My mother was illiterate,

Could neither write, nor she could read.

But she taught me how to count

And call days, months, and years into account.

She taught me my mother tongue

And to what nation I belong.

This native tongue led me to know

My happiness, grief, sorrow.

I have written in my tongue

Lovely, poems to be said and sung.

Alas, I have lied, I am nothing

If not mother -- who else would I be?

All my poems she sang to me.
 
 

[Published with permission of Shahla Naghiyeva]