Anit Roy
Poetry by Terane Turan Rehimli
Every person dies with a dream in heart,
How many dreams are buried in the ground.
Wishes rise from that depths,
This is how flowers come to earth.
Follows the dreams of life,
People stop with budding hopes.
Everyone who goes takes ones own garden,
Hopes cannot be mourned.
Every wish becomes a flower and comes to life,
It comes to settle in a new heart.
The scent of every flower is different from her.
The taste of a lifetime hidden inside.
Nothing comes from the memory of this land,
In pursuit of suppressed desires
Like flowers springing to life,
Like wishes that come to life…
BIRTHDAY ONE MORE STEP TO APPROACH TO DEATH
Life – nothing, from nothingness
It came to exist.
Death – in life whatever it is
appreciation at the last minute.
life – where that goes
You know, went on the road.
Road – in piles with desire
Pity it was heart wrenching.
Love – out of the fence of your heart
a close one to the heartbreaking.
Birthday – one more step
to approach to death.
IF YOU WROTE LETTER
You wrote a letter,
No fragrance, no breath.
In one of the lines
No sound of your heart
You wrote a letter,
It was cold-blooded.
Warm but saying no word
How did you send it?
You wrote a letter,
Feeling, emotionless.
My mind was restless
I stayed sleepless.
You wrote a letter,
As the blind’s staff
scratches the ground.
As engraver wrote
on his headstone…
I AM NOT THE ONE IN THE MIRROR
It ran, looked, familiar face,
followed a piece of life.
I looked around for myself.
I’m not the one in the mirror.
It was ice statue in the stone mirror,
Frozen ice looking in the mirror.
My eyes are spring, summer, winter in the mirror,
I’m not the one in the mirror.
Luck it was my mirror reflects my luck
shows me a golden bed.
My God, what a happy shows
I’m not the one in the mirror.
My shots were numerous,
My eyes don’t even smile.
The mirror can’t look at me
I’m not the one in the mirror.
I AM A WOMAN
I’m not an artist,
but I know colors that many artists don’t.
The color of love, the color of longing,
the color of pain…
I’m not a composer,
but I hear sounds
that every composer doesn’t hear.
The sound of separation, sadness, hope.
I am not a gardener,
but I know the fragrance of
months and days like flowers.
My life is decorated
with a fragrant garland of bright emotions.
I am not an artist,
I am not a composer,
I am not a gardener…
I am a woman,
created by God at an auspicious hour.
in my eyes, in my heart
is God the light of love
MY EYES WILL HOLD TEARS
Just forget me, I forgot too,
Don’t try to turn my heart again.
Let my colorful troubles be to myself
Take your love and go, blame me not.
Do not give me hope again, the tears of
my old hope have not dried up.
Don’t come to my sleep or to my dreams,
Forget like your killed dreams.
The face of this world was turned away from me. I bowed to fate like this
I’m firmer than the mountain, more patient than the stone,
You changed me, I wasn’t like that.
It was time for this love to die,
a grave the size of you will lie in my bosom.
Neither I will sigh, nor your name,
My eyes will catch you with tears.
Translated into English: Anit Roy
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