16 thoughts on “21 fevral Ana dili günüdür”

1. A new book titled “The Poetic World of Zaur Ustaj” has been published

   A new book titled “The Poetic World of Zaur Ustaj,” dedicated to the work of the well-known poet and editor-in-chief of the magazine “Yazarlar,” has been published.

   The author of the next book published in the “Zaur Ustaj 50 series” is Vagif Isagoglu, one of the first professional military journalists in Azerbaijan, a Presidential pensioner, and a poet-publicist.

   In the introduction to the book, the author himself provides the following information: “I present this monograph on the 50th birthday of Zaur Ustaj, a writer, poet, translator, and publicist, a valuable intellectual who is loved by readers as one of the well-known representatives of modern Azerbaijani literature, who captivates hearts with his poems.”

   The book, which consists of a systematic and broad analysis of all of Zaur Ustaj’s works, starting from the first examples written by him and ending with the most recently published ones, is intended for a large audience – philologists, journalists, teachers of higher and secondary educational institutions, students, doctoral candidates, independent researchers, and anyone interested in Azerbaijani literature and culture.

   The book is edited by Tural Jafarli, designed by Sabina Huseynzade, published by Sabuhi Asland. The cover design is by Rahila Garalova.

   In his monographic analyses, Vagif Isagoglu refers to authoritative sources and well-known Azerbaijani philologists, publishers, and literary critics such as Gurban Bayramov, Vagif Yusifli, Ali Rza Khalafli, and Ulviyya Huseynli.

   525th newspaper.- 2025.- February 19(№31).- P.9

   Cavabla

2. ” With the trail of spilled blood ”

   ( About the book of the same name by Nigar Sattarzadeh )

   Greetings , my very valuable reader ! In the glorious ( military ) history of our country , there is a trace that will never be erased , a stain in the color of dried blood . This day ( days ) that we remember from time to time as “ bloody January ”, “ January 20 ”, “ our day of sadness ”, “ our day of pride ” is approaching . We are on the eve of those terrible days . Below, I will clarify the issue that I emphasized with great confidence above “ will never be erased ” . More about it later … Before moving on to the topic , I want to make a brief historical excursion to those days ( January 20, 1990 and the days after it ) . At that time, I was studying in the 10th grade at the Yusifjanli village secondary school in the Agdam region ( it was already the time when I was almost regularly published in the “Lenin yolu ” newspaper ) .

   We learned about the bloody massacre that took place in Baku on the night of the 19th to the 20th through verbal information from those who came to the village early in the morning on the 20th . There were no classes that day . Teachers , students , and the entire village community gathered at the entrance to the village from the Agdam side and held a long discussion ( rally ) . Witnesses from Baku spoke and we listened . That day, the foundation of the monument was laid in that place to immortalize the memory of the martyrs of January 20 ( about 40 monuments to the martyrs were ready , on the 40th there was another rally in front of the monument – a photo taken at the rally by the well-known military photo-reporter Major Naghi Yusifjanli still remains in my personal archive ). After a while , a post at the entrance to the village was also established there … Now we call that place ” Monument “, ” Next to the Monument ” … In the following days, television began to make short broadcasts from Shusha ( everyone in Baku knew about what was happening ) … Up to the 40th anniversary of the martyrs and for a short period of time after that , numerous newspaper articles with photos ( especially emphasizing the newspaper ” Odlar yurdu ” , the organ of the ” Vatan ” society ) I want to ) was published in addition to the book “ Black January Baku – 1990” in Russian , one of the compilers of which was the People’s Writer of Azerbaijan Chingiz Abdullayev , consisting of journalistic articles accompanied by photos , and the book “ Martyrs ” in our native language , consisting of poems by the People’s Poet of Azerbaijan , the late Bakhtiyar Vahabzade . In the following years, we got acquainted with the memories of many eyewitnesses both from television and radio broadcasts , as well as from various press organizations … Every year we watched , listened , and read again and again … Finally, “ January 20 ” turned into our memory , pitch-black blood the color of dried blood … I want to get to the point , the essence of our conversation , the reason for our meeting over the bridge “NEVER TO BE DELETED” above .

   “THE TRACE OF SHED BLOOD…” THAT WILL NEVER BE ERASED

   There is nothing unusual in the above short note . These notes are a manifestation of what a living witness – a teenager who lived through those days – saw and heard . However, the existence of the book ” In the Trace of Spilled Blood ” , which I will talk about, is already a matter of event , history , national identity , blood memory , gene pool . The author of the book , Nigar Sattarzadeh, was born on July 7 , 1991 in Baku . Her father, Nazim ( may God have mercy on him ) , a teacher , was also a well-known writer . Even the fact that her father was a writer does not detract from Nigar’s heroic record , does not diminish the scale of her work , or diminish its importance . Nigar Sattarzadeh, who was born a year after the January 20 events in the city where those events took place ( in the city center ) , took strength from the spirit of national fanaticism she had formed in herself based on what she had heard and seen ( in tapes and films ) and masterfully coped with such a responsible task . At this point, I would like to add another example to my above notes . From the well-known events in ” In the Light of a Bullet ” by the late Qalandar Khachinchayli I am also familiar with the story that tells , and during the life of the deceased ( during the presentation in the “ Natavan ” hall of the AYB ), we had a conversation and discussion about the book with him. There are probably other examples that I have not yet come across. In almost all texts of this kind, the influence of journalism is felt , its traces are clearly visible … It is from this point of view that “ In the Trace of Spilled Blood ” does not mix with other traces . Nigar Sattarzadeh ‘s work , with all its merits , is a purely artistic work . I think the young author went a little further and used important tricks with the requirements of the book industry and the reader market to capture the reader .

