Shurqurghon Poem by Uktamoy Khaldorova

The salt on my forehead
Is spreading all over my body,
Scrawl from head to foot,
Salty are the tears running
In the canal of my eyes.
Being my motherland
is the castle of salts
In this corner of the world
I live still and have grown up.
Is it possible to dry the salt,
Which has made a salty castle
Out of me and which wants
To live very-very long?

(Shurqurghon is a village where I was born. It means a castle built from salts)