The effervescent moon over the village rises. Night.
Painting the houses silver, bathing fields in light.
The people sleep. You cannot hear a peep.
They worked from dawn to dusk; their sleep is sweet and deep.
The dogs don’t bark; there is no sound, as if the village died.
Yet on the edge, there is one house whose window casts a light.
And in that house, after her evening prayer
An older woman sits; her thoughts so far from there,
Her arms raised up in prayer, she asks about her son:
“Oh Allah, make his life a happy one!”
And as she speaks, her cheeks are bathed in tears.
How can such prayers not reach the Creator’s ears?
1909
Оригинал на татарском: Ана догасы
В переводе на русский язык: Молитва матери (Перевод В.Думаевой–Валиевой)
Молитва матери (Перевод В.Ганиева)