   ADVANTAGES OF THE BOOK

   Although the author , showing great modesty , tries to present herself as a young writer in every way , Nigar Sattarzadeh’s signature is quite familiar to the Azerbaijani and Turkish readers . This opinion is confirmed by the signing days , discussions , and meetings organized at least 3-4 times in different places with the participation of a very diverse audience in the last 20-25 days alone . In my opinion , Nigar Sattarzadeh is a mature ( or maturing ) writer who has taken her first successful steps in the book industry and is capable of competing fairly with any modern writer for the reader’s market . The work ” In the Trace of Spilled Blood ” , characterized and presented as a literary-historical novel by the decision of the author and, undoubtedly , the creative team that contributed to the creation of the book , is of great exemplary and educational importance in the true sense of the word , both in terms of artistic and historical value . The physical characteristics of the book , elegantly printed by the ” Kitabchi ” publishing house , almost fully meet modern requirements . As for the main issue – the contents of the book , the purpose of the work is man , humanity , individual individuals , how they behave in society , family , family relationships , children , adults , peoples , their different languages , different professions from different circles , etc. and years. … this list can be extended quite a lot . However, especially in the present era , there is no need for such a long list . Because , regardless of the problem posed , the issue raised , the center is the person , regardless of his nationality , language , religion , profession, his mistakes , wrong decisions , and then the consequences that cannot be eliminated .

   Nigar Sattarzadeh begins the story she will tell directly from the center – the climax , which should be noted as another commendable step that shows keeping up with the demands of the time . It is very important to grab the reader from the first word , sentence . If an attentive reader , viewer , listener pays attention , he will see that, especially in the last 5-6 years , most films , even animated films , stories , and tales begin with sharp and intense action . The only goal of this beginning is to lead the reader , listener , viewer , and audience to follow what will happen next .

   Regardless of where in the world she lives and works, Nigar Sattarzadeh , like her leading contemporaries , begins to narrate her story from the “ most moving ” place ( even if the hero is lying down in the middle ) of the event (from the “0” point ) on the principle of Before and After the Christian Era , and with great skill ( with the professionalism of the writer ), she connects events that occurred in very different times and places . She connects very different and instructive human destinies . She makes transitions . It can be said that throughout the work we do not encounter cases of time being lost and suddenly becoming pedestrians . From the introduction of Doctor Rustam to the story of Gadir’s family , all the events serve to leave a “ bloody trail ” . I think there is only one idea that the author wants to shout out : BE HUMAN!

   MINOR DEFECTS

   Of course , for the benefit of the common cause , it should be the duty of a good friend and pen pal to point out every minor flaw he sees so that such a beautiful and useful example can be further improved in subsequent editions . As I mentioned above , the book is almost ideal as a printing product – it has been printed at a level that fully meets the requirements of the modern market . There are no problems in the choice of topic , comprehensiveness , usefulness , content , or style of expression . On the contrary , high professionalism and mastery are felt . At the same time , there are also minor technical flaws . Thus , there is a continuous repetition of several identical spelling errors throughout the book . I hope that these minor flaws will also be eliminated in subsequent editions .

   BENEFITS AND IMPORTANCE OF THE BOOK

   By writing this work , Nigar proves and confirms that she is a child of the city and country shaken and awakened by the bloody January events , both spiritually and physically . Another interesting point is that how many more such Nigars will be born . This book by Nigar Sattarzadeh is not only a beautiful example for future generations , but also a consistent message for certain circles . As long as there are Tomris , Saray Khatuns , Nushabes , Hajars , we will not let this trace disappear ! We will follow the trail of spilled blood to the end !

   RECOMMENDATION

   On the eve of the next anniversary of the January 20 events , the book “ In the Trace of Spilled Blood ” , which sheds light on the dark streets of the bloody night of January 19-20, 1990 , should be read by everyone who says they are a child of this country . Those who want to read Nigar Sattarzadeh’s book “ In the Trace of Spilled Blood ” can purchase it from the “ Kitabçı ” bookstore located in the center of Baku , near the 28 May metro station , at 8 M. Qashqai . After purchasing and reading the book , do not forget to share your thoughts with us . Reviews about the book will be published throughout the year in the “ Yazarlar ” magazine and on the “yazarlar.az” website . Selected articles will be published as a collection under the title “IZ SÜRENLER” at the end of 2025. This article can be your first article , this book can be your first book . Why not ? Don’t forget to send your big and small opinions about the book to zauryazar@mail.ru . Surprise gifts are planned for the participants . Thank you for being an interlocutor until the end . Thank you .

   Zaur USTAC,

   Editor-in- chief of the magazine ” Yazarlar ” ,

   Member of AYB and AJB

   Weekdays.- 2025.- January 16-22 , No. 2.- P.7.

   Cavabla

3. IN THE LIGHT OF “LOVE POEMS”

   (A look at Zaur Ustaj’s work)

   Everyone comes into the world with a mission. Zaur Ustaj also had to take up the pen to fulfill his mission as a poet, and his first poems confirmed that he was born a poet.

   In the light of his poetry, you see that the pen suits him, and he suits the pen. The poet, who has formed a bond with the pen, has not written a single line that did not come from his heart. This also shows that the poet has not betrayed the pen he has formed a bond with, has not done so, and will not do so…

   I read the poet’s book “Poems Full of Love” (2024) with great interest, enthusiasm, and excitement. My heart was enveloped in a flood of white light, my feelings were refreshed, and the poems that nourished my soul not only tell about the purity, innocence, and halalness of Zaur’s world of words, but also indicate the poet’s great love for his homeland, land, and homeland.

   With Zaur’s poem “My White Flower” alone, you feel his love for his homeland, how he cherishes every flower of the country, and how he looks at them as a sacred being. You feel that the sincere, fragile verses flowing from the heart of the poet who says, “Welcome, good morning, my White Flower!” caress our souls, and he draws a beautiful natural landscape in the image of the White Flower like an artist, bringing it to life before our eyes. The poet, who paints the picture of the White Flower with words, humanizes the flower and talks to it, arranges convincing, impressive verses like pearls one after another, caresses both our eyes and hearts.

