Saturday, February 1, 2020



The Flag Of Peace

The breezes come to use from our shadows,
The butterflies fly from our fingertips,
The fall was an old neighbor,
The leaves turned yellow,
The trees fell down,
When it left.

It’s the season of rain, I write this poem?
Where the words are “forgotten”
Everybody a little like Sizief
We’re all dead Gods “as Zoroaster used to say
Coming closer, the darkness of the alleys vanishes in street lights
The lighted candles turn to torches

Writes somewhere!
Write that
The lie poems of the world come true in your writing
Let me say
I let open the widows of tomorrows
I believe that the sun shall rise from your hands

Let me say
And know that
Foggy days will come from music notes to the beauty alleys of the city
When I call you the dreams of the kingfishers vanishes in signals of the ships
You tell the soldiers with your glances
You say that
Nobody fires the sky
White clouds are the Peace flags of the skies
How the soldiers can know? How the politicians?
The shoeless child in war scenes
Calls her mom before calling God
Tell her
Many things are untold in this poem
When my heart pulses, the untold words pain there
It’s the season of rains, I write this poem:
There is a path of one word from us to you.
In our world
Wordlessness kills more than thirst

In The Atmosphere
Of Loneliness

I’m so silent …
Like the air after the rain
Breathed me like air in your longs
And left me to others
I was vanished in the atmosphere of loneliness like air
I’m so silent …
The blood doesn’t run in hear
The eyes don’t intend to see
Your silence is like a glass of wine
Drinking it, the destiny of human sulks
Sulking dashes the hopes in dreams
Your silence is speechlessness
The life runs in the deaf ears of Beethoven
The Piano vanishes in in your fingers
The notes freeze in symphony
Yeah, your silence steps in my left side
You speak in my left side, step by step
The bucket of dreams are tensioned
The sun turns to cancer on the tomorrows’ forehead
Leaving seems easy,
I can vanish
I can go to front of the silence for dying
Just be silent for a verse
Only for one word …

It’s Called Heart

Call my eyes from your eyes
Telegram me from your hands
Rain your glances on my thirsty ceiling
Rain and rain on my lonely villages
I call you from the blueness of the seas
From the loneliness of lonely rooms
Come, …
There is only one step from night to the day
Just forget the past
Forget your hands in my hands
Leave yourself here and forget yourself
There is only one breath away from today to tomorrow
Close your eyes in my eyes, just
Pour your voice to my throat
The candles are human fingers in darkness
They light the lonely rooms like human body
The name of the camera in twenty first century
Is collapse
Stand up please,
Be silent for one minute!
There is a martyr in me, called the Heart
There is a plain of cotton, called the Homeland,
The fish get tired in my body for anxiety
A river runs in my vessels called Excitement
The balconies are the Feast of Opposition here
Hang up please,
If you call the depression
You’ll never hear anybody
My ways to you are blocked
There’s red light on crosses to you
I rest on you
I wait for you


Have you seen the going train Piera?
It’s the sentence for separation on the paper
.. that ship will turn to a spot and drown
On the blue pain of the seas, you’ll see!
You and me –
The missing path behind the mountains
Do you know.
Women are like fishless seas, without their children
Full of silence
Drunk of pain
I’m an evening alley where you’re not there,
You’re the scarf of a girl
Pinned on the skies each morning
Love is a rainy station
We’re travellers without umbrella, Piera.
The ways extend themselves where you’re not there
I train myself to your ways
"Taka-taka tuk-tuk...".
I turn to steam on your ways, little by little
I turn to shadow of the clouds
.. now, I’m faraway like ways
I’m foreign country as you can see
I set into myself like sunset
… I reduce where you’re absent there
I go deeply into heart of the Moon
I turn to dust …
I feel the pain behind the closed doors
I cry on laughter of a clown
I’m a homeless statue in the city of winds
I’ll be chopped by foreign hands, you’ll see!
You’ll see Piera, this city will swallow us in old cafes,
These alleys, even the dogs will deny our identity!
You’ll see, they’ll loss us on gambling tables
My poems will be tightened to trees and will be shot, you’ll see!
Can you see that house Piera?
Even if we have the key,
The door isn’t ours
That door like others
Will go to be vanished from eyes,
Can you see it Piera?
That’s me!
The lonely bench in the park
Place your head on my knees
The heart of that tree, the nest of that lonely bird, is me,
Only for one time, fly into me
You know what’s crime, Piera?
The crime is the tomorrows without you, the places without you…
I’ll be judged one day, you’ll see,
You’ll see Piera!

