RAHIM KARIM, Kyrgyzstan

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RAHIM KARIM, Kyrgyzstan
Member of IWA Bogdani

RAHIM KARIM (KARIMOV) is an Uzbek-Russian-Kyrgyz poet, writer, publicist, translator. He was born in 1960 in the city of Osh (Kyrgyzstan). Graduate of the Moscow Gorky Literary Institute (1986). Member of the National Union of Writers of the Kyrgyz Republic, member of the Russian Writers’ Union, official representative of the International Federation of Russian-Speaking Writers in Kyrgyzstan (London-Budapest), member of the Board of the IFRW. Laureate of the Republican Literary Prize named after Moldo Niyaz. Lauret Republican Literary Prize Egemberdi Ermatov. The author of the national bestseller “Kamila”, the winner of the second prize of the International Book Forum Open Central Asia Book Forum & Literature Festival – 2012 (Great Britain), the nominee for the Russian national literary awards “Poet of the Year 2013”, “Poet of the Year 2014”, “Writer of the Year 2014″, “Poet of the Year 2015″,”Heritage- 2015”, “Heritage-2016”, the Prize for them. S. Yesenin (2016). He was awarded the “Kyrgyz Tyly” medal by the National Commission on the State Language under the President of the Kyrgyz Republic. In 2017 he was awarded the silver medal of the Eurasian literary contest LiFFт in the nomination of a Eurasian poet. Co-Chairman of the Council on Literature of the Assembly of the Peoples of Eurasia. Author of about 30 books published in Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, Kazakhstan, Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, Great Britain, Canada, Mongolia, Romania, Greece, Netherlands, Zimbabwe, India, Tunisia, Saudi Arabia, Albania, Belgium, Macedonia, Afghanistan, France, USA, Republic of China in Kyrgyz, Uzbek, Russian, Tajik, English, Ukrainian, Romanian, Hindi, Spanish, French, Dutch, Greek, Persian, Pashtun, Dari, Arabic, Chinese, Japanese, Macedonian, Serbian, Croatian and other languages of the peoples of the world. The author of about 20 patriotic songs in Uzbek, Kyrgyz, Russian languages, written with composers from Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Russia, Ukraine, Germany. He translated poetry and prose of authors from Kyrgyzstan, Uzbekistan, Russia, Tajikistan, Mongolia, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, the Netherlands, Tunisia, Saudi Arabia, Romania, Poland, Macedonia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Iran, Luxembourg,  India, Mexico, Venezuela, Denmark etc.

MISSION

When I was seven years old,

I began to write poems about the world.

I wanted to save the Earth, white light,

From a bomb – atomic, like Hiroshima.

This thought did not leave the heart,

She lives in me and still.

My life may be the meaning,

Take care of her like an eye of black eyes?

Do not think, no, that I am such a coward, –

For the Earth it has always hurt me.

I keep it as a mother, so be it,

All patients were called through the year.

I only fulfilled my mission

Planet saved from misfortune.

Perhaps God saw my life,

With love, our Earth as saved!

To some it may be funny, –

Can laugh at me young, old.

Like an ant carrying grain,

Carried on itself the Earth green globe!

ROMANIAN COSTUMe

Then when I was about sixteen,

When the whiskers cut under the nose.

My father bought me for rub. one hundred and fifteen

Romanian costume, slightly taller.

And this was an advance for me

He wanted to grow up to match that suit.

In short, he rewarded me with a chance

So that I reached in the suit volume of triumph.

In a suit that is brown, chic,

Once entered the Literary.

I struggled with life then insidious,

To become a fair and cultured man.

I do not know what is the connection in this –

Romania reads my verses ?!

In a suit that is not for nothing that I became a poet,

Perhaps, next to my father’s spirit hovers?

Although the costume has long been small in size,

But my goal lives with me everywhere.

I must become the poet of this world

Because of the father, the Romanian costume !!!

DISABLED PEOPLE

Rich Planets, just humans,

Do not torment you compassion, pain?

Singing in the markets are songs of the disabled

We hurry past to the concert, football !!!

I look into the world again through the window of Khayyam, –

I only see alms asking.

Hurrying friend, to the wedding, flying,

For the first time you hear their songs with me!

Dressed luxuriously, without offense,

Just look around you.

On the streets they sing, after all, people with disabilities

In the cold, hungry, grieving.

Careless persons, individuals,

Go to hell at least once a concert.

Singing in wheelchairs now disabled

Serve them at least your dessert!

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