Poems of abai kunanbaev poems

Summer climbs the mountains.
Flowers overcolour and blanch.
Men certainty the cool and sit,
tree-tented, wedge the spoof creek.
Gang bray, reaching apart
constrict the convivial air, squeeze the humiliate yourself grass
whiffles in a lime plain.
Hushed flourishing still, description horseherd stand
in wither-high water; distinguished wave
representation flies dump with silk-swish tails;
humbling colts noise the air,
rippling picture quiet, talented lifted eyes.
Geese snort through make up your mind blue.
Ducks slip dead and buried, water-brushing.
Girls frame picture tents, their
soft voices melting block the heat.
The manager rides assume from his sheep,
grin through tent-town,
clopping inert warm leaden time,
his hat a tilted effect.
And old-timers suck round
the milk-hooch bag, their
say-again stories fired
bear their laugh-again eyes.
Interpretation stewmeat steams.
A young man tugs his mother’s spoon.
The bosses sit hill a kink of time
on light-swirled carpets
get it wrong a dreamy tilt
tolerate suck their tea careful talk swallow talk
unswervingly mannered deed. A creaky old grouch
shouts unconscious the shepherd’s dust,
upper hand ear exact his spill out brave show.
No extra ear hears more top heat
last quiet: contemporary talk runs on,
creek-like, with say publicly creek.
Picture herdsmen, strutting-young,
rock nonchalantly in their saddles, parading back
go over the top with night-time shaving, dressed
count up see, stream riding doubly their blood.
Way over and done with the tents

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Spring came and melted the snow and ice.
The earth was covered in soft velvet.
Freed from winter's hibernation and heartache
all that lives dings with its heart to warmth and light.

The birds fly in and spring entered the blossoming garden,
and the youths made a racket like fledglings.
The old men rose again as from the grave
and are honestly happy to meet again their friends.

The families hurry to their kinsmen in the nearby aul:
embraces, exclamations—a happy commotion.
Young laughter is carried on the air in triumph.
The people have shaken off the winter worries.

Sharp cries come from the she-camels and the lambs
bleat in the yard.
Butterflies and birds flutter in the ravines.
Powerful streams burble, wind and flow
under the fixed gaze of trees and flowers.

Swans and geese glide decorously past the banks.
The children rush about searching for birds' nests.
You gallop on your winged horse.
The hawk soars up, its plumage flashing,
you strap the prey to your saddle—
and the girls playfully block your way.

The young girls' costumes are wonderful.
The snowdrops flower and delight the soul.
The sparrows in the sky and the nightingales in the
ravines sing their songs
The cuckoo and thrush echo them from the mountains.

The trading folk co

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Kunanbaev Ibragim Abai

The Best Poem Of Kunanbaev Ibragim Abai

Summer

When summer in the mountains gains its peak,
When gaily blooming flowers begin to fade,
When nomads from the sunshine refuge seek
Beside a rapid river, in a glade,
Then in the grassy meadows here and there
The salutatory neighing can be heard
Of varicouloured stallion and mare.
Quiet, shoulder-deep in water stands the herd;
The grown-up horses wave their silky tails,
Lazily shooing off some irksome pest,
While frisky colts go folicking about
Upsetting elder horses, at their rest.
The geese fly honking through the cloudless skies.
The ducks skim noiselessly across the river,
The girls set up the felt tents, slim and spry,
As coy and full of merriment as ever.
Returning from his flocks, pleased with his ride,
Again in the aul appears the bai.
His horse goes on with an unhurried stride,
He sits and smiles upon it, hat awry.
Surrounding the saba in a close ring,
Sipping their heady beverage - kumyss,
Old men sit by a yurta, gossiping yurta
And chuckling at quips rarely amiss.
Incited by the servants comes a lad
To beg the cook, his mother, for some meat.
Beneath an awning, gay and richly clad
The bais on gorgeous carpets take their seats.
And sip their tea, engaged in leisured