Ferqane Mehdiyeva (Azerbaijan)

Ferqane Mehdiyeva (Azerbaijan)

Ferqane Mehdiyeva: Born in 1964, in Salyan district of the Republic of Azerbaijan.  She is philologist. She is author of four poetry books as “My sorrow is enough for me”,  “They say the  life is  sweet” , “Wait for me at the autumn”, “If both of us miss”.  She is President grant-holder. She has been awarded with different literary prizes. At present she is  the editor of poetry section of “ Ulduz” journal.

 

Letter
 
The years couldn’t change me,
I am as naïve, as humble as before.
I beseech you, do you know that
My grief is as heavy as me.
 
You passed away, my troubles began,
You didn’t give birth to a girl, I haven’t a sister.
I am in need of neither money, nor wealth,
I need only your sweet words.
 
Nobody opens my door as me,
Without you my wounds don’t recover.
In my poor hut I have everything
But I am in need of your smooth, Mother!
 
I looked around from my smiling photos,
I am cold, I missed you much.
Everybody in this world has an enemy,
I knocked down from my own being.
 
Bad news pierced my heart like an arrow,
You grave may crack, you may cover with grief.
Don’t tell my father about my illness,
Don’t let him pass away knowing my disease.
 
I also grieved inside of hemistiches,
If only I could braid your grey hair.
My Mother, let me kneel down at your feet,
Let me see the paradise with my eyes.
 
The years couldn’t change me,
I am as naïve, as humble as before.
I beseech you, do you know that
My grief is as heavy as me.
 
 
 
From the wall
 
There isn’t any weighing-scale to weigh this sorrow
My sorrow is as heavy as my life.
Nobody can miss like me,
Let me place my hemistiches on the wall.
 
It couldn’t make the big longing,
It opened my eyes, didn’t blind.
It didn’t give a place to hang your photo,
Let me fall out with the wall.
 
The grief is ripen, there is nobody to pick it,
Nobody enters my ruined hut.
Nobody is able to see you except me,
Why are you looking around from our wall?
 
 
 
Question
 
Which of my features
Did you see in this world?
With which of my words,
Could you read my heart?
 
Maybe a tired paper
Fall asleep in your heart?
Did you see my past days?
One is white, one is black.
 
I wanted to ask you a question,
But I couldn’t dare to ask.
You looked at my photo and said:
“Don’t look so sorrowfully.”
 
Tell me, what hemistiches
Passed through your heart?
Did you put exclamation mark
Near the parting and separation?
 
Did you guard my words
From door till outside?
How did you read me
From dot till comma?
 
It is life, who knows
We shan’t meet anymore.
How did you bear
To my sighs?
 
Which of my features
Did you see in this world?
With which of my words,
Could you read my heart?
 
 
 
Poem of February 19
 
The days aren’t like,
With the day when I came to life
Where is my Mother, my Father,
Who cut a lamb when I came!
 
Where are my happy days?
Where is my red shawl?
Where is my broken toy?
Where is my touchy childhood?
 
The years passed in an instant,
Where are happy and bitter days?
Where is the mulberry tree?
The leaves of which I dedicated a poem.
 
There is a secret in my heart,
Let me open my secrets.
Call my childhood friends,
Come and play together.
 
If only the past days returned
If only I played as a child.
When I was a child
I didn’t know the life is frail.
 
The days aren’t like,
With the day when I came to life
Where is my Mother, my Father,
Who cut a lamb when I came.
 
 
 
Translator: Sevil Gulten
 

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