December… the first snow… the joy of the children…
But it didn’t last long –
The officials cut off the light and gas
Due to unpaid bills.
Bahtiyar Hidayet is a poet from Azerbaijan
Bahtiyar Hidayet, born in 1974 in the Gazakh region of the Republic of Azerbaijan, graduated from university in 1995 and has been working as a history teacher since 1998. Wrote poetry since high school and has 4 poetry books published in Azerbaijan.
Little Decembrists
December… the first snow… the joy of the children…
But it didn’t last long –
The officials cut off the light and gas
Due to unpaid bills.
Still, the poor father
Found a way:
He put a wood stove,
Lit a kerosene lamp –
And the children felt
As if they had entered a world of miracles.
They would finish tomorrow
But they had left it unfinished –
The snowman they had made:
They would shape his mustache, eyebrows, eyes, mouth
From coal.
And that snowman
Was more beautiful
Than the flesh-and-bone men
Who cut off the light and gas!
The joy of the poor father
Could not be expressed in words –
Like the Neanderthal man,
During the Ice Age,
He had discovered artificial fire.
Those who cut off the light and gas…
Those men in ties,
Made only of flesh and bone –
Seemed like a species of primate
That could not be human.
They could not reach either
The Neanderthal man,
Nor the snowman that the children had made.
Outside, on the clothesline,
The clothes hung froze –
As if the rebels had been hanged…
Such was the fate of cleanliness.
And it was a relief
That those “civilized” men in ties
Were incapable of hanging
The joy of the children.
Those children
Revived my dying hopes.
They were the Decembrists of the future…
The rebels would come.
They are
Who will bring spring
To this land.
***
To Love Hell Madly
The world is like a kitchen.
Our hopes, our desires are cooked.
Our rights have been eaten.
Even our flesh is eaten
By those who rule the world.
The dome of the sky is like a hood,
But it cannot take away
Sorrow, humiliation, cruelty.
The heavens have lost their power.
And those places are very far away.
There are many light-years between us.
… Wake up from these thoughts, poet,
Turn off the light.
The electricity bill is high this month.
Those who eat our flesh
Will vomit more blood on us.
We must flee from this kitchen,
To the kitchen of Hell,
That is, to the steppe cauldron.
***
Thirst for Freedom
A steer raised to grow,
There is plenty of grass, fodder and water.
He only yearned for freedom,
He only thirsted for freedom.
A dog tied to a chain,
There is food next to him,
There is water next to him.
Hungry only for freedom,
Hungry only for freedom.
A horse tied to a rope by the river,
There is plenty of grass, plenty of water.
Hungry only for freedom,
Hungry only for freedom.
A horse tied to a rope by the river,
There is plenty of grass, plenty of water.
Hungry only for freedom,
Hungry only for freedom.
This man who once challenged the world,
Now his eyes read death,
He needs bread, he needs water.
Now there are tears on his cheek,
Even the tears cry.
And he discovers that
Even the waters here thirst for freedom.
Even the waters here thirst for freedom.
The salt waters belong to oil billionaires,
The fresh waters are monopolized by millionaire officials.
And our water is cut off
When we turn on the tap,
As if a steer whose throat has been cut growls,
The howling of a chained dog,
The whinnying of a dying horse,
As if the anthem of freedom of this era is being sung.
________________
