Abdumominov Abdulloh, poems

I, Abdumominov Abdulloh, was born on November 29, 2008 in Tashkent. At the age of five I began to study oriental and literature, read books. From a young age he was fond of literature. I started writing stories when I was ten, and my stories have been translated into many languages ​​and published in many countries, I participated in international competitions and won prizes. The purpose of writing a story is to instill in children a sense of time and culture. His works have been published in newspapers, magazines and websites of Uzbekistan. It has also been published in Russia, Pakistan, India, Kazakhstan, Dagestan, Indonesia, Israel, Africa, Belgium, Romania, America, Argentina, China. Also published in Russian, English, Kazakh, Indonesian, Irvitic, Romanian, Spanish, Chinese. Coordinator for Uzbekistan of the African newspaper Kenya Times, Indian magazine Namaste India Magazine. Abdulloh Abdumominov is 13 years old. Young writer Winter Silver Winter has come again, Kids flying sled. We make Christmas, We play snowballs. They hit my window, The sound of a bitter winter. Invites you to the new year, The playful word of the snow. Tales told by my mother Great from each other My mother tells fairy tales Leads to good Tales of generations Pillars in the future We tell my mom Thank you very much We get it from fairy tales Examples of goodness We will ask again Stories, proverbs Peace May there always be peace, Let there be no war. May our country be beautiful, Rejoice, our people. Wherever you go, always, Do good to you. They say that even the ancestors, The near future is you. Always in our country, It’s a wedding, it’s a spectacle. Tulips on the hill, Come on guys. We celebrate, Now you guys. In our independent hands When we live happily Alisher Navoi How many years, how many centuries, No matter how much time passes. Navoi our ancestor, The world remembers. Great epics, The rabbis are ghazals. It’s all a world, Beautiful than each other. My heart is full of dreams, If my poem finds value. If I could write like my grandfather, At least one line. Spring When spring comes, the environment wakes up, The wind blows softly. The whole nature wakes up, You are welcome to my people Scattering the scent of tulips, You fly smoothly in the mountains. In the beautiful sky in the wide field, Our sheet is still flying. Flying spring again, Stay in this miraculous land. Make our tongues involuntary, Take my love ABDULLOH ABDUMOMINOV


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