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advaitam poetry movement, Advaitam Speaks Literary, azerbaijani poetry in advaitam, azerbaijani poetry today, hengul haitaal advaitam, Hengul-Haitaal, world literature, world poetry today
Nigar Arif was born in 1993 on 20th of January in Azerbaijan. She studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014. Nigar Arif is a member of the “World Youth Turkish Writers’ Union” and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”. She is also a member of the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Montenegro, and Spanish and have been published in different countries. She was a participant of “ IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals“ which was held in Baku in 2019. She is going to be one of the participants of the “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020.
When You Left
I used to see the flushed eyes of life
in the geography classes,
I used to see the truths that erupted like volcano,
and plains
on which was creeping the lies
under the truth,
I used to see fell down knees
of the highest mountains,
The same wind was blowing in all countries,
The same rain was raining all over the world…
I was a country myself,
Yes, I was…
When I wanted to subdue the country like you
my heart was shaking
like it was an earthquake;
sweet waters were running,
pure springs were running
in the bottom
of the most rocky and barren lands.
I used to see the beautiful faces of the best creatures
in the far-off places…
When you left…
When you left,
I realized that
human being is the biggest iceberg;
he is melting for years
and flowing to dying…
The clock is slow
Look at the world’s clock
It’s an hour slow.
Either joy is late,
Or life is drowned by sorrow.
Even if it talks and laughs
like a happy old man.
The world’s laughs are lame
as the tired past.
He’s begging or seeking
with a wishful hand.
And spends the days on steps
Fighting against the wind.
Out of the sweeper’s eyes
Falling his nights.
The broom in the calloused hands
wakes up the sleepy streets.
He is a driver on the bus
Passenger in the wishes,
Looking for his fate
With the hope to change.
Look at the world’s clock
It ‘s an hour slow.
Let’s set up it anew,
For a better life than now.
