Selected Poetry / Избранное (англ.)

I’m writing this from my memory now: how, realizing that my deceased mother was being carried out the house, I rushed out of the gates in tears, barefoot and skimpily dressed, and shouted, «Don’t take my mom away, give me my mom!» Then I kept running after the funeral procession for a long time.

After my mother’s death, I became an orphan. Living in the mullah’s house didn’t work out and he sent me to Uchile, to stay with my maternal grandfather. My grandmother on my mother’s side passed away when my mother was still a young girl, and grandfather chose as his wife the widow of another mullah who had six children.

The village of Uchile[4 - Uchile means ««three houses»».] was a very small and poor one, as confirmed by its name. To make things even worse, in the years when I was orphaned there was a severe famine in this area and my grandfather had a hard time making ends meet.

So I was placed in this impoverished family with too many mouths to feed…

For my step grandmother I was like a strange jackdaw among her six doves, and there was no one to comfort me, when I was crying, or hug me, when I wanted to snuggle up, or feel sorry for me and give me something to eat or drink when I was hungry or thirsty.

The family had grown so destitute that I still remember how my grandfather would bring chunks of bread from wealthier neighboring villages.

This was how my childhood days unfolded. I was also down with chickenpox during that time, and suffered many other injuries, which had bad consequences.

Everyone in the family (except for one of the daughters, Sazhida, who was a little older) responded the same way to any illness I had: «If he passes, there’ll be one mouth less to feed!»

I still remember, how Sazhida apa[5 - Apa, in Tatar, means ««auntie»».], whom I just mentioned, comforted me and how affectionate she was secretly from her mother. But the moment she approached, Sazhida would start acting as a totally indifferent person who doesn’t have any relation to me.

Since those days, I preserve her memory in my soul like an angel. As soon as I start thinking about her, I see in my mind’s eye a pure, snow-white angel.

But whatever I may have experienced in this house, I was clearly a burden to the family. One day my grandfather, perhaps at his wife’s suggestion, placed me in a carriage, next to the driver from our village, and sent me to Kazan.