#azerbaijan
Fig leaves
They destroyed the fig orchard
And built a luxurious hotel in its place.
Inside the hotel - festivities...
There was no need for fig leaves either.
They pushed humanity back
One step from the beginning of humanity -
Smart businessmen and officials,
Smart people - **** sapiens.
They are very great men.
They combined science with religion.
They returned man to his past
The oldest profession in the hotel,
Wild dances...
Those officials
are highly educated **** sapiens
They are the orators of the modern era -
But in their world we still cannot speak,
We cannot say our word.
On the walls of the hotel an artist
painted scenes from history -
As if they were cave paintings
From the Stone Age.
And in those paintings
There are many fig trees.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 3:17 PM UTC
Hazrat Ayyub's prayer
It rained for two days
The capital was flooded
Everyone blames the city administration, the municipality, the water department
But the real culprit remained on the sidelines
The religious singer who sang the song "Give me the sea" — Ayyub Yagubov
He was on the air all day
God heard his prayers
And he is on the air again
The television works in the flooded house
It is almost like the "sea" meets the singer on TV
See how much Allah loves His faithful servant
Shut up, O mullah,
You say "Music is forbidden"
Allah will bring your mouth to His ear
You will hear your own words
It is best if you yourself
In any case, Allah does not hear you
Oh atheists, explain this too
After all, this miracle
Repeats every year
You should accept Hazrat Ayyub
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 5:13 AM UTC
Hazrat Ayyub's prayer
It rained for two days
The capital was flooded
Everyone blames the city administration, the municipality, the water department
But the real culprit remained on the sidelines
The religious singer who sang the song "Give me the sea" — Ayyub Yagubov
He was on the air all day
God heard his prayers
And he is on the air again
The television works in the flooded house
It is almost like the "sea" meets the singer on TV
See how much Allah loves His faithful servant
Shut up, O mullah,
You say "Music is forbidden"
Allah will bring your mouth to His ear
You will hear your own words
It is best if you yourself
In any case, Allah does not hear you
Oh atheists, explain this too
After all, this miracle
Repeats every year
You should accept Hazrat Ayyub
Apr 6
Apr 6, 2026 at 5:09 AM UTC
The Truth That the Wolf Knew
A teenage boy
dug the ground and pulled out many worms.
Then he put a worm on a hook
and cast it into the river with a fishing rod
and caught a fish.
And I remembered one scoundrel -
as if he had pulled his martyr brother out of the ground,
tied him up like bait,
and thrown him into every government office,
as if he asked for help, money.
But
there are many such scoundrels
as if the martyr died for them
and not for the land.
Wait, teenage boy,
let me ask the worm on the hook:
under the ground,
can martyrs sleep peacefully?
Mar 25
Mar 25, 2026 at 6:38 AM UTC
At your age —
how can such beauty exist?
Maybe God hasn't finished his masterpiece yet.
Your beauty
is as endless as the sky.
Your black hair — black clouds.
And if those black clouds
one day turn into white clouds,
you will become even more beautiful,
like the clear sky.
Your eyes are like the sea:
brings old age ashore
like a dead sea lion
Maybe these subtexts
will reach you when I'm underground.
You will cry under the blanket,
and your eyes,
like the sea,
will
throw back old age
and you will become even younger.
But maybe then you will know that
stars are not only in the sky,
stars are not only on the stage.
There are also stars underground —
for example, ruined poets,
destroyed talents.
Mar 16
Mar 16, 2026 at 2:24 AM UTC
In this world of civilized people
We are drowning in a sea of information.
There is no wild dolphin to save us,
Not even a piece of wood for hope
-
There are no wild waves,
To throw us on a nameless island
Like Robinson Crusoe,
Let's tame goats.
It is impossible to tame civilized people.
But we will definitely find that piece of wood,
At least like a coffin.
And someday the grass that grows on our grave
Goats will come and graze.
About the appearance of our grave,
Shepherds will say -
The most accurate information.
We will be saved from drowning, my friend.
Don't worry, everything will be fine.
Bahtiyar Hidayet Azerbaijan
Mar 14
Mar 14, 2026 at 2:38 AM UTC
The Gardiogram of Nature
Rain
There was a time when the skies were calm,
Then the skies suddenly thundered like a spark of genius.
A torrential rain fell —
Every drop a word, every stream a verse.
The trees bathed
The mist was a white towel — they dried themselves.
The earth was cracked, thirsty for water,
The waters crept to heal its wounds.
The drops leaped and jumped with joy
As if bringing revelation, the drops that descended from above
The news came from heaven — this year will be abundant.
The earth joined in the celebration
For this divine ceremony, God
Sprinkled white sugared almonds from heaven — it rained.
The plains were on the verge of death,
Until the sudden lightning flashed.
That curved, sharp line
Like a cardiogram —
Nature will live.