   You are a fool, the snow is black next to you,

   God gave permission, but he didn’t look.

   Where is this snowy winter, where is the flower?

   Welcome, good morning, my white flower!

   Each of Zaur’s poems characterizes his creativity, his purpose, and his profession, and it is felt that each of his poetic lines was definitely not written for the sake of pathos, but each line is the most fragile, saddest, most sincere feelings and emotions that have broken out of his inner world. I can boldly and without hesitation consider Zaur Ustaj’s book “Poems Full of Love”, which absorbs his emotions, feelings, thoughts and thoughts into his poems, and gives life to every “word”, a literary event. I am right in this opinion. Because is there anyone who can write these lines like him, which can be written in the literary history of literature? In the poem “Yellencek” we read:

   Flowers are the swing of my soul,

   I have hung my soul from a pomegranate flower.

   Dreams are the future of my world,

   I have caught my dream from the bar flower.

   After reading these poetic verses, I thought that Zaur himself is light, and so is his word. In the light of his word, one can turn towards the shrine and go. Because in the light of the poet’s word, one becomes spiritually pure, spiritually cleansed, and becomes the son of an imam! You must go to the shrine as a spiritually pure and lawful person so that your pilgrimage is accepted. In the light of these verses, how can you not go on a pilgrimage to holy places? And how wonderful it would be to go on a pilgrimage on the back of a Karabakh horse!

   His mother was the Sun, his father was the Moon,

   “Heared”, “He scolded” the Karabakh horse!

   God has divided the gift, divided it,

   It was a dream, a dream, a Karabakh horse!

   The style of perception and description in “Poems Full of Love” is fresh, original, vital, worldly, natural and sublime. Because it is natural and sublime, his poems are heart-warming, bring peace of mind, inspire the reader to live, to enjoy life, to love and be loved, to create, to do good to people, to do good deeds. The feelings and emotions absorbed in these poems can be heard as a living sound, because the poet “catches” the sounds floating in the air, brings them into the poem and presents them to the readers. Readers also feel their feelings, emotions, thoughts and thoughts in these poems, hear their heartbeats, and heart flutters. The poet’s heartbeats and the readers’ heartbeats coincide, which is an indication that Zaur Ustaj is a true poet.

   Even though I read the book “Poems Full of Love” in one breath, the conclusion I came to is that Zaur Ustaj is a poet of lyrical feelings in the truest sense of the word, a poet of ideas and thoughts. Philosophical ideas are clearly visible in his poems, and it is impossible to find a single false or fabricated verse in his poems, a single “loose” or out-of-place word in his verses, a single banal, weak feeling, a single fake, over-the-top, boring verse. It is good that his poems contain a ray of hope, a mood full of confidence in the present and the future, a call to struggle, and hatred for cowards and evil people. This is how it should be. After all, in one of his poems he rightly says “I will be a master.” A poet who says “I will be a master” can only write straight and crooked, and can serve the homeland, the nation, and Azerbaijani literature with his pen.

   Glorious soldier of the victorious army,

   I am a son of a married man from the land of the married.

   I have no tolerance for the oppression of my oppressor,

   I am a free child of the land of babes.

   I also feel obliged to say that the “language” of the poet’s poems is natural and simple. It is as natural and simple as it is folk. The poetic rhythm in his poems is not broken, the verses, like a sad spring, bring comfort to the heart, refresh the mood, and tell of the poet’s patriotic feelings and love for his homeland:

   I walked every inch of my native land,

   I have my footprints on every mountain and valley.

   Of the high mountains that have not yet been crossed,

   I have my eyes on the highest peak.

   (“I walked”)

   In the light of “Poems of Love”, sonnets attracted me as if they were water. The book “Sonnets” by W. Shakespeare, published in the 70s of the last century by the “Yazichi” publishing house, came to life before my eyes. Since then, I have not read sonnets written by Azerbaijani poets (except for B. Adil), apparently I have not come across them, or they would not have escaped my attention. In short, it has been almost fifty years since I have read poetry in the sonnet genre, but I read the sonnets written by Zaur with great interest and enthusiasm. My hands were covered with amazement. I fell under the spell of these sonnets, I could not escape their attraction. I want to finish my speech with the desire to talk about Zaur’s sonnets someday. I also want them to know: Zaur Ustaj is a talented poet who has given a new breath and mood to modern Azerbaijani poetry. Each of his poems that finds its way into hearts speaks of the greatness of Zaur’s world, the richness and innovation of Zaur’s creativity.

   “Poems full of love” is a drop of light filtering through his rich and diverse creativity. This light contains the light of the Sun itself. Gathered in the light of this sun, read the poems that filter through the poet’s heart, think about the magic of these poems and remember that being with poets who turn to the truth like Zaur Ustaj is pleasing to God. Who doesn’t want to please God?

   Vagif ISAGOGLU

   Member of AYB and AJB

   Events.- 2024.- October 25-31, #37.- P.22.

   Cavabla

4. My contemporary brother

   The interviewer is not always a seeker ,

   Abel killed his brother , brother …

   Is it possible to be contemporary with your time ?

   Who sold Jesus , brother ?​

   They burned him in the West , they hanged him in the East ,

   They cut off your tongue in the South and the North ,

   Those who say new words have vomited blood ,

   The propeller was happy when it was lit , brother …

   Of the moths with the candle of Vusaly ,

   Of jewels that fall at the wrong time ,

   Of madmen who wear a crown of wisdom ,

   The time and place were known , brother …

   The brothers threw Joseph into the well ,

   Stones were thrown at the Messenger of Allah ( peace be upon him ) ,

   Neither snow , nor time , nor ” stones ” ,​

   He never loved his neighbor , brother …

   They took away Naimi ‘s name ,

   They robbed Nasimi of his right ,

   Geniuses have always been lonely ,

   Tell me , what kind of lie was that , brother ?

