The Sun Burned The Poplar Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

The sun has sunburned the poplars,
The creek is boiling like dumpling.
The wind shakes its wings shivering
Its face with mud a frog is covering.
The forty headed dragon from sky
Is sprinkling fire to the ground,
The birds are hiding the match.
Where are you, wind, fan the land.
Holding on its forehead the basil,
In a corner of the paradise, cool
Being fanned by willows itself
The wind is resting on the pool.