Gabdulla Tukay Your Hand

Your hand makes happy me, I’m your slave,
Your magic touch is a caressing wave,
It shines like gold fish in a summer pond.
An angel’s hand and yours in a friendly bond,
My wounded soul it will help to cure.
Whatever I am to face you help me to endure.
I’m entrapped in your hand, I’m in love.
So strong is your grasp, I cannot move.
The dawn of true happiness you let me see,
And this feeling is greater and deeper than the sea.
At the touch of your gentle and wonderful hand,
I ascend to the sky, with no beginning or end.
Slender and graceful like a silver birch,
You inspire my poetry, you’re my torch.
Please forgive me the fantasy world of my verse,
No, your hand isn’t so perfect, of course.
And yet, I worship your wonderful palm
That makes me feel so humble and numb.

1908

В оригинале на татарском: Кулың

В переводе на русский язык: Твои руки (попытка прославления) (Перевод В.Думаевой-Валиевой)