Gulnara Zakharova



An Eastern pearl, you were a hidden treasure. 

In Paris, you were meant to be a star.

But did this glory ever give you pleasure?

With home in every place and yet so far. 


Like Kazakh steppes, your heart was without fear.

It yearned to always wander, unrestrained.

The wind of freedom took you far from here,

and only distant memories remained.


Just like the river Seine, at times you’re quiet.

Sometimes, like eastern seas, you’re bearing storms.

A summer rose, you’re meant to be admired,

but you would not survive without your thorns. 


The jealous kind would always spread the rumors 

behind your back, but rumors you ignored.

You looked at life with wisdom, wit and humor,

a star, a muse, a goddess for Dior.


Your life was like a tale of bliss and glory

But curtains fall, and beauty always fades.

There’d be no truth to your exciting story,

as there’s no light that comes without the shades. 


Offstage you were a mother and a woman. 

Your heart could also break, your tears could fall.

And here we praise a muse that’s also human.


You’re home and it’s your final curtain call.