Oleaster Trees

oleaster trees would be an old man selling a perfume…
… Graves die before men,
and hospices ache before humans.
… Florists firstly witness farewells,
coffins are the last memories we feel,
Drought is a girl, named "Rain", cutting her hair with her hands!

… A man in a dungeon is doomed to the curse of surrounding walls,
don't believe falsehood!
And I would be a lonely pond lying far away…
… Being a lonely pond lying far away is harder than being an oleaster tree, being a grave and being a dungeon.

A Drama Of Darkness

The light of a candle, burning in a wind,
appeared to still be a child in the mirror, in darkness,
Flickering on the walls,
and in a drama of darkness,
I'm tired of behaving as if I was light…
My dialogues are pure white,
My monologues prove loneliness.

The First Curtain

The sun rises in a woman's hair...
My days lengthen,
My anguish surges.
I make a gesture of kiss towards her
With excitement in my expressions…
I was half a shadow and half a human when born.
My shadow was killed,
and my humanity left alone…

… Trees are growing through the holes of my pockets
So do the mountains.
It turns out to be a tragedy, occasionally –
And once in a while heroes keep silent in the holes of my pockets…

The Second Curtain

…I grow up as I stare at you,
so do my reflection in the mirror.
I grow up in forests of your eyes...
I become firewood for the bonfire of your hands,
and a gulp of lie afterwards!...

Just an hour before the morning
your hair is twilight colour,
and your eyes are the colour of darkness
an hour past the night!
Your hands are cotton-like…
Let me take care of them so they are not gone with the wind.

Be a wing before flying,
so I understand your language…
I am so alive to be a language!
I am so word-like to be voice!

The Third Curtain

A fragment of loneliness…
Hands, cross with palms,
Eyes, divorced from tears,
and arms, abandoned
and ruined!...
…Hours won’t move around here
Still, I have a quarrel with every second.
…Those born of the first drop of rain
became flood flowing towards me!
and wrecked villages on my chest,
drowning my past,
destroying my future…

The Fourth Curtain

Me without you,
a plane is wingless and lonely as well!
… May a bird exist,
may a cage exist,
and may so many things exist!...

Come up to the trees on my body…
Take the footsteps of sparrows away,
together with the flap of wings.
Come up!
Take my hands away from my body,
and take my voice away from my throat.

… From the eternity of dawn, starts your gaze
Out of mercy of your lips.
Seagulls are born of your shadow.
In shade, cares are burnt to ashes.

The Fifth Curtain

Our names are just grave in a cemetery of history...
Your smile is like a handful of wheat.
As you smile, barley flourishes all over my chest.
There is not a single autumn leaf left...
Just swallow seasons!
And throw away these writings...
I simply wrote that
I love you
I simply wrote that
Your lips are God,
kiss me so I appear again...
...Speak, drop by drop, to my glass
Your voice is pure alcohol
I drink your voice every evening.
I am the same hungry man,
you, my darling, with bread eyes!

The sixth curtain

I saw my tears on the street corner...
My pain, with a cigarette on its lips,
and my pennies with holed pockets.
I saw a boy at a height of mine,
Standing around the corner!
The weather whispered "killing"
to the ears of a bullet.
…My forehead craves a bullet.
The weather would love the word “blowing”
and I would love the rain in the colour of wine...

The Seventh Curtain

… Keep silent a bit more!
I comb the hair of my boredom...
In the mirror in front of me…

The one, in the mirror, dies...
The image of the light dies away word by word,
the nights rejoice over lines of words,
the darkness, being snow,
drops on my corpse like ash!...



UMİD NAJJARİ (Ümid Nəccari) was born in Tabriz on April 15, 1989. After graduation from the Islamic Azad University, Umid Najjari continued his education at Baku Eurasian University, the Faculty of Philology, in Azerbaijan in 2016. He is the author of "Valley of Birds","Photo of the Dark" and "On the other Side of the Walls", books of poems, and some translated literary books. His poems have been published in Canada, Turkey, Uzbekistan, Iraq, Kazakhstan, Georgia and Iran. He was awarded the Samad Behrangi Award in 2016. He was awarded the Ali bey Hosseinzadeh Award in 2019. He is a member of the Union of Azerbaijani Writers (UAW) and the World Young Turkish Writers Union (WYTWU).

No comments :

Post a Comment