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şeirlər poems

Head of whose life tree was cut
Who lost his memory, got exhausted.

Greetings to my poet!
Whose art gives no harm to us,
No one is hurt of his aim
No one recalls
when he is alive.

Greetings to my poet!
Whose land was destroyed
and in ruin
Whose soil was carried away,
Only a package was left.
Whose top of head
is covered by clouds.

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Hang the poet, hang him
When his pen
Borders his poem,
When keeping silence
Is a demand.
When being homeless
And being without clothing
Brings one sorrow.

When a poet
Throws a stone at another,
And spies him over,
And misinterpets his words
So hang the poet, hang him.
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