The drops merged and became a flood, my brother.
But I regret that precisely when we are together, we either create a useless party,
Or crush the weak,
Or create a criminal gang.
White clouds in the sky
They acted with self-satisfied confidence,
As if they had undergone a complex medical operation —
Without bribes, without gifts.
But there was a poet in the hospital
He did not receive treatment because he had no money.
All the paths of his life were straight lines,
Only the line of his heart was crooked.
...It seems that soon that line will also straighten out,
He thinks about his children
His tears are like rain
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 2:32 AM UTC
The world is like a kitchen.
Our hopes, our desires are cooked.
Our rights have been eaten.
Even our flesh is eaten
By those who rule the world.
The dome of the sky is like a hood,
But it cannot take away
Sorrow, humiliation, cruelty.
The heavens have lost their power.
And those places are very far away.
There are many light-years between us.
… Wake up from these thoughts, poet,
Turn off the light.
The electricity bill is high this month.
Those who eat our flesh
Will ***** more blood on us.
We must flee from this kitchen,
To the kitchen of Hell,
That is, to the steppe cauldron.
Mar 6
Mar 6, 2026 at 3:18 AM UTC
Rain
There was a time when the skies were calm,
Then the skies suddenly thundered like a spark of genius.
A torrential rain fell —
Every drop a word, every stream a verse.
The trees bathed
The mist was a white towel — they dried themselves.
The earth was cracked, thirsty for water,
The waters crept to heal its wounds.
The drops leaped and jumped with joy
As if bringing revelation, the drops that descended from above
The news came from heaven — this year will be abundant.
The earth joined in the celebration
For this divine ceremony, God
Sprinkled white sugared almonds from heaven — it rained.
The plains were on the verge of death,
Until the sudden lightning flashed.
That curved, sharp line
Like a cardiogram —
Nature will live.
The drops merged and became a flood, my brother.
But I regret that precisely when we are together, we either create a useless party,
Or crush the weak,
Or create a criminal gang.
White clouds in the sky
They acted with self-satisfied confidence,
As if they had undergone a complex medical operation —
Without bribes, without gifts.
But there was a poet in the hospital
He did not receive treatment because he had no money.
All the paths of his life were straight lines,
Only the line of his heart was crooked.
...It seems that soon that line will also straighten out,
He thinks about his children
His tears are like rain
Feb 27
Feb 27, 2026 at 2:34 AM UTC
In the butcher's hut next to the halal meat shop,
identical twin lambs
were hiding from each other, smelling their mother's scent.
In front of one of them, the butcher said "Bismillah" and
cut the other.
Both of them groaned.
The surviving lamb
refused both grass and water.
The twin lamb bleated restlessly, looking for its lamb.
As if trying to help its mother -
like a suckling -
it bleated, banging its head against the iron bars of the hut.
And by this time the mother
had been bleating for a day or two.
She became pregnant again to give birth to new victims.
The butcher called the lamb seller
- Why did you sell me this sick lamb, you scoundrel?
The butcher was a man of God.
He would not slaughter a head without saying bismillah.
The shop owner was also a man of God and every year on Eid al-Adha he would distribute one or two pieces of old meat to his neighbors.
The shop was advertised as a "halal meat shop".
These shops supposedly sold only halal meat.
Of the participants in this poem, only the telephone is called the work of the devil. The author is considered an infidel in this country.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 10:15 PM UTC
I remember well,
I wrote my first poem with a knife:
In the pistachio tree,
My name together with that girl's name:
Bahtiyar + so-and-so = love.
It wasn't hard to print then:
Knife, forest,
And "forest ranger - editor".
Then I wrote my poem with charcoal.
I drew hearts on the walls,
And crossed arrows went through that heart.
Then they replaced the knife with a pen.
At that time, the forest ranger wouldn't say anything,
But the editors found a hundred excuses.
Those editors
Who couldn't be a poet
Became an editor out of necessity.
...The shepherd said: "Your sheep gave birth!"
How much I was in a hurry
To see the newborn lamb,
Now I'm not in a hurry
To buy a newspaper from the kiosk
Which my poem was printed in.
I know that the editor changed something.
I grew up.
The villains wrote “poems” with a knife on my back.
They really shot my heart with an arrow.
That forest guard is no more,
Nor that shepherd,
Nor that time, nor that lover, nor that love, nor that purity.
Nor that forest...
They cut down that forest and made newspapers.
Lies are written in those newspapers,
And the poems of those who cannot be poets are published.
In those newspapers, only the date of the month is correct.
They cut down that forest and extracted coal.
They eat my dreams like kebabs.
Now the situation is like this:
Bahtiyar + sadness = worse sadness.
In short,
Like an orphan lamb, I am an angel.
This is still a good situation -
A knife has not been drawn to my throat.
My first love remained
Like a wound
On the trunk of that tree.