   They thought differently , they dressed differently ,

   But they ate to live ,

   They were not ” men of the time ” ,

   The fate of many was the same , brother …

   What you call modern is a mystery , a mystery ,

   The end of those who think differently is destruction ,

   The master’s wish is for forgiveness from God :

   – May the contemporary forgive him , brother …

   Ruling

   ” He who learns at forty plays at his best ”

   ” A dry well cannot be watered by pouring water ,”

   He who is born stupid , grows up stupid , dies stupid …

   A man is born from a son , a man becomes a brave man ,

   If he is born without honor , he will become cunning , cunning …

   An animal has a gender , a plant has a root ,

   It doesn’t mix , it stands alone , everyone ‘s hair ,

   No one can bear anyone’s burden ,

   Some understand quickly , some understand later …

   Master , two nines make eighteen ,​

   Arif never makes a mistake like this ,

   If it doesn’t bleed , the gourds , the teas, four nines ,

   They hold on to their belts at forty , and they waste their strength …

   There is justice.

   Every word has its leaven , its essence ,

   In truth , it is a foot , a head …

   The tongue of the confectioner is sweeter than honey ,

   The bag is wet all over …

   There is a saying , it is valuable from a book ,

   There is a look that is wary of the address ,

   The children of Adam are prepared for the journey ,

   If the snow blows , the path will be rocky and stone …

   Let the master say , write on the stone , on the rock ,

   Why would anyone fall for nothing , ay- ay ?

   Whenever it is forbidden , it falls on the breast , on the yeast ,

   The fetus is defective , and the eyes and eyebrows are confused …

   Let it be

   A ray of hope has shone tonight ,

   Let it be done by the dwarf ..

   A speck of dust in the bosom of the night ,

   It ‘s enough to be driven to the end …

   When did these hands reach out to you ?

   A rainbow , a path , show me the way ,

   I will come , I will not look ; I will go up , I will go down ,

   Just like what was given to Moses …

   Let it pass through the desert or the forest ,

   My weapon , my weapon ; my pen , my quill ,

   Feed my soul , from the glorious harvest ,

   Let it be asked from the stone , the rock …

   Let it be the genius Nasimi , my friend ,

   Let it be , my dear friend ,

   Make Nadiri , Qajar my confidant ,

   May my friend be resurrected in the path of friendship …

   My master , my tongue is full of gratitude ,

   My prayers always reach you ,

   Now this slave has lost his way ,

   Make a sign , let it be …

   Place of punishment

   Worldly goods remained in this world ,

   Remember the story of Solomon .

   Who built it , who ransacked it , plundered it ,

   Eat it like honey .​​

   Zeal , mischief, and corruption are useless ,

   Greed , deceit , and deceit are useless ,

   Hypocrisy , fear , envy are useless ,

   Be sweet-spoken , and if necessary , take the ” gada “.

   Let the master say a single word , listen to him ,

   Do you know why Adam came here ?

   That place is a place of punishment , understand , you ,

   Is it true , give life , and wealth ?!

   Zaur Ustaj

   Literary newspaper . – 2024. – January 20 , No. 2. – P. 18-19.

   Cavabla

5. Autumn

   The miracle of nature,

   Autumn is the word for us…

   Talking and laughing in the mountains and valleys,

   Autumn is just around the corner…

   Yellow leaf, look, how beautiful,

   Who laughed, who was sad?

   Sad, sad, beautiful, beautiful,

   The autumn is a bitter nut…

   A master values ​​words,

   What’s in the bowl, come out,

   Slowly, slowly, slowly

   The autumn that falls on life…

   Half a glass

   That half you left behind

   Tell me, do you remember the cup?

   Exactly three days since you left.

   He put out the fire…

   From the place where your lips meet

   I’ve kissed you, how many times…

   Tasteless glass from that day

   Come back, baby, to the sugar…

   From where you are holding

   I’ve tried to catch…

   When you find a trace, follow it.

   I don’t have wings to fly…

   Turn to the idol, this cup

   It is a decoration of my house…

   Fingers crossed

   Your hand has a decoration…

   The last remaining drops

   I didn’t cut it, I drank it myself…

   I invited the flowers,

   This is how the solution was found…

   Pots Earth,

   I am the flowers, you are silent…

   There is nothing to lose,

   You’re so sweet to me…

   Maybe…

   Maybe we invented autumn?!

   The leaves are yellow only for us…

   Maybe the seasons are standing still?!

   We are running away, towards autumn or spring…

   Even though its leaves have fallen, they are still yellow,

   Mulberry trees ripen in autumn,

   They say, meet the other half in autumn,

   Pomegranate is juicy, apples are abundant, quince is yellow…

   Master, he is not a man of today,

   The words of Noah were seen by the days of Noah,

   How many times has the soul been like Omar Khayyam,

   His grandfather was Alasgar, his grandfather was Sari…

   Violet

   Who will teach the violet,

   Who will burn black, black…

   Violet’s burning longing

   The snow is burning and burning…

   The fountain head is ice, secretly,

   Your hand falls, the embers bite,

   My Lord does not allow mistakes,

   He looks up with a sigh…

   My master, my tent is a place,

   Give me the grace, give me the opportunity,

   My sweat will become violet,

   It’s coming out of the snow, it smells…

   My white flower

   Winter was raging in the garden of life,

   Everyone was sleeping soundly in their white room,

   I suddenly saw you on the branch of a tree,

   Welcome, good morning, my dear Ağçıçı!

   You are a fool, the snow is black next to you,

   God gave permission, but he didn’t look,

   Where is this snowy winter, where is the blooming flower?!

   Welcome, good morning, my dear Ağçıçı!

   My hands are not clean, let me caress you,

   My limit is not that limit, let me smell you,

   I am a gardener, it is my duty to check on you,

   Welcome, good morning, my dear Ağçıçı!

