From A Poem I Weave Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

From a poem I weave a robe,
It is possible to climb up
into the sky of the dream
that will not come true.
from the poem I weave a net
It is soft than the web’s net,
It is soft than the butterfly’s wing
Into its nest I put its flowers,
To feel its pleasant fragrance,
From the poem I weave a chain ring
By molding it in the heart’s blood.
It can be used to trap the lion’s heart.
But it is so hard to hunt one’s soul.
To trap it the ring net I made is so weak.
From the poem I can weave fabric,
I can weave it from my wails.
The fabric can wipe off the tears
Of those who used to weep for devotion
For commerce I will not weave fabric,
I weave it from my heart’s roundabout,
To justify my existence in this world
See, such a professional weaver I am,
from the poem to make such items
If I weave lies from lies,
In that case this weave factory
Will go bankrupted.