Is not present in the life house if the children's sincere laughter if sonorous voices of kids are not audible in it does not sound in it. Is not present in the happiness house if children are not glad to this house. And consequently section with the national fairy tales learning our children to good and justice, simply vital. Well and as our house Tatar, fairy tales collected in it too will be Tatar.
(from an American newspaper)
I don’t know how or why, but this I’m told,
A little caged mouse fell in a bowl
Of milk, swam back and forth, could not escape,
The milk was liquid, drowning was her fate.
All frantic motion, where will she be safe?
She’s paddling here and there, she keeps her faith.
Her work was not in vain, I’m pleased to utter,
She swam so long, that milk turned into butter
And for a moment you could see her standing there.
Then, she leapt off and ran into her lair.
My dearest one! If you are treading that same bowl,
Be patient, stoic, don’t forget your goal.
With lips of honey you I praise for high moral,
But when I’m faced with evil, I will quarrel.
In my directness, meanness takes her stage,
It is enough to make me fly into a rage.
“Why so? You’re not allowed,” I yell. “You're busted.”
“Oh, fools, just go to hell.” I am disgusted.
And if they aim at me with nonsense, I don’t say
That they are wrong, and that is not the way…
“You are mistaken in your aim, friend, take your arrow,”
I say all friendly, though it pierced me to the marrow.
My heart is bitter, bitter turns my rhyme.
It’s undercooked, although I thought that it was time.
I want to free a songbird from my chest,
Instead, a cat meows there, oh what a pest!
A rainbow holds its color for all hours,
Each taste will find its match in sweet and sour.
I also mix the sweet and bitter in my deed,
Following Lermontov and Pushkin as my creed.
Slowly but surely I climb ever higher,
I want to cry out from the quivering spire.
From such great heights, I am afraid to fall
But I will brave the way, I’ll reach my goal.
My dormant feelings finally will awake.
No grave needs to correct me, I am no mistake,
And in my heart, Tengri will light the path,
Watch after me with patience, not with wrath.
Tiny little Butterfly,
Will you ever tell me, why,
Flying since the crack of dawn,
You are not fatigued or worn?
Is your living sour or sweet?
How do you make ends meet?
Tell me, where, if you would,
Are you finding all your food?
In the woodlands, in the fields
In the meadows are my yields;
Here's where I fly and play
On a brilliant summer's day.
Loved and cherished by sunlight,
I keep flowers in my sight:
Their blossoms, when in bloom,
Nourish me with sweet perfume.
Yet, my life is short, I say,
It but lasts a single day,
Be a good and gentle boy,
Do not hurt me, nor destroy!
The Goat's, to Gali, a dear friend;
Into the window pane she sticks her head.
Gali plays host and gives her grass for food:
The Goat shakes her beard in gratitude.
Akbai, come on! Be trained! On hind paws stand a bit!
Don't fall, don't fall! Stand straight! And now — sit!
— Why do you torment me? I am so small,
Barely three months have passed since I was born!
I am not up for it, I won't be taught, no way.
I only want to roll on grass, have fun and play.
— You silly puppy! Learn, while you're still small,
It gets so harder, as the years roll.
Our puppy lives a good life, no complains.
He gaily barks and runs, all day he plays;
He looks at me with eyes so full of love,
As if he means to say: «Let's play and laugh!»
At times he rests — when he's been nicely fed,
On his fore paws, he reclines his head.
Flies come to bother him, yet in sweet dreams
He doesn't want to know, so it seems.
Such lazy puppy! Staring from below,
His half-closed eyes then seem to keenly glow;
He widely yawns and moves to scratch his ear,
And all the flies instantly disappear.