Nigar Arif (Azerbaijan)
Nigar Arif was born in 1993 on the 20th of January in Azerbaijan. She studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014 and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union” in 2016- 2017. Nigar Arif is a member of “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”, “World Union of Young Turkish Writers”, “İnternational Writers’ Union in Kyrgyzstan”, “ Writers Union of Central Asia” and the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Chinese , Portuguese , Montenegro, Spanish, Arabic, İndian, Urdu and have been published in different countries. She was a participant of “ IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals“ which was held in Baku in 2019 and “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020 which was held in Colombia, “Panaroma International Literary Festival 2020” in India at an online platform. She participated at the” Word trip Europe” project, “100 poets around the World for love” and “ Fourth Global Poet Virtual Meeting 2020” and so on…
The Wind
Hey wind, knocking door to door,
is that one door you’re looking for,
is that enough for you?
Where are they now,
those open doors
from the hot, sunny days of summer?
Where are those that loved you,
to dine with and to rest;
who once were pleased to welcome you
and treat you as their guest?
Hey wind, knocking door to door,
where are your lovers now?
Now the weather’s turned to winter,
have they turned cold as well?
Don’t knock, my dear, don’t knock,
no one’s opening their door,
no one will look out for you, nor call on you,
no more.
Who, I ask, now the weathers changed,
would call on you at all?
Go dear, go.
Just wander round these dull grey streets
and break dry trees in anger;
just wait as winter turns to summer and your friends,
dear wind, with the sun, will grow again once more.
The Window of Mind
No, but there is something
I can’t hold back anymore,
I can’t talk…
Well,
what I say to the dark-faced world?
What I say to this time
that getting dark,
What I say to the day
that draws to a close;
What would I say?
What I say to the right or wrong word –
the mirror for the world
that has been through my house
and road,
taking by hand of these crossed roads,
passed by coldness and warmness
of this dusty town,
and smoke of the cars,
and through the lights of the streets
from road to road,
and through the darkened hearts of people,
and walked right
through the eyes of the people,
and turned into a word,
into the mirror for the world,
What I say to myself
whom I have seen in this mirror?
Break this mirror, break it,
my life and sweet-heart!
Let me not see
what I realized,
Well, what do you get in mind?
I’m not human…I’m not human!
Maybe I am a house that locked,
I can’t go out of myself…I can’t!
Where is a window of this house?
Tell me,
where opens out that window?
Take my mind and lead me,
Take me far away from here,
Tell me,
maybe the windows are the hands
of the silent houses?
Every day, every evening
They are opened for us
to embrace those
that we never seen,
not to show us
we have seen?
I Wonder, How am I?
I am not at home today,
I have gone to the far…
I don’t know where I am,
Well, look, probably,
I have lost sight of myself…
O, I don’t know, maybe…
Maybe when I am in a hurry
To be chasing rainbows.
I have been late for myself
To live to my heart’s content.
As I wanted to reach us,
Maybe I didn’t recognize
And passed by myself…
I have become thoughtful
My wishes stayed hungry –
Mind’s digested me…
I am not at home today,
My hand knocking at my door,
my heart isn’t just opened,
beating just itself up…
It put me into fire
I am burning there without you…
And this life shack
smells of death.
It wakes me up at once.
My light of hope
has gone out at all.
It can’t wait for a good day.
You have made blind
that darkened room.
I am now a reproof
In the house where I’m absent.
I am not at home today,
Don’t ask me how I am,
As soon as I found you
I am moved out of myself.
Look, I am like that…
I wonder, how am i?
To Distant Places
Hello, my friend, how are you?
How’s it going down there?
So, what’s the weather like?
Is the wind blowing again
interfering in affairs of Heaven?
Does the Sun reconcile to clouds
when it fell out with them?
Does the rain become the eye
of the house that you live in?
Tell me:
are the dreams playing back gammon
at nights, waking up past days
And drinking the memories?
Do the sweet, tasteful smells
that cooked by my mother
you loved in childhood,
knock at your door?
Do the days going out
Look ever at the day?
Do you hear voice
coming from far away,
And as it touches the ears
When you look for that voice
Your dreams in your soul
missing like me?
Does your tongue mix up often
spelling the old name?
How is the morning there?
How is the city there?
They say,
you fell in love there,
How is that place there?
Music is Me, Word is You
I have turned into sea,
Waves are line by line.
Under the waves
the fish is playing.
I have turned into sea,
İn the coast of my verse.
The sharp rocks got brittle,
The sun takes it by hand.
I have turned into sea,
It flies up to the sky.
Dreams like the ship
making sail in my soul.
I have turned into sea
In the apple of the eyes.
Striking against the gems
On the gentle wrists.
I have turned into sea,
Hairs are like water-plants.
Time is on the lips
resting long, and long.
I have turned into sea,
You’re just the sea itself!
Music of its song is me,
The word of its song is you….