Poems of Jakhongir Nomozov (Azerbaijan)

Jakhongir Nomozov was born on January 24, 1997 in Pop district of Namangan region. 

Correspondent for Uzbekistan in Azerbaijan's "Butov Azerbaijan" newspaper, "YAZARLAR" journal, and the Literature and Fine Arts website managed by the Ministry of Culture and Literary Fund of the Republic of Azerbaijan.

The representative of the Turkish state "SIIR SARNICI" electronic magazine in Uzbekistan.

Member of the Azerbaijan Journalists' Union and the World Young Turkic Writers Union.

  A member of the International Association "World Talents" established in the Republic of Kazakhstan, the winner of the "Abay" medal, "Commemorative Badge of the International Amir Temur Charitable Fund" and "Pride of Science" awards. Member of the International Association of Artists, member of the Kyrgyz Poets and Writers Public Fund of the Kyrgyz Republic. Participant of the traditional workshop of young artists. He has been creating in the fields of poetry, journalism, and translation. His poems were published in the international "Mujde" and "Flashmab" anthologies. He is the author of the books "Rebels in My Heart", "Sacred Space" and "Awakening Song". 2022 in the Turkish publishing house "Baygenc". The poetry book "Breath of the Sun" was published. Winner of many national and international competitions. Published in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Turkmenistan, Azerbaijan, India, Turkey, Russia, Bangladesh, Nepal, Kenya, Algeria,Iran,Iraq Vietnam, Serbia, Macedonia, Belgium, Grecee, Venesuella,China, Kore, Spain, Italy, Albania, American newspapers and magazines and literary sites. done Member of "World Talents" International Association, "Kyrgyz Public Fund of Poets and Writers". He is a student of the University of Journalism and Mass Communications. Winner of the "Guzel Alania Award" of the Turkish state.

In 2025, dedicated to the dear memory of the National Hero of Azerbaijan, Hokuma Aliyeva, "Demisdin yaxsi olacak..."

  His article was also published in his book

A member of the Azerbaijan Turan Writers' Union.

The official ambassador of the Asih Sasami Indonesia Foundation to Uzbekistan.

LATE LOVE

I loved you—

to forgive,

yet found myself in a place

where forgiveness could not reach.

My hands were not for you,

they opened only in prayer

to stay in love.

I said, when I arrived,

“You will mend my wounds,”

but instead you opened my heart

and turned it into a vast

bleeding sore.

I waited for your balm,

yet you—named my illness:

“Separation,”

and with that name

you hurt me even more…

I saw my dreams in your eyes,

yet to forget them,

I looked at your lips.

First, you conquered my heart,

in the end, I became

a prisoner of your love.

I wept for you—

in every tear, a fragment of affection,

in every sigh, a great truth.

And now—

when I leave, saying,

“I’ll tend my own wounds,”

the hardest blow

is your

“too-late love.”

I JUDGED MYSELF

I judged myself—

No witnesses,

no lawyer,

no accuser to show the indictment.

Only a mirror…

broken, silent.

I answered

to my innocent guilt—

my answers stretched endlessly.

I did not cry—yet within me

something cracked, shattering.

Words failed on my tongue,

tears ran down my face.

Before me stood I—

yet like a stranger…

Nowhere could I be truly myself.

Only in my own being,

I became everyone.

The questioning marks in my eyes

were wiped away by tears.

In my hand—a notebook,

even the words themselves

refused to write.

I did not write—

Words themselves refused to be penned.

This is no poetic gathering—

it is a trial.

Silence runs in my blood.

Beneath my nails, gathered envy—

gentle as silence,

sharp as pain.

I forgave myself.

I judged myself…

Law—CONSCIENCE,

Guilty—MYSELF.

I took all blame upon my shoulders,

my face darkened

before myself…

Deciphering my soul, a quest unclear,

An enigma wrapped in shadows sheer.

Within this character, uniquely spun,

I stand apart from the easily known one.

A dwelling distinct, a world apart,

A symphony played in my heart.

Beneath the vast and endless sky,

The sun, my father; the moon, a lullaby.

BALLAD OF CHILDHOOD

Childhood—

the dusty streets where I ran barefoot,

a bowl of water,

and a small piece of bread.

Childhood— the hopeful miracles of my life,

those days when I believed

that one could live forever

beneath the shade of a single tree.

When the moon rose— it chased after us,

and the stars… were the light

falling into my mother’s tears.

Now I look to the sky—

and it feels so low, so very low…

as if, to take back my childhood,

the heavens keep shrinking closer

to the reach of my hands.

I once thought childhood

was a single round loaf of bread—

I gave half to a bird,

ate half myself,

and the remaining half…

where have these fleeting years scattered it?

Life—

where have you hidden my childhood?

Now, no longer do we race through the streets,

instead the years themselves

race with us.

Today we flee backwards,

from grown-up life into childhood.

But in my eyes—

not wonder anymore,

only the trembling light

of tomorrow’s fears.

©® Jakhongir NOMOZOV