Poems, Bahtiyar Hidayet, Azerbaijan

Bahtiyar Hidayet, Azerbaijan

1

The park was the resting place of the poor.

Pine trees were standing like a row of soldiers.

One day the oligarchs,

at the state level,

occupied the park.

All the soldiers became martyrs.

And then…

What came next was even more terrible:

They sent those pines to the coffin workshop.

Now, in the place of those pines,

there is an expensive restaurant.

The poor, again,

have taken shelter in those pines —

Pine trees make excellent coffins.

But the most terrible thing

will be when the oligarchs occupy the cemetery.

There are also pine trees there —

standing like irregular soldiers.

…This is our modern world’s regular.

2

He ran here and there all day

For a piece of bread.

The asphalt roads were like hell’s cauldron.

Finally, he returned home,

He untied the laces of his shoes —

As if chains were being removed from his feet.

But he could not find peace.

His pockets were like hell’s cauldron,

His hands were suffering the torment of hell.

And his eyes —

His eyes could not look at his children,

His eyes were also suffering the torment of hell.

At home, the cooking pot would be empty again,

As if his heart would cook in the empty pot,

His heart too was suffering the torment of hell.

His head had turned into hell’s cauldron from thoughts,

His brain, too, was suffering the torment of hell.

But he found one comfort —

His feet had been freed from the torment of hell.

3

Freedom Is in Chains

(A Letter of Gratitude)

I’m grateful to you, my dog,

In moments of helplessness, in storms of anger—

I take you for a walk,

and somehow, I find peace.

It’s easy for you—

you lick your wounds

and heal yourself.

But I can’t heal mine—

the Ministry of Health

won’t let me.

It’s easy for you—

when lonely, you howl

and express yourself.

But I couldn’t publish myself—

the Ministry of Taxes

didn’t let me.

So you, my loyal dog,

are freer in your chain,

freer in your chain

than I am.

If you can,

lick my wounds too.

But if you could ever

lick my heart—

I’d be grateful

to you all my life.

Bahtiyar Hidayet, Azerbaijan