Oh my god, it’s a shame…
I traveled like a tourist,
My country is in turmoil!
Zaur Ustaj, a poet from Azerbaijan, shares his poetry
Zaur Ustaj, born on January 08, 1975, in Baku city of Azerbaijan Republic, studied at Baku State University and then continued his further education at Higher Military School named after Heydar Aliyev , International Institute of Invention & Business and Shamakhi Humanitas College. He is Chef Editor in The Yazarlar Magazine.
Oh My God
Oh my god, it’s a shame…
I traveled like a tourist,
My country is in turmoil!
I still don’t remember,
My creeping army!
* * *
I have scissors and a sickle in my hand,
Dust and dirt, wet and wet!
I want to go back,
In the land of sorrow and pain!
* * *
Since we opened our eyes,
We heard: “Araz”, “Araz”…
At that time, Gargar told us,
It was shallow, it was like a roof…
* * *
Now it is impassable,
It was deeper than that…
Our only consolation,
This pain of ours is gone…
* * *
And a beacon of hope,
That unripe fig…
At that time, we thought,
– “What a spoiled brat…”-
* * *
Arm in arm with the kankans,
He enjoys living.
If they don’t flirt,
The water level often decreases…
* * *
Now, according to this idea,
I’m ashamed of myself…
Exactly thirty years in a row,
Tears flowed from his eyes…
* * *
Cleansed from all rubbish,
Even if it goes to hell…
Shed your tears,
Even if it flows into itself…
* * *
Now I am that fool.
Like a tourist next to you…
The collar is bell-shaped,
Like a beaded artist…
* * *
How can I go, Nation!?
Doesn’t it come to mind, and say:
-Where are your ashes?!-
Doesn’t it eat away at tears?!
* * *
Or the wall of my house,
The black stone of Gargar,
The white stone of Shahbulag,
Won’t he throw his head?!
* * *
Don’t you ask, when is it?
Where are you, “Head of Affairs”?!
There is no more room left,
Now, stone upon stone…
* * *
Where is your money, your business?!
Or the one who is hot and bothered!?
How long have you been here?!
– Everyone here is friendly…
* * *
Maybe like a thorn,
Bees are also loyal…
Even the stumps have rotted,
The beehive is looking for a beehive…
* * *
The overgrown ditches
The end of the line…
Won’t he say he’ll see me?
– Where is the point of this!?-
* * *
Now I am that fool.
Like a tourist passing by…
The collar is bell-shaped,
Like a beaded artist…
* * *
I can’t get past it,
Maybe a “stupid”
The road has been waiting for years,
– Where is this “Fernel”?!
* * *
Who expects a story from me,
I am “The Epic of Victory”
Look, I’ll write it there,
– My brother’s melon…
* * *
Every time you shake your fist,
Or when I’m slicing grapes…
Akhtlag cranberries
When you step into the shade…
* * *
A scoundrel with a knife in his eye
Let it sink into your eyes…
I haven’t drunk from the ice well.
Will you keep your word?!
* * *
You are the last person,
Let’s talk about this!
As the pressure gets stronger,
You wander the earth to escape…
* * *
Mind your own business!!!
Let the suffering suffer…
The cherry will also be peeled,
Wait, just plant a seedling…
***
Hermaphrodite
If you don’t know, cut off the gender,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
If you don’t have a name, you’re a piece of shit,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
It is unknown whether it is winter or autumn,
Melon or watermelon, it is unknown,
It is unknown whether it was a boy or a girl,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
He was a man, his sleep is unknown,
It was Bordakh, the hole is unknown,
It is unknown whether he threw it or not,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
It was a turnip, chard is unknown,
Many are very, few are unknown,
Duck, goose unknown,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
Neither in water nor on land,
What is mud, what is solid!
It didn’t arrive, it stayed in the pipe,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
It is not known where it belongs,
A horse’s hoof was on his foot,
A dog licked in front of him,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
The Master was in a state of shock;
The pain is great, the needy are in need,
It has a symbol, a petaled crown,
Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …
***
New word
I have heard a new word,
He did not come to Earth from heaven.
You were probably interested,
What word did you see?
Be patient, I will say it now,
The root is Logos, logia.
It is a science,
It’s called” Tapdalogiya “.
From a very reputable source
I just heard that.
It didn’t make much sense,
As for the meaning.
Go down the path,
It is typology.
Keeping the tradition alive
Now Tapdalogia.
Well done, God bless!
Let it crack, Sabir!
Now from tomorrow
A grave that will not be dug.
Burned Their Fathers
We will blow away the ashes …
I cried over this,
You can laugh if you want …
__________________
