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. Nigar Arif is a member of the “World Youth Turkish Writers’ Union” and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”. She is also a member of the “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Montenegro, and Spanish 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” as well.
·
Human‘s rain
Here is the city,
People break out and
leave...
Here are the snows and
rains,
washing their
footprints...
Even the sun shines in
every morning,
Winds blow and sleek
Nothing can remove those,
Nothing can be changed...
People soak up to its
memory
from pocky face.
They fetch their colors
with themselves
keeping the city pale.
Everywhere is dull,
Everything turns to a
grey tale.
People rain and rain
falls from their eyes
in every single day
And those getting wet in
the heart of this city
who can't run away
Humans are raining cats
and dogs,
Ambulances revolve like
the umbrellas
under the sick drops...
Either the nights or the
noons
wobble from their homes.
The whole world tumble
from its place
and falls...
Day by day, week by week
Streets become empty
The roads, cafes see the
end.
The shoulders of the
heavy shops
are going to bend...
The huge buildings, the
small houses
between the city's arms
peeping out with fear at
the naked depth
that idles in the
villages, travels to the countries
Lonely trees are getting
bored
The flowers, birds and
meadows
from the dusty feet of
this city
missing of the man
Who knows?
May be in their own
languages
they even rail
this damn, teasing
quarantine.
Now we know, mom
Cities and countries
can also catch the diseases...
What can i say?
Don't worry,
everything will be okay.
There are hopes
that draw out till the
hair of this city...
There are our dreams
putting the hands to its forehead
to check the heat...
May be we found the best
treatment, mom,
Love is the best
engraftment
as you always said...
· 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.
It's an hour slow.
Either joy is late,
Or life is drowned by
sorrow.
Even if it talks and
laughs
like a happy old man.
The world’s laughs are
lame
as the tired past.
He’s begging or seeking
with a wishful hand.
And spends the days on
steps
Fighting against the
wind.
Out of the sweeper’s eyes
Falling his nights.
The broom in the
calloused hands
wakes up the sleepy
streets.
He is a driver on the bus
Passenger in the wishes,
Looking for his fate
With the hope to change.
Look at the world's clock
It 's an hour slow.
Let’s set up it anew,
For a better life than now.
Have you done a lot of
sinning?
All you’ve lost, is just
yourself,
Is there anything you
gained?
Who took you from you?
Who left you to the void?
Who put his hand on your
heart?
And calmed you like that?
Who ruined your life and
fate
looking at your
"sorry" face?
What did he leave in your
eyes,
Dropping as tears?
Maybe it’s you, and,
you’ve become a pain for
yourself?
Maybe you just let your
joys
slip through your
fingers?
Hey you,
Who’s oppressed by
sorrow,
Walking in his thoughts,
Getting tired of his ways...
Losing the sun among
complaints.
.
Turn back,
Make peace with yourself.
Shake hands and have
faith ,
With that one whom you turned away.
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