Ko‘ngil Shahri

The Uzbek word ko‘ngil has no exact equivalent in English: it means the heart, the soul, the mood and one’s inner disposition all at once. And in every person there is a city that can never be shown to another in full. I picture mine from memory: busy streets of everyday cares, quiet courtyards, houses that people left long ago, and doors at which I still do not dare to knock. I have changed real cities, left homes, started life over, but the inner streets went on living their own life. Sometimes a single melody is enough to find myself again in a place that is on no map.

“Ko‘ngil degan shaharga shoh kelur” - “To the city called the Heart the King comes”. The unexpectedness of this image moves me. We are used to thinking of ourselves as the masters of our inner world: deciding whom to let in, what to remember, which grievance to keep. Little by little our own fears and habits take an almost royal throne there. And suddenly there is the possibility of meeting the One who is greater than all of this. Not the conquest of the city, but a quiet arrival that can be noticed or missed.

Yunus Emre has a line: the heart is the throne of the Creator. He also says: if you have ever broken someone’s heart, this prayer of yours is no prayer. That is why a line in my own song is close to me: “Navoiy deb suron solma. Ichidagi jonni topgil” - “Do not raise a clamour in Navoi’s name - find the soul that lives within”. This is not a reproach to the poet. I want to pass through the solemn pronouncing of great names to the living voice that stands behind them. Beautiful words about love and mercy lose their worth if afterwards there is no time to listen to the person beside you.

“Pok etgil. Topgil” - “Purify. Find”. The Qur’an says that the one who purifies his soul has succeeded. And a hadith transmitted by Bukhari says that in the body there is a piece of flesh: when it is sound, the whole body is sound, and it is the heart. In these two words of the song I hear labour and hope. To purify the heart does not mean to erase your history and become flawless. For me it is an attempt to see my own pride, old grievances, the pain of others that I walked past.

The city will not become perfect. Much in it is still unfinished. But one door I can open right now - and let the light in.