Bermuda Triangle
I’m a soldier who has lined his face to the cold wall of the trench
My bullets are words …
Place your eyes on mine!
We all are wounded in this war.
We’re all exiled in our land…
Place your eyes on mine!
Your eyes are like Bermuda Triangle
The gone never come back …
If you’re asked, respond:
The poet never came back!
***
The snow
The nights that I miss
Your voice is like a song that Lord recites
Comes like snow to my morning.
Silently…
White …
***
Tragic Poem
A piece of me has stayed far away
Under the rain
Those are gone from me, don’t have a “return” ticket
The storm is the nightmare of the trees on old nights
The fingerprint of a woman is shivering in the fancy of windows
A prisoner with hands like an elm leaf
Whose voice as light
In the name of the freedom
She may write this poem on the wall of his cell
May give birth by the voice of pigeons instead of the sun this spring
Instead of the bullet wound of the girl in this war
May shot this poem into her heart …
“May”s are birds of pain in the sky of wishes
Fly … fly … and disappear.
The past of my hands are Greek Gods
Has been forgotten
Buried in the cemetery of history
My eyes were buried in your far beautifulness
Bury me with my loneliness in autumn colors
It’s autumn …
Leaves are bulletin of elections
The trees elect the death
***
The cemetery of letter
I kissed the darkness of the night …
I entered into the sun pages of the morning.
My hands bear the greenness of leaves,
Spring is my hands …
Looked into the world to find my eyes.
The legs of men pain,
Scarf blows on the head of the woman,
The scarf
Blows like the flag of the country,
Blows …
The hands are opened to the poem in my mind,
Catches the skirt of twilight,
The opened hands for the poem in my mind are shackled,
Drowned in the sweat
It’s a long time, the mirrors don’t show the poets
Poets have been buried in the cemetery of letters
Here, the sun sets down with the time of women
Here, the wind blows from darkness
***
The love beast
Nothing remained for trust
Nothing remained for waiting
The last train left empty
The people of memories didn’t catch the train …
This season passed very hard
Like a year without spring
Nothing remained for cheering glasses
No kneed to rest our heads …
The color of my voice is autumn
Falls from the boughs of love
The lips are closed …
The window is covered by steam …
The beast of my love lives in a glass
Breaks by a word
I can die by a word …
Umid Najjari was born on 15th of April 1989 in Tabriz (Iran). After graduating from Islamic Azad University of Tabriz in 2016, he entered Baku Aurasia University to continue his studies in Philology in Republic of Azerbaijan. “The land of the birds” and “Beyond the walls” are among his published works in addition to some translations. His poems have been published in USA, Canada, Spain, Italy, India, Turkey, Uzbekistan, Iraq, Kazakhstan, Georgia, Chile and Iranian media. He was awarded the International LIFFT festival diploma in 2019. He achieved “IWA Bogdani” Award in 2021. He was awarded the “Mihai Eminescu” Award in 2022. He was awarded the International Prize “Medal Alexandre The Great” in 2022. He is Vice-President of the BOGDANI international writers’ association, with headquarters in Brussels and Pristina. and Turkic World Young Authors Association.