Tears flow from the cut places,
As if a tree had fifty eyes.
With fifty eyes, every tree weeps
Over this artificial beauty.
Bahtiyar Hidayet
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.
Proof by Contradiction
I am at the store.
In the history books,
My name, which deserves to be underlined,
Is crossed out in the debt ledger.
I am paying my debt.
There is special tidiness and order in the store.
There is a special beauty.
The most untidy and dirtiest thing
Is this debt ledger.
But I cannot buy anything for my children.
My eyes fill with tears.
All around, special tidiness and order,
A special beauty.
Everything has been painted.
For the tenth time, they have changed the curbs and the light poles.
Last week, the workers were placing the curbs
On the opposite side of the road.
Now they are doing the opposite.
I am amazed at this scientific achievement.
This is “proof by contradiction.”
This is proof of rapid development.
The ornamental trees have just been decorated.
Their feet have been whitened.
Their arms and branches have been heavily pruned.
As if they had undressed a beautiful woman.
Only the green veil on her head
And the white socks on her feet remain.
Tears flow from the cut places,
As if a tree had fifty eyes.
With fifty eyes, every tree weeps
Over this artificial beauty.
As if a perfumed, ornamented woman,
Forced into prostitution,
Was crying.
This is a consolation for me.
There are those more miserable than I am.
Neatly and beautifully dressed citizens
Have admired this artificial beauty.
They say, “Bless the leadership!”
In the future,
Their names will be underlined
In the history books.
But I say:
All their names
Should be crossed out.
Meanwhile, the road is closed for repairs.
They have drawn a white line on the asphalt,
As if it were the Sirat Bridge.
I look again
And realize that I am walking on that line,
Afraid of falling into the cauldron of tar.
I have forgotten the cooking pot,
And even how to live…
I, too, am trying to prove
That this so-called paradise
Is the opposite
By proof by contradiction.
I, too, have a little education.
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