My Eye Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

My eye is a thousand eyed boiling spring,
Around its edges poplars are growing.
Over its edges water is flooding running,
Over its edges falling woes are flying.

This spring is a blind and helpless revolt,
Of its songs its streams are aware right.
For these days shedding tears openly I ceased,
Everywhere my blindness might not be noticed

As long as there is oppression in the world still,
Not ceasing a thousand eyed spring boils still.
Now into my stomach the tears are running,
Without being aware where they are flowing.