Gulu Aghsas (Azerbaijan)

Gulu Aghsas (Azerbaijan)
 
Gulu Aghsas is one of the talented modern poets of Azerbaijan who”s born in Aghdam of the Garabagh region of the Azerbaijan Republic. The subject matter of his poems is diverse and thought-provoking. The collection includes poetry of hope and death (Keep A Wish In Your Soul, The End Of The World, On The Leaf, A Drop On The Leaf), God love and life (You Are Everywhere), homeland love and poverty (Garabagh”s Shikasta, My Fingers Are Adroit…) and homelessness. Sometimes sad, abstract (Dots, Exclamation, Question-mark….)often bitter and expressing regret (I Don”t While Away The Days, Disabled By War…). Writing in a modern form, Gulu Aghsas has also published his own interpretations of the traditional poetic form of free verse.
 
 
My Fingers Are Adroit…
 
My fingers are adroit so
that they can stretch where they want.
They are looking for eyes to take a fancy-
They gain for me an enemy.
One finger is ready to pull the trigger,
The target is me, myself.
I put up with its capricious,
I am the one who bears it.
I have tatooed the numerals on my hands
from zero till nine.
When it takes the girl”s hands
it never let them go on leave.
It fears the cold,
It feels cold even by greeting.
For two lines of verse
It can be short of breath till morning.
My hands are short,
My fingers are in the grave.
Father, let your spirit help me
Let my finger moves a bit.
The grief is
dancing in my soul,
There is no roof, no floor.
My God,
give me a warm death,
Let my finger not be cold.
 
 
 
Exclamation
 
The exclamatory mark-
hue-and-cry and fear,
The exclamatory mark-
as if rolling-pin swallowed.
It yields to no persuasion-
the exclamatory mark.
It is not lost in question-
the exclamation mark.
It has been forgotten by God-
the exclamatory mark.
It is an arrow shot by bow-
the exclamatory mark.
It forces a comma to carry freight-
the exclamatory mark.
It is a tombstone of dot-
the exclamatory mark…
 
 
 
Question-mark
 
Who is the aged, coming-
The question-mark.
Who is wretched living-
The question-mark.
What is homeless like an orphan-
The question-mark.
It is a grief without owner-
the question-mark.
There is smoke on its head-
the question-mark.
It is stood on its dot-
the question-mark.
It is not a sickle,
not an island-
the question-mark.
It is one of the names of God-
the question-mark.

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