?

Or is lying its value?

Or is mystery its value?

The sprout is still greening,

The peace raises its head.

The opening is auspicious for the years,

The good wishes are paths and companions.

The storks fly over the magic,

Seeming to be near to something,

The Snowbird fades in to the valley,

Seeming to be far away from something.

It is said Hizir is walking the outskirts,

Going to bury the earth, if it will be opened.

Don’t be a fox’s hole,

It’s said he is praying in the dawn-the morning,

There was, from destination to destination,

Snakes moving one after another,

The bombing sounds,

Echoes of strange stuff,

Shaking time and earth.

Homeland and homelands,

The frightened people in the trees,

Living, shocked, morning after morning.

With the past customs,

As magic, strange to every creature.

This is a gustless dust devil,

It is time that can’t be known.

Nature is like opaque string,

Standing balanced among the unbalanced matter.



Ⅳ



Sand is cascading continuously night after night,

(It is said this is the year of the rabbit .)

Kitik city, walls and palaces ,

Markets, treasuries, gardens are merely

Left in destruction and darkness.

Mosques, towers, tombs,

Their unimaginable deeds are left, dried in the rooms.

They are uncovered by wind now and then

Like a fallen sparrow ,

A quiet life is left far behind.

The survivors left for their lives,

The northern mountains beckoned, “Come! Come!”.



The sand is exploding around them,

it is an unconceivable mystery.

How many dreams were forgotten?

Sought after only now and then.

Stacked to the summit are

Mountains, Zadival and Tash Qovuq.

Nameless grasses are the beauty of last fall.

Red hot are the hooves of the flying horses,

The water god shows his power

Like a froza

A falcon’s heart grows on the cliffs,

Its wings are strengthened by the sky.



Ⅴ



Taklimakan: not an uncivilized place,

Its name soaked in to it like a drop of water,

As a fitted crown,

Or an embroidered cap.

Sand is a wild fleeing camel,

A camel is another a sling stone,

It is landing for this ground,

It is burning for this soil.

The silent are not failures,

It is not hard heartedness to be walking in the desert.

Winds try to bury their tracks,

Their stability is their boldness.

In the desert they come to life again,

As horses come to life with a wind at their backs.

As cows come to life heading for their watering hole,

As sheep come to life, scenting their salt lick

Their eyes shine like a rabbit fur,

White hot sands and they are one.

As a story of an edge.

It is going to be in fashion today or tomorrow.

We are human in pride.

With a Heavenly Spirit, we continue our fight.

Let time tell who is to blame,

We are no match for heaven.

They are ancients which continue today,

Yes, they’ve gone to the far sea.

To half-asleep Europe,

Yes, they covered her in silk.

Homer’s lyrics are not unfamiliar,

They brought Plato to us.

They drove the people to pray, catching their collars in their teeth (FOOT NOTE)

They have built a firm bridge,

Laden with a burden of hope,

They bore our father’s supplications.

Leaping across and sinking into the sea,

Their crying reached to the fish,

Bones and tombs are forgotten,

On the other side of this world.

One way roads are their punishment,

For sucking hard at their mother’s breast. (FOOT NOTE)

The globe rotates beneath their feet,

In the world they both mourn and cause others to mourn.

Maybe the times made them angry,

As if to say “Take your city!” (FOOT NOTE: “sour grapes!”)

Their fate can not be shared.

The earth is full of sin,

That is why regret and prayer are made,

Yet they will be wiped away.

They will be cleaned again and again.

Eh, dromedary camel,

Only you know everything.

You are said to be the ship of the desert,

Is there any ending to your journey?

You are the small idol, buried,

Your groaning is under the sand.

Are double humps your power to shame?

There are good intentions under your feet.

You gaze afar but are silent,

Are the unknown sounds your companions?

Ancient Kayas city,

Who knows but that this is your base?

In your ears is the sound of the rushing river.

The Arqa River fell asleep.

You don’t want to go any more,

To the washes or valleys,

Invite the cool breeze for life,

And feel drunk from it every day,

Keep on your life’s flowing path,

You have your God indeed.



Ⅵ



The desert lies without jealousy,

Having been refined a thousand times like a phoenix.

Its drunkenness is without question or response ,

The century can be seen as the tail of a shark.

This is Tarim,

Calling to mind the color of human skin,

It is this land that makes the dry branches grow!

Sprinkled with holy water, the poplars,

Can live for a thousand years standing,

Can live for a thousand years lying,

And another thousand years in the earth.

They still remain, perhaps, as a green spirit .

Floating beautiful and fragile,

How many scarifies has he paid?

Even dreams can’t convey it properly.

How many of them embrace the ground,

As if dreaming of their rebirth.

The travail of the mother tree is bitter,

Because in her palm she sees the souls’ playing.

At the thorn of every gasp,

Streams of sweat make a great wave,

At the edge of blazing eyes.

Her screaming stops and breaks out again…

There is grass and human aboard the ship of fate,

They are often challenged.

Fate threatens that age of Man,

Its wisdom looks like a stable human.

Why does a leaf need a hook?

It is on top , and heavy.

A naïve life is perfect

Its life can’t survive from a skylight,

It’s stuff comes from the good Samaritan,

The adding fat to the kidneys. (FOOT NOTE)

If you want to give them a meal, take the plate,

Never drive them to the bottle.

The goddess of beauties eye lash and brow,

Will not curl into a frown and

Jewels drop from her chest.

They are not filthy or awfulness.

Greeks created the daughters of Athens,

Uyghurs created their own beauties around them.

If the ship raised its sail among the sands,

Byron would have been amazed, for a moment.

Girl: a white crane in the Tarim,

Heaven: Given to God by himself.

The angles grow from Tamarisks.

Then flew out every where…

The great fathers, knowing something

Hid themselves in side of the desert.

Looking at them with present eyes,’

We see they made no mistake.

Their spirit never asks for grattitude,

They have already returned to the soil.

Their dust is a crown on your head.

Know it is your Kabba, and the direction of your prayers

People who search for it actually look for themselves,

Even as the horn is pride of a ram.

The foundation of the tower is not in the sky,

Tips are top, roots are under foot.

Is rubber necking really necessary?

Is it the destination which we look toward?

The mood of the desert is silent as a river ,

You will not know it until it is born as a lion.

Its fruit is gold, leaf is silver

It’s scent is the Desert Date.

The “Seven Daughters” still live, (FOOT NOTE)

If they burn their torches steadily.

Qurimish Ata, and Tölamish Ata ,

Brave father is a white ship of malghay.

Upon which cliffs will it crash?

Is it possible there is no hope on the edge?

Frighten by its own description

To act like this will be called a sin.

The wolf’s ankle is a lucky charm

It will lend support if a devil attacks.



Ⅶ



Piles of sands are under the moon,

Seeming dim and cold.

Only ice and wind are in the caves ,

Every breath is a sacred tune:

Reminiscent of the tinkling of the golden bell,

Reminiscent of the groaning of the Oak tree ,

Reminiscent of the reflection of pearls,

Reminiscent of the painted sky,

Being unfettered is like a miracle,

It’s suddenness is like a miracle,

Remaining it becomes water,

Remaining it becomes a root,

It is a purpose,

It is an immortal story.

19th January,1994 written in shayar - Urumqi .

17th January 1995 corrected in Urumqi

18th may 2009 interpreted into English in Urumqi , by Abdumijit Muhammat.

5th july,2009 the translation is corrected in Urumqi , by Mr. McKay barrow and Mr. Abdumijit.