To Nokhchichoh* Poem by Ilman Yusupov

Nokhchicho! You will hear my whisper, I know.
When I breathe my last on the final verge, and
Merging with the steam of silence, I’ll go
Rising over the peasant’s arable land.

When they lay me to rest, your azure blue sky
Will hang over graveyard with its eyes, all wet.
My unfinished songs about you will bitterly cry
When, for the very last time, I breathe in your scent.

I softly and silently say to you my goodbye
Raising my breast in the last throe and moan.
My churt** will be the shining moon in your sky
And that on the earth will be a mountain stone.

But where shall I put the banner of your calm:
Hang it on clouds, or take it along to the burial spot?
Remember, I carried it, like a child in my arms,
Caressing and fondling it with most ardent thought…

*Nokhchichoh - a Chechen name for Chechenya.
**Churt– a tombstone.