TI SI MOJA SIMFONIJA
Ti si moje proljeće,
opojna si orhideja,
osm'jeh, sunce, noć i dan,
golubica moja bijela.
Simfonija ti si moja,
miris jutra što me budi,
violina mog života,
što čarobne note gudi.
Zauvjek si moja pjesma
koju pjevam i kad šutim,
nema nigdje takvog mjesta
u kome te ja ne slutim.
Moje danas, moje sutra
ti si ljubav koju živim,
ne znaju ni riječi reći
koliko se tebi divim.
Biography
Vahid Aslan was born on September 29, 1972, in the village of Parakend of Gadabay District of the Republic of Azerbaijan. He is a member of Union of Azerbaijani Writers and Union of Azerbaijani Journalists. He is the author of the books titled as “ Green loves”, “ In the hand of Loneliness”, “ Love is holy”,” Lifetime of a violet”, “ When the stones blossom”, “ Mathematics and Poetry”, “ Twin spirits”, “ Praying to the God”,” The weather of rain”, “ The martyrs of Gadabay District”, “ Gadabay poets”, “ My heart is the nest of word”, “ Symbol of Dignity” , including two textbooks, three monographs, and more than 350 articles. He was honored with a number of prizes for his activity in the field of journalism and literary. He is the docent of Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University( ASPU). He is the founder of editor-in-chief of the newspaper ‘Teacher’s word’.
To the Orphan children
The war swallowed your father,
Your mother was the victim of the earthquake.
Firstly the wings of your wishes were broken,
Then the wings of your toys;
Still you are three years old,
Still you believe in tales….
When you look at your house
That fell into pieces
Your curly hair waves with the wind.
The merciless destiny causes your tears to run into your heart.
The sky is embarrassed
While looking at your childish eyes..
And the cotton clouds shed tears…
Your hands as the white dove
Are reached to their sky- to your mother.
Your cheeks go rosy in the frost,
Your poppy lips are cracked
Come on, my dear child!
The cruel life gifted you with grief.
Let me take you to my world.
Though there aren’t false tales
There is neither earthquake,
Nor the war.
( and if I had my own world
I could make all the children happy)
On a spring morning
It rained at night alongside with the wind,
The sun of the morning is still sleeping.
The young trees fell on the ground
The wind touched its hand on the roses too.
The roses shrunk their petals with fear,
The weather is freezing this morning.
The leaves are singing sorrowful songs
In the windy city of the world.
At times the birds are also singing,
I think their voices are shivering.
Let me tell you what pleasures me
The smell of the lilac.
I wanted to have a rest in the garden for a while,
Or to plant a young tree into the ground.
But the cruel wind hasn’t stopped yet
I don’t know for which tree to grieve.
A glass of silence
There live memories
In each blind alley.
Who knows what is hidden
In the destiny of the roads.
The streets drink a glass of silence
When they are missing.
At times what they think in the heart
Are passing through the roads.
The awry roads
Keeps a piece of hope.
Look for all what is less in your lifetime
In the past days of the life.
Give me a cloud
I am setting to endless road
Alongside with my loneliness.
Give me a cloud, my God,
Let me ride that cloud!
My God, I wonder how to find
The spot of blood on my chest
The dawn of my hopes
And the place where I am calmed.
Give me a soul to support me
And calm me when I am upset.
My God, let my lonely heart
Be the nest of the love!
SHUK
Shuka të shpirtit
Mbledh e struk çdo ditë
E struk
Mijëra të pathëna
Zhubravitur buzësh
Bëj që ti flak tutje
Por prak shuk i gëlltis
Ndër vete
Pasqyrave të zemrës
Reflekse ankthesh
Nduken e thyhen
Të krijojnë
Ornamente fjalësh,
Njerëzish
Që të mirën
Se kanë më origjinë,
As fis
Tek mbështillen
Në rrotullime pa orientim
Në kënde të vërtetash
Dhe nxjerrin
Shëmbëlltyra realitetesh
Të fryra
Sajimesh pa emër
Kridhem reshtas
Kruspullt
Ngadalë rimbledh
Çdo gërmëzim
Sërish,e sërish
Veç të mirën
Të shoh gjithandej
Dhe fjalë nuk gjej
Der shuk të mos jem më
