My associations to one of the poems read by my friend, the outstanding Azeri-Turkish poet of our time Mehmet Ismail.
Memories of our old meetings in Paris and Podgorica still warm my soul.
No one knows yet
In a foreign land
sleepless nights
Watching over
Memories
In a foreign land
the days are longer
than the life lived
at home.
Mother used to
used to lap
at my headboard,
now it’s death.
And my mother is waiting,
and the motherland hurries,
The roads are different,
but the same fate.
* * * Pre-war summer of booksellers. Time has passed, and a happy life has…
The long, lonely streets of time - manic and tragic with chimes with chimes beating…
* * * Prediction as prayer - white magic rebellion over the madness of black…
Is it possible to know oneself to such depths where the light of knowledge of…
* * * Fraternisation of the Third Rome with the second Babylon-- Sodom and Gomorrah.…
Destiny, change the record. Our traitor boys have enough black things to do without you.…