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şeirlər poems

WITHOUT KARABAKH

(One of the talented mugham singers welcoming me in
the tent camp said:
“Welcome to you native home and hearth”. And
began to sing the song of “Shusha’s mountains”...)

Friends, forgive me, I came with empty hands,
to your door without Karabakh.
By God neither the cloud nor the fog
go out of my eyes
without Karabakh.

When I took a pen in my hand , my hand whimpered,
Each time when I pronounced Karabakh’s
name my tongue whimpered.
My rose whimpered, my flower whimpered,
İ divided into half without Karabakh.

There is no flood to take Sara with it,
To divide and take the trouble and pain with it.
Do not let the gray hair wipes out and takes
My black hair without Karabakh.

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