Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
BIOGRAPHY: 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…
RUN AFTER CHİLDHOOD
My eyes slowly drift away from me,
See the things through glasses as grow old.
My feet have got a fast walk, running before me,
‘Cuz they’re in a hurry to reach to my childhood.
My fluffy hair’s looking for its braid-time,
It becomes white and bare like this winter,
Time calls on wrinkles my face and hands
road to road, as I’m bored year by year.
That’s how I’m getting older, tale by tale,
My pains turn into small kids like my children,
listening to my stories and fairy-tales,
Don’t even get off my arms and knees.
The old years like the black and white points,
come on and stay in the domino-stones.
I lose each game on purpose to my grandchild,
At my old age – in my “childhood” years.
Your life like an ant was away eaten,
There’s not even one day left for you.
You had the weight of the world
on your shoulders like an elephant
But no one really ever appreciated you.
You skimmed off and cleaned up your life,
But you’d relied on hopes, woman!
You just laughed in silence at your grief,
You’d troubled about your joy, woman?!
You’re pinning your hopes on now,
Your land is at the end of its rope.
Woman, maybe we don’t just know:
the land is unwitting, the stone is dark.
The death you walk on the balls of the feet
is your eaten life that waits for you,
It just waits for you in silence as dead.
Who did really cut out my way?
Either the way is chance or I’m green.
I may be the last human on this road,
Maybe I’m just a gravestone of this road.
My dreams looking through the window,
My leg got tangled with my own way;
I don’t know how it looks from that side,
My fate is clapping at my falling.
Or maybe it’s not me going on this way,
It’s my road, limped, my road’s crawling.
It turns to ground, it changes to stone,
It just follows and blankets with me.
How this way did fall on my fortune?
Maybe it slipped out of my pockets?
Had I trampled on its face and head?
That’s why it is so impudent to me?