   My flower

   You are the crown of all the flowers in my world,

   My sweet, honey-dripping, sweaty Şehçiçey…

   I have fallen under the spell of the petals of light,

   My mind-blowing, golden Şehçiçey…

   I’m stuck in a rut, completely helpless,

   Many flowers bloom on my right and left,

   Turn into a propeller and fly around me,

   My treasurer, I have chosen the right one, my Şehçiçey…

   Once, even if it’s just for a moment, goodbye

   Dreams do not give my soul peace,

   Even if the end is death, come and take me in your arms,

   It’s hard to live in longing, my Şehçiçey…

   How beautiful

   Seeing our world in bloom

   What beautiful eyes, what beautiful…

   The healer of our souls,

   The words are beautiful, beautiful…

   Those who plant flowers will reap flowers,

   The tongue will say what the heart says,

   He will see the straight curve, straight,

   The plains are beautiful, beautiful…

   Become a master and be enchanted by words,

   Always fascinated by a smiling face,

   Enchanted by the trace left in the heart,

   The traces are beautiful, beautiful…

   Leaf and soil

   We will take away the life that gives life,

   The leaf forgets that it needs the leaf…

   We give the soil poison, not water,

   The earth is amazed by the curiosity…

   Khazale, there is no peace until she reaches the ground,

   Live with your withered soul,

   Sleep peacefully with the eternal law,

   Leaves are swept up and thrown into the trash…

   They plant pillars in the ground, not seedlings,

   They build a fence instead of an arch or canal,

   They make shrouds of iron and concrete,

   The ground is slowly sinking…

   Let us not take the life of the one who gave us life,

   Let’s not cross the path of these two lovers,

   Let’s not leave the leaves longing for the soil,

   The leaf is like the earth, the earth is the leaf…

   Oh Master, Nasimi, who spoke the truth, is dead,

   Truth is a drop, if it sinks, it becomes a lake,

   The brothers divided Adam, who came alone,

   Even if we forget, the earth does not forget…

   I have a love for summer.

   This autumn brings a different life to me,

   There is spring love in autumn.

   The whole garden, the garden, is covered in treasure,

   There is spring love in autumn.

   Is this autumn wind or spring breeze?!

   In the untimely bud, the sweat of victory,

   The golden dew on the golden leaf,

   There is spring love in autumn.

   Master, you have received a crown from the Truth itself,

   The beautiful are pleased by your sweet words,

   He doesn’t see, sadness seeps through his sad eyes,

   There is spring love in autumn.

   Shahi Jahan

   When the tree of life blooms,

   It’s summer time, write your time!

   If blood boils, in the boyhood of winter

   Not for winter, but for the summer of that time…

   Araz is a mountain, it changes from state to state,

   The river flows calmly, and the people make their way,

   Friends and acquaintances hold hands,

   If he opens his feet, write his age!

   The crowned poet wrote poetry without lips,

   The queen of the soul is by nature guestless,

   Shahi-Jahan lives silently, without question,

   Wherever you are, write your age!

   I walked.

   I walked, inch by inch, across your homeland,

   I have my footprints on every mountain and valley!

   Of the high mountains that have not yet been crossed

   I have my eyes on the highest peak!

   I walked, tirelessly, across the mountains,

   I looked, the most remote meadow, the garden,

   I have never criticized time, the era,

   I have many grapes at the fountain!

   I walked this land, carving and carving,

   I have been a guest even on the most ordinary stone,

   Asking about the condition of every herb and flower,

   I have a promise I’ve kept in my heart!!!

   Zaur Ustaj

   Literary newspaper.- 2024.- November 22, No. 45.- P.29.

   Cavabla

6. Zaur Ustaj – the mission to become a writer

   (The critic’s slightly exclusive attitude…)

   Among the talented young people I know , one of the most hardworking , hardworking, objective , principled , far from any kind of manipulation , devoted to words and writing, sensitive, who considers words and writing sacred and tries to protect this sacredness at all times , who carries the spirit of classical , modern enlightenment , in short, who takes the mission of being a writer on his shoulders like a Heracles, and who endures the Sisyphean suffering of creativity is Zaur Ustaj. He is a very sincere, humble writer and he is the one who brought this new word and new concept to the literary community .

   Zaur Ustaj’s honest, impartial, liberal , free , free literary behavior in our modern literature is commendable and, I would say , new , an example for modern literary youth. Zaur Ustaj is a writer who is far from radicalism and takes refuge in the sincerity of the word . Despite the fact that Zaur Ustaj is young ( much younger than me , anyway ), he has found such creative power in himself and succeeded in creating a literary figure that we can now speak without hesitation about his free literary influence , free creative weight . This is my opinion, and it would be a sin not to publicize this opinion . In my opinion, it is of great importance to see and evaluate talent and talented literary power in its proper place . Such an approach should be a priority for our literary criticism .

   Zaur Ustaj has had an interesting life , he is a military man, a retired officer . I sense in him a creative discipline that seeps into his literary work from his military profession , a military “ geopolitical interest” reflected in literature. Defending what he knows well, bringing it to literary thought, instilling a special patriotic spirit in the new generation, youth , and elevating this work to the level of enlightenment – ​​this is his most important “ geopolitical interest” and this is also new . And this is not a desire, a wish in Zaur Ustaj , I would say , it is a literary ambition that is completely alien to his personal character , but is inherent in his creativity , a factor that forms the core of his literary and artistic activity , a literary status that is unique to him . That is why his creativity is multifaceted, multifaceted , multi-voiced, polyphonic …

   Zaur Ustaj’s literary activity, along with modernity, is most of all oriented towards the future and perspective. His creativity is also socially oriented to the best extent possible . Zaur’s activity is an effective activity, he does practical work , he turns events into events in his writings , creating events within events . He carries his memory to modernity. To put it a little figuratively, it is a novelty wrapped in antiquity , whether in literary subject matter or literary genre … His creativity is not impulsive , consistency, regularity, purposefulness, and principledness are among the factors that determine the style, direction and method of writing, subject matter. Therefore , Zaur Ustaj’s creativity is not boring , it arouses interest , encourages activity, and becomes a literary necessity …