The oppressors destroyed it too.
The walls that I had built around that heart collapsed;
Those walls fell on memories.
...They eat my dreams like kebabs.
Their smoke has blinded me.
I can't find a wall to hold on to and walk on,
But for me
The world has become four walls.
And I forgot the time -
Thank God there are those newspapers.
I look at the date of the month -
The date of an unknown month,
The date of an unknown month.
Feb 21
Feb 21, 2026 at 10:56 AM UTC
At My Grandmother's Grave
-
You hid your pain and sorrow from everyone,
You kept everything covered and secret.
Finally, you became a guest
In this "covered city".
Your hands always smelled of milk,
Now everything smells of blood
Have you come here to be a grandmother to the martyrs who lie here?
Tell them a tale, grandmother,
Tell them that
Giants and dragons really exist.
They rule the world.
-
You collected stones from the roads and paths,
So that the cows' legs wouldn't hurt.
So why did this life constantly stone you?
Your childhood was a refugee life,
And again your old age - a refugee life.
Your middle age was the repressions of 1937, then the war of 1941-45,
Then the labor of the collective farm - you looked after thirty cows.
You didn't want even a stone to hit the cows' feet,
You had such love for the government's cows that sent your husband to a place of no return.
You never wanted to be a burden to anyone,
That's why when you died,
You became smaller.
So that our burden would be lighter.
-
Sorrow was your childhood friend;
When you died, you should have entrusted me to sorrow —
This sorrow should have treated me well.
For your sake, grandma.
-
You saw hell and then left,
May your land be paradise, grandma.
You have not seen a bright day in this world,
May your grave be filled with light, grandma.
Feb 11
Feb 11, 2026 at 5:14 AM UTC
When the hen house is lit for the farm,
The hens lay more eggs.
But when the poet shows people the way to the light,
The people crucify him,
The crowd axe him
Those who cut off the poet's head while he is alive,
When he is dead, they put a bust on him,
As if they cut off his legs.
While he is alive, they block all his roads,
Then when he is dead, they name a dark street after him.
While he is alive, they sting him like a wild bee,
But after he is dead,
They buzz around his name,
Like honey bees.
This is the poet's life, my dear, this is it.
What else?
Those who eat the poet's rights
Are not as valuable as the meat that is slaughtered when circumcised.
What else?
Those who starve the poet to crumbs
Are not even worth the horses slaughtered for cheap sausages.
In this ruin, the poet does not sell himself,
And his books are like him;
His books are not for sale either.
My dear,
In this ruin,
There is no creature more unfortunate than a poet.
If you become a poet one day,
Don't come to my grave.
Feb 6
Feb 6, 2026 at 9:50 AM UTC
Tartar (the city beyond the conflict area) bombed by Armenia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bp4jh11uHUQ&feature=youtu.be
#PrayForTartar
#StopArmenianTerrorism
#StopArmenianOccupation
#JusticeforAzerbaijan
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 3:29 PM UTC
Barda (the city beyond the conflict area) bombed by Armenia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLDhQy-xpXQ&feature=youtu.be
#PrayForBarda
#StopArmenianTerrorism
#StopArmenianOccupation
#JusticeforAzerbaijan
Nov 2, 2020
Nov 2, 2020 at 3:19 PM UTC
Gandza (the city beyond the conflict area) bombed by Armenia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ETwvBpXv0Pc&feature=youtu.be
#PrayForGanja
#StopArmenianTerrorism
#StopArmenianOccupation
#JusticeforAzerbaijan
Oct 11, 2020
Oct 11, 2020 at 7:24 AM UTC
It is me - Azerbaijan!
The hero of the history
On the shore of The Caspian
living manfully and free!
Many times enemies tried
to destruct and divide
Among three aggressors
we defended our pride
And the 'world community',
full of all shames and pity,
Just tell me a rotten lie
that support my integrity!
Let me hear your cry
for Karabakh, everyone!
Respect the real history!
Will we hear anyone?!
For centuries we were wronged
Will you wait for another?!
The son of my father's killer
Is beating my brother!
We faced through the history
Armenian hypocrisy
Put your hands on your conscience,
just show your democracy!
We condemn the historical aggressive policy of Armenia and the insensitive attitude of the world community.
Karabakh is Azerbaijan.
Stop believing provocative and fictitious history.
Research, respect and support the real history!
Jul 23, 2020
Jul 23, 2020 at 3:53 AM UTC
- Little shepherd, little shepherd,
Where's your flock, where's your herd?
Have you lost them in the fog?
Where's, shepherd, your watchful dog?
- Up there far, faaar away,
On that lane where horses neigh.
Keep on walking a little more,
Take no notice of a bear's roar.
Do not rush now, take it slow,
Before you reach the meadow.
You will see a stocky dog,
That guards my grazing flock.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 3:46 PM UTC