Works of Suyunbay Eraliev

In memory of my grandfather -
komuzist Oruzbai

The irrepressible sun has gone beyond the mountains,
And the world darkened, wearing dark clothes,
Living things are hiding
In dwellings, in nests, in secluded corners.

And slowly, as if flapping our wings,
The fire becomes a hearth flame.
Grandfather plays quietly on komuz,
And I am lying in front of a stone fireplace.

The melody keeps expanding, and it seems to me:
Sound replays are flying birds,
And now the blazing chant
Merges with crimson lightning.

I don’t know if the sounds became sparks
Or the sparks became Kyrgyz songs,
But the tongues of fire started to dance,
Spraying me with sparkling spray.

And the flames are volatile creatures,
Like a peri of an old legend,
Whirling to the music of komuz,
They dance, waving their robes.

I see their black flashes in my eyes,
Their winks are perky,
I hear the clatter of feet, the sound of silks
And scared-feigned exclamations.

Fire intertwines with the melody-
They converge and fly away,
The boiling cauldron is bubbling,
As if trying to join their game.

I am drunk with the hum of the old komuz,
I’m exhausted by the breath of an ardent heat,
Sounds are leaving like water in sand,
The dancer covers the haze.

Everything is like a dream.
But no, not a dream
It returns me those lights blooming,
And that song, and my alchiki,
That all the treasures of adults are more precious.