   Another aspect of Zaur Ustaj’s literary activity is his choice of subject . He often looks at topics that have been neglected, ignored , forgotten, or even made to be forgotten , with heart and courage , as they say, bringing the truths kept in the shadows to light, turning memories into a book that revives . This is one of the aspects that distinguishes his patriotism . Because he is able to determine the intersection of social and public interest with spiritual interest . He is far from literary clichés . He wanders in our historical and spiritual plane . He is in search of interesting, current artistic concepts and original literary configurations . He is a supporter of total Azerbaijaniism. Imagine the pain and hardship of all this – not to mention the difficulty of doing it in the era of the market economy, which has already bent our social situation , under the dictates of the tyrant … But thank God , there are no dark feelings in him , there is the clarity and purity of the dawn . Moreover , in his writings , the desire to call everything by its rightful name is paramount , and this is one of the essential conditions for literary creativity . A writer should not be a scoundrel.

   Zaur Ustaj’s pen wanders not on the edge , but in the core, in the nucleus . He always tries not to let standards and dogmas reflect in his creativity. Another positive aspect that caught my attention is that Zaur Ustaj proceeds from the synergism of Azerbaijaniism and Turkism , that is, it is about self-organization in a socio-philosophical sense . Here , there is no identity , but rather one must be a reinforcement of the other . In other words, Turkism and Azerbaijaniism are a composition of each other, but one is not the other , both are independent. Seeking parallelism or absolute similarity in their understanding is harmful in socialization , nonlinearity is superior in this method ( Lütfi Zadeh method ). Zaur Ustaj’s literary-methodological synergistic approach is more inclined to the methodological pluralism of the paradigm . Of course, this is still in its infancy , but we believe that the underlying dynamics are in development. Thus , this method , which involves the consistent operation of literary creative mechanisms, creates the most favorable conditions for the comprehensive development of human existence, the possibilities of self-expression and self-affirmation of the personality, and the realization of creative abilities as a whole. Zaur Ustajda connects Turkism and Azerbaijaniness not only with blood and lineage , but also with consciousness . This is , in fact, the concept of Ali bey Huseynzade, Mammad Emin Rasulzade and Ahmed bey Agaoglu . We are Turks by blood and lineage , but we are Azerbaijanis by consciousness , thought, and ideology! This is not populism , it is the truth!

   Zaur Ustaj’s pen pals seek originality in their writings in unconventional ways , but one of his aspects that satisfies me is his ability to find the unusual in the traditional way and to interpret it in different literary dimensions (let’s say , genres ) . At various points in the life of the people , in the most difficult moments, for the sake of the honor and dignity of the nation , its sons who fearlessly went to their deaths in the cause of the homeland , who attacked the “nests of evil” almost hand-to-hand , their sons – men, husbands, brave men (for example, about Mubariz Ibrahimov , the landmark star of courage, bravery , and heroism ) also emerge as a result of such good intentions, ” there is no excuse for writing ” and become a memory ,a book of memories :” Landmark Star ” ( story ), “Poems of the Rose “, ” Pen in the Hand for Thirty Years “, “Alish and Anna ” ( poem ), ” Rejoice , You Are Unloved”, “Card of My Heart”, “Pink Book “, etc. … Indeed , if we were to put these books together , I would call them “Qelbin akçeşi” (Cards of the Heart), because almost all of these works are literary and artistic postcards addressed to the reader by Zaur Ustaj, and not secrets that are sincerely mixed and come from the heart , but postcards . Whom , as he says in one of his bayatıs , are his letters ” broken off from the house of his soul ” . In addition , he is a teacher of secondary schools He is also an educational author of methodological aids , textbooks , and programs .

   At this point , his knowledge , his passion for searching and finding , based on nationality , patriotism , and loyalty to the homeland , is satisfying . In fact , this stems from the unique feature of the modern Azerbaijani mentality – an attempt to find a way out of the forgetfulness syndrome and turn it into a highway . This can also be perceived as an attempt to restore the mysterious Azerbaijani spirit , which satisfies spiritual needs , and turn it into an ethical principle . In fact , there is an urgent need to create this principle now ! It seems to me that Zaur Ustaj draws strength from the mood created by our literature of the period of independence , especially prose examples written on historical topics , turns it into his own consumption energy , as in the poem “ Alish and Anna” , proceeds from today ‘s pragmatism , and , as I mentioned above , creates innovation wrapped in antiquity .

   The way to understand the truth is not only with the mind , but also with the heart – with feelings and emotions . This aspect , at the embryonic level , has begun to become the dominant of his artistic thinking , and I believe that it will become completely dominant . Zaur Ustaj also has a good principle , do the best you can for your surroundings and environment ! This motto is his : ” If goodness is not within your power , at least do not do evil !” He has managed to become a Penman by shielding his Ustaj pen against the evil that has manifested itself in all kinds of formats and entered a thousand volumes up to this time of his life , and because he understands the burden of the pen and the sacredness of the word , he writes in his poem ” The Word is Sacred ” :

   You came to this world, wait for your partner,

   Look around , follow the cycle,

   The master’s trust , be calm with your words ,

   Write with a pen , let it leave a mark .

