Poetry: Ashraf AboArafe
O land that beats with caravans on endless trails,
A bridge where East and West embrace in timeless tales.
How oft the steeds have crossed you, sun their silent guide,
Through ink and spice, through traders’ dreams the ages could not hide.
Today you rise, like almond blossoms white and fair,
Offering eyes a vision bright, a glory rare.
In your free markets dawn breaks with a golden flame,
And streams of growth flow gently, calling fortune’s name.
From proud Cathay came silks in shimmering delight,
Bartered for rosy gold and verses pure as light.
And from Rome’s seas came riders, bold in ordered line,
Tracing the Sindh in peace, as if by fate’s design.
From Samarkand to Bukhara, glory makes its way,
Like scents that greet the sun at birth of day.
This is Uzbekistan — a star in time’s vast dome,
Blending the pride of the past with dreams yet to roam.
