Poems by Nazakat Mammadova
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
Your Qarabagh is trampled by the enemies,
Your forests are the nests of Steppenwolf
We are always reprobated by strangers-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The happy days are left behind in the past,
Why didn’t stones fall when moving began?
As if we have been migrants for years-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The flowers decorated the mountains,
When nobody walked on it, it fell out.
Oh, my God, the native lands are captive-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The native lands are invaded by enemies,
For me both agha and slave are the same.
How long is from Khan Araz till Tabriz?-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
I am touchy remembering “Cidir duzu”
I shed tears calling my native “Shusha”.
I wept, cried for Khari Bulbul in enemy’s hands-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The lands were ruined by the enemies,
All the lands fell to the lot of the godless.
Dada Qorgud, how can you sleep in the grave?-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The parting with lands tastes bitterly,
If there are brave sons, but where are they?
Your daughters, daughters-in-law are captives-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
If only the lands are got back forever,
If only the happy days returned once more.
The whole world listens to your voice-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
The martyrs’ blood wouldn’t be forgotten,
The invaded lands will be remembered.
We shall take vengeance for the lost lands,
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
Hey, he who can suppress my anger, come,
Hey, he who can sacrifice himself as Babak, come!
Hey, he who can enter the fights as Koroghlu, come-
Motherland, don’t forgive us!
If only our voices are heard in Irevan,
If only our banners are proud in Qarabagh!
If only I ran straightly to those lands,
If my eyes kissed the lands of my country-
If my feet touch the soil of my Motherland!
The martyr top
The screams may reach to the sky,
Mother is singing a cradle song to a grave.
She embraces the cold grave every day,
As if she is at the cradle of her baby-
She is singing a cradle song to gravestone.
She looks for her son among the young boys,
The tears of longing drop out of her eyes.
Her heart is full of words- whom to tell?
She tells her words to the gravestone-
Mother smoothes her son’s gravestone.
Each day she tells him her new wish:
“My son, but you didn’t marry…
But I didn’t decorate khoncha for you.
But I didn’t spread henna to my daughter-in-law.”
Mother complains to the gravestone.
Mother begs to the sky, for to take her too,
She wishes to tell her words to the great God.
The voice is heard from the sky:
“Mother, your son is gifted with martyr top.”
Mother sings a cradle song to her son.
This is the sound of the martyr’s mother,
This is the sound of her sorrow.
Mother calms herself, she consoles
With her son’s being a martyr
Which is considered the highest at God.
The longing for lands
My heart is breaking under my chest,
If only we should value it in its time.
If only I became a wind, a mad wind,
If my words blew over my lands as wind.
The black rocks were like mountain fortress,
The mountains are the invincible fortress.
The pocked rocks are like the native sons,
My traces will be left on my native lands.
Tabriz, Derbend were once our lands,
The Goyche are ruined by the enemies.
The strangers invaded the city of Shusha,
Because of not casting glance on my lands.
The grief is like the sorrow of hearts,
This is also a destiny, this is a fate.
For many times my motherland was divided,
I am disgraceful at my motherland
If only I sacrificed my life for my motherland,
If only I knew all the secrets of my motherland,
If only I were a stone to enemies of my motherland.
If only I sacrificed for my motherland!
I long for…
When autumn comes the cranes move,
Their “homes”- nests remain empty.
They come back as soon as spring comes,
Again their “strange” nests become dear to them.
See, how many autumns, how many springs,
I long for my lands the fire of which is gone.
The cranes return back, but I can’t return,
To my native lands destiny of which is unlucky.
On one of the days I also shall return to my lands,
My heart whispers me, it won’t last so long.
If it is needed I shall sacrifice my life to death.
I say to the world: “No, it won’t last so.”
I am longing for my native lands,
I shall get over all the borders.
Of course, once I shall get over
The iron wires which define borders,
I shall get over those wires.
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