Tarana Turan Rahimli

PRAISING OF STONE

Don’t hurt feelings of stone calling a cruel man as “ stone”,
There is a such stone centuries beat it, don’t touch that stone!
If you work for the stone, it will appreciate you,
There is such word if told to a stone, it will melt, heart won’t care it!

Those what a human being forgets, the memory of stone doesn’t forget,
There are those who throw stones unfairly, the unfair stone isn’t thrown.
Tell your dreams to the flowing waters and tell your secret to a black stone,
Stone- is your friend at the end of life and it is brother of your grave.

The locked doors were opened after we knocked them with stones,
The stones built our houses, stones run off from our ways.
My friend, strange man can’t bear to listen to our grief, but stones listen to,
Stones shed tears for the motion of life, stones whines for grief of life.

Some people earn money by cutting stones,
At the end we harden like stones, at times stones disgust us.
The leaves, flowers fade away and stones are left on the hearth
The stone of thousand years makes the history remember us.

ALL THE PEOPLE TALK NONSENSE…

All the people talk nonsense
In this feverish city.
The people think of themselves,
The city is choked with sorrow.

The clouds are frowned
They sweep the streets.
The winds are so angry
Their right and left side are unknown.

This city is luckless beauty,
Its face smiles, but hart doesn’t smile.
It is like a dressed bride
Nobody is aware of her grief.

It lost all its patience,
It is looking for patience on the ways.
It looks for a grave
For to empty its sorrow into it.

AGAIN I CAN’T SLEEP

Again I can’t sleep
This night patience tests me.
The longest night of my life
At last will put an end of me.

The memories will awaken,
Seeing me that I am awake.
Oh, how many people will run to me
Through the corners of my past.

So many guests
Won’t go in my thoughts.
One of them will break the rules
And will quarrel with all of them.

Again the sunless days
Will be covered with grayness.
Once I interrupted the tongue
Now it will try to put me to the sword.

The blood of the dead wishes
Will be splashed on my face.
In the north of this night
This poet will be frozen.