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My Heart Is Full Of Memories – Poetry from Azerbaijan

My Heart Is Full Of Memories – Poetry from Azerbaijan

My heart is full of bloody memories

Akbar Goshali - Poet - Azerbaijan - Sindh CourierAkbar Goshali, a renowned poet from Azerbaijan, the land of Fire Temple and Burning Mountain, shares his poems   

Born in 1973 in Gosha village of Tovuz region of the Republic of Azerbaijan, Akbar Goshali is the graduate of Azerbaijan Technical University (1995) and the Academy of Public Administration under the President of Azerbaijan (2001). From 1998 to 2013 he headed the World Union of Young Turkish Writers (WYWU). He is currently the Chairman of the DGTYB Advisory Board, the member of the Board of the Azerbaijan National NGO Forum, the Central Asia and South Caucasus Freedom of Expression Network (CASCFEN), the member of the Union of Azerbaijan Journalists, the member of the Union of Azerbaijan Writers (AWU) and the Deputy Chairman of the EBRD, the member of the Public Council and the Deputy Chairman of the Ministry of Culture of the Republic of Azerbaijan since July 2021.
Since September 18, 2020 he has been working as the expert of the Committee of Culture of the Milli Majlis of the Republic of Azerbaijan. In 1996-2000s he worked at the Ministry of Youth and Sports of the Republic of Azerbaijan. He continued his career as a scientific researcher in Ataturk Center in Azerbaijan which is under the honorary chairmanship of the President of Azerbaijan in 2006. In 2020 he was appointed the chief of the department.
He is the editor of films such as “The First Success of the Nobel Brothers” (2019), “Stalin’s Dark Past”, “100 Years of Glorious Life – Haji Zeynalabdin Taghiyev”, “Mistakes and Memories” which have been made by SSR Production and have won awards at many international festivals in 2021. Akber was the editor of “Turan” supplement of “Adalat” newspaper, “Ya Adabiyyat” supplement of “Yeni Azerbaijan” newspaper. He is the member of the editorial board of “Adabiyyat” newspaper and “Ulu Chinar” magazine. He is the Azerbaijani representative of such magazines and newspapers as “Kitab Dunyasi” published in Uzbekistan, “Yuce Erek”, “Akin”, “Kirkuk”, “Turk Yurdu” published in Turkey, as well. He was the fellow of the Presidential Scholarship Fund of Azerbaijan (in 2008-2009s for young writers).
Altai Mountains and Katun River


My heart is full of memories,        

My heart is full of bloody memories.

My heart is throbbing –

My heart is throbbing like that,

I remember the Altais.

May be here –

On the shores of the Caspian Sea

If my heart wasn’t throbbing

The Altais would not be remembered.

If the Altais are not remembered,

The fate will be remembered…

Would horses have wings

If my heart wasn’t throbbing?


If one day I see

An army of hearts

Riding wind-winged horses,

Flying away to the Altais

 I will be encouraged!

My heart has the name of blood,

My heart has wings.


8b9fe5a95885c91e15cd9ba5e4e501c0WOMEN GIVE BIRTH TO BABIES

Women read poems,

But men read the women.

Women rock the cradle –

The cradle of the baby

Who has wishes for the future

But men rock the grief

That was left from the past.

Singing songs

Women sew a flag,

But men fight for the flag.

Women weave carpets,

To lay on the road

Where their lovers will walk.

Men lay roads

Through the rocks,

The roads leading to the settlements.

Women are beautiful creatures,

But men are handsome lovers,

Their love trembles like light,

On women’s faces,

Those who are loved

Become more beautiful –

Thus love lasts forever.


Both women and men die,

Women’s bodies are put into the coffin,

But men leave themselves in a woman’s womb before they die.

Women are taken on men’s shoulders,

But men stay in women’s tears when they die…


Pinterest Image


The hands of a broken clock did not move to any direction.

The keys remained inside the lock exactly seven days.

My mother did not pray at dawn,

The great moon did not hear my Father’s “Salawat”

The hooves of the ownerless horse grew.

The master’s fire was extinguished

The master’s machine-tool rusted.


 Would the spirit of the dark times rest in peace

If those who wept for the dead,

If those who laughed at the living ones

Gathered and cried for dead weeks, for the past days?


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Image Courtesy: Medium


“If a fish commits suicide it will jump ashore,

If a person commits suicide he will jump into the water”.

If one dies before jumping into the water

If one is buried before being washed

Water will be poured on his grave, on his grave…

Even if he has no grave…

Tears will flow from the eyes.

It is impossible to live without you, good-named water.

If there are no tears in the eyes

Our dry throats will be wet with a sip of water…

If you bend over a beautiful girl’s bare white legs

You will fall in love.

If you chase a brave man

You will succeed.

If you are thrown on the faces

You will be cold.


Even if you are a sea we call you the Pacific,

Even if you are a river we call you the Kur.

It would be better

If we lived madly

But died quietly

Either we are thrown into you

Or you are thrown on us.

If I could leave this life quietly

My poems would exist as long as water.


life-is-painfulWHEN SOMEBODY DIES

When somebody dies we bury him

Whether or not he is stone-hearted,

Whether or not he is heartbroken.

When heart reveals itself

Pain appears in the heart

Life appears in pain.

We put a headstone for the dead one

We write his name on it.

We write warm words on the coldest stones of the world.

We put a heart on the writing

We put pain in the heart.

Thus pain travels in the world

Through earths

Through stones

Through writings

Through hearts…

I go and write my pain on the ground  

Until the heart will turn into stone.


Shusha - Cultural Capital of Azerbaijan
Shusha – Cultural Capital of Azerbaijan


(I dedicate this poem to our sons who fought to free Shusha)


You are always dear to me!

Even if our feet do not touch you,

Even if our breath does not touch you,

Even if the flowers do not bloom in your lands

Even if the birds do not return to your sky

Even if water does not flow in your blind springs.


Dear Shusha!

Let other cities not be offended by me

Though all the cities of my country are dear to me

You are the dearest.


Dear Shusha!

I don’t say

We love you

As we love our mother

As we love our children.

But we love you

As we love the grass in your meadow

As we love the cloud in your sky

As we love the birds in your sky;

Dear Shusha,

We love you

As someone can love his motherland!


There are white clouds everywhere,

There are birds in every sky

There is much water everywhere

There are a lot of lands everywhere

But there is no Shusha anywhere…


Dear Shusha,

You don’t ask questions about the past,

Thank you!

You don’t reproach us,

Thank you!

Even though we left you,

You didn’t leave us.

Even though we didn’t live in your land,

You lived in our hearts, dear Shusha!


Dear Shusha,

How do the people fall in love with a city!

– I don’t know how to explain.

When we love we don’t ask how

When we love we don’t ask why

Love became a wing for faith,

Love became an oath and trust,

Love became a way,

Love brought us to you

Like flood through the valleys,

Like wind through the hills.


The road leading to you

Starts from our hearts;

 A divine writing

Starts from our destiny.

The roads led us to you;

The roads don’t end with you –

The roads which lead to Zengezur.



Are seen from you, Shusha!

Put your hand on my heart,

Look, how it is beating!


Read: Let its name be a hope – A Bouquet of Poems from Azerbaijan


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