   Zaur Ustac ( Mustafayev Zaur Mustafa oglu ) is 45 years old , he studied at Baku State University , Baku Higher Joint Command School , International Institute of Invention and Business and Shamakhi Humanitarian College . He is a participant in the First Karabakh War and is currently a reserve officer . He began his creative career in 1988 and has been a prominent representative of the literary community for 32 years . His nickname is “ Ustac ” ; member of the Azerbaijani Writers ’ Union , laureate of the “ Golden Pen ” award , founder and editor- in-chief of the “ Yazarlar ” magazine , founder of the “Ustac.az” personal development and creativity center , publisher , and modern enlightener -democrat . He is intellectual , creative , strong-minded , and has sound logic . I see and appreciate him as a pure – hearted , truthful , steadfast , honest in the truest sense of the word , a selfless young writer – publicist , poet , prose writer , translator , publisher , and most importantly , an intellectual , who has a deep faith in his ideas and path … And this is how I see Zaur Ustaj’s future as a writer . I see it in the things I have listed , in his specific position , in his WRITING . At the same time , I see it in the pride and restraint of the Writer who never gets dusty ! Because I know that restraint and pride always protect the spirituality from all evils and mistakes … MAY GOD PROTECT YOU!

   Gurban Bayramov ,

   literary critic, doctor-professor ,

   Weekdays.- 2020.- May 5-6.- P.8.

   Cavabla

7. My master

   Glorious soldier of the victorious army ,

   I am a son of the land of the married !

   I have no tolerance for the oppression of my oppressor ,

   I am a free child of the land of babes !

   My master Nasimi , our word is our word ,

   Justice and truth burned in my heart ,

   Ziyadar’s genius is not one , but a hundred ,

   I am the child of light of the land of the masters !

   My dervish , my only one , is considered holy ,

   My anger rises above my throat ,

   My country is known as the land of fire and hearth ,

   I am a pomegranate child of the land of flames !

   Don’t forget , my grandfather, the king , was Khatai Bash ,

   Nadir Shah , unmoving in the tomb ,

   Inspiration , what insurmountable barriers it has overcome ,

   I am a noble son of the land of heroes !

   History has its Prophet and its Prophet ,

   The world is always full of oil ,

   The enemy is before us again ,

   I am a lion cub from the land of lions !

   A gift from heaven to earth , my share ,

   I am the Sun during the day , the Lamb at night ,

   My color, born from the brightest star ,

   I am the secret child of the land of poets !

   My master , my homeland is within the homeland ,

   We are lost in the flow of time ,

   There are a thousand meanings , even the simple ” no ”

   I am the son of the wise man of the land of the wise !

   Mountains

   The third poem addressed to the mountains

   The time has come on the stage of history ,

   Blessed is this era that has begun , mountains !

   What victories still await us ,

   Blessed be the blessed bride , mountains !

   The tide of the cycle has turned , changed ,

   Husbands born from quarrels have grown up ,

   The healed wounds took hold , they ended ,

   Blessed be the tricolor veil , mountains !

   How long had the road been closed ?

   Fats had settled in his bosom ,

   An incurable disease had taken hold of my soul ,

   Blessed be the guest of honor , mountains !

   Khatai did not break the bond of love ,

   Nadir did not forget the Hijran mountain ,

   Ilham’s weapon crushed the oil ,

   Blessed be your iron fist , mountains !

   The bee got rid of the oil , the honey ,

   Another slope appears , bare ,​

   The glorious crescent moon rises from the summit ,

   Blessed be the holy banner , mountains !

   The great Alasgar , who was true to the truth ,

   Having reminded , introduced , and known , the beggar ,

   Every trench was a temple , every soldier a shrine ,

   Blessed are the mountains of Shushatek !

   Oh Master , thank you for fulfilling your wish ,

   You have also walked the path of ” Grandfather ” ,

   You traveled the world , you ended up in your homeland ,

   Blessed are the nine golden mountains !

   Three brothers

   Azerbaijan , Turkey ,

   To the brotherhood of Pakistan

   One brother on the right , one on the left ,

   The heel is in his knee , the strength is in his arm ,

   The torch of brotherhood burns on the path ,

   A new era begins , Khan of Azerbaijan !

   Turkey , Pakistan, dear Azerbaijan !

   The evil deed is awake today ,

   The rare act is a support today ,

   The foundation of inspiration is a lighthouse today !

   A new era begins , Khan of Azerbaijan !

   Turkey , Pakistan, dear Azerbaijan !

   We have lived through many ups and downs over time ,

   May this poor man never see this unity again ,

   Hilal returns to the mountains for a one-way trip ,

   A new era begins , Khan of Azerbaijan !

   Turkey , Pakistan, dear Azerbaijan !

   That day

   National Hero , Colonel

   In memory of Ilgar Mirzayev

   It all started like this ,

   You went away smiling …

   Come back with a smile on your face ,

   You carved it on your face …

   You went alone when you left ,

   You returned with a hundred thousand …

   You went to sleep yourself ,

   You woke up millions …

   It all started like this ,

   The whole nation was united …

   The whole world gathered ,

   Azerbaijan is plural …

   Forever in sleep ,

   You said to those who sleep, “Arise” …

   The black sorrow of the homeland

   You painted it red and made it white …

   Go underground ,​

   What did you take out of your face …

   He was a matchmaker ,

   All the pieces on the board …

   The road that begins from the door ,

   It stretched to Shusha …

   The homeland has lost its son ,

   He won his land …

   Such a glorious story ,

   One or two in history …

   Even if there is someone else ,

   Ours is a miracle …

   This epic with blood

   Husbands wrote , husbands …

   The value of this book ,

   Those who know how to write …

   Zaur USTAC

   Literary newspaper.- 2021.- September 25.- P.28.

   Cavabla

8. Hermaphrodite

   If you don’t know , cut off the gender ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   If you don’t have a name , you’re a piece of shit ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   It is unknown whether it is winter or autumn ,

   Melon or watermelon , it is unknown ,

   It is unknown whether it was a boy or a girl ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   He was a man , his sleep is unknown ,

   It was Bordakh , the hole is unknown ,

   It is unknown whether he threw it or not ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   It was a turnip , chard is unknown ,

   Many are very , few are unknown ,

   Duck , goose unknown ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   Neither in water nor on land ,

   What is mud , what is solid ,

   It didn’t arrive , it stayed in the pipe ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   It is not known where it belongs ,

   A horse’s hoof was on his foot ,

   A dog licked in front of him ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   The Master was in a state of shock ;

   The pain is great , the needy are in need ,

   It has a symbol , a petaled crown ,

   Maybe it was a hermaphrodite …

   Hardship

   Before the bell rings again

   I open my eyes …

   Oh God, where am I ?

   – I’m shaking my knees …

   I am right there ;

   – ” The seven layers of heaven ” ,

   For now, I am ” Koroglu” ,

   My horse , his horse …

   I am also in ” Chenlibel”

   Smoke , I’m stunned ,

   Sleeping until morning

   I’m cooked , I’m cooked …

   I’m on the same floor ;

   My own house , my own room ,

   As patient as a Simurgh ,

   My swan -winged bed …

   The downstairs neighbor’s lament ,

   The crack of the top …

   The chirping of sparrows ,

   The crowing of roosters …

   On the one hand , the thrush ,

   On the other hand , cats …

   Sings a love song ,

   – They are shameless , they are low …

   The word ” out of reach ”

   Something reminds me …

   Then my flaws

   I am uploading it .

   Taking refuge in a pseudonym ,

   I wake up somehow …

   It ‘s still twilight ,

   – I’m standing for a long time …

   Suddenly the clock rings ,

   Then the call to prayer is read …

   Milk sellers in the yard

   They are in the pot …

   My knee ligament is torn ;

   – The smell in the dream …

   Everything is as before ,

   Let love sing a song …

   Oh , wow , the crickets are chirping ,

   Silent thrushes …

   To the crowing of a rooster

   The chickens don’t respond …

   All sounds are cut off ,

   Smells in a dream …

   Cats , incessantly ,

   Let love sing a song …

   New word

   I have heard a new word ,

   He did not come to Earth from heaven .

   You were probably interested ,​

   What word did you see ?

   Be patient , I will say it now ,

   The root is Logos , logia .

   It is a science ,

   It’s called ” Tapdalogiya “.

   From a very reputable source

   I just heard that .

   It didn’t make much sense ,

   As for the meaning .

   Go down the path ,

   It is typology .

   Keeping the tradition alive

   Now Tapdalogia .

   Well done , God bless !

   Let it crack , Sabir !

   Now from tomorrow

   A grave that will not be dug .

   Burned Their Fathers

   We will blow away the ashes …

   I cried over this ,

   You can laugh if you want …

   Zaur USTAC

   Literary newspaper.- 2022.- June 21.- P.26.

   Cavabla

9. CAN, MOTHER MOON…

   To the Mother Who Gave Birth to Our National Hero Polad Hashimov

   Oh, my dear Mother, what is there in this look …

   In this view , the first tooth of Steel ,

   There is the first step , the smile , the walk …

   The Muras were hanging from this gaze …

   In this review , Poladi’s top five ,

   He has a smiling face , a cheerful figure , and a good posture …

   Oh my God, what is missing from this view ?!

   Wishes disappear in this gaze ,

   In this view , there is neither time nor space …

   All the scales are lost in this gaze …

   At this glance, the world collapses and disappears ,

   In this view , there is neither sail nor rudder …

   Oh, my dear Mother, what is there in this look …

   In this view, Polad’s first rank ,

   There is both honor and glory in this view …

   In this gaze , desires scream ,

   In this view, the sermon of a thousand preachers …

   There is a sunset dressed in red , and there is a dawn …

   Oh my God, what is missing from this view ?!

   At this glance , the name cries out ,

   There is no son named Polad in this review …

   At this glance, all my wishes were exhausted …

   In this gaze , sadness breaks the heart ,

   Wax is soft , not like steel …​

   Oh, my dear Mother, what is there in this look …

   In this view, Poladi’s courage ,

   There is courage , bravery , pride …

   The heat of his gaze is freezing …

   In this view, the hardness of pride ,

   There is a lordship , amirship , honor …

   Oh my God, what is missing from this view ?!

   In this gaze, the doorbells fell silent ,

   ” Steel has arrived “, no one said, “Stand up !”

   Dreams are on fire in this gaze …

   The colors of the world are lost in this gaze ,

   “Mom,” he said , smiling sweetly …

   Oh, my dear Mother, what is there in this look …

   In this view , a lady , a woman , a Mother,

   There is someone with a broken heart …

   How many mothers would be proud of this look …

   In this view, Nushaba is the only lioness ,

   There are those who roar like Tomris , and there are those who burn …

   I am the son of the wise man of the land of the wise !

   Glorious soldier of the victorious army ,

   I am a son of the land of the married !

   I have no tolerance for the oppression of my oppressor ,

   I am a free child of the land of babes !

   My master Nasimi , our word is our word ,

   Justice and truth burned in my heart ,

   Ziyadar’s genius is not one , but hundreds ,

   I am the child of light of the land of the masters !

   I am a dervish , I am considered holy ,

   My anger rises above my throat ,

   My country is known as the land of fire and hearth ,

   I am a pomegranate child of the land of flames !

   Don’t forget , my grandfather, the king , was Khatai Bash ,

   Nadir Shah , unmoving in the tomb ,

   Inspiration , what insurmountable barriers it has overcome ,

   I am a noble son of the land of heroes !

   History has its Prophet and its Prophet ,

   The world is always full of oil ,

   The enemy is before us again ,

   I am a lion cub from the land of lions !

   A gift from heaven to earth , my share ,

   I am the Sun during the day , the Lamb at night ,

   My color, born from the brightest star ,

   I am the secret child of the land of poets !

   My master , my homeland is within the homeland ,

   We are lost in the flow of time ,

   There are a thousand meanings , even the simple ” no ”

   I am the son of the wise man of the land of the wise !

   MOUNTAINS

   The time has come on the stage of history ,

   Blessed is this era that has begun , mountains !

   What victories still await us ,

   Blessed be the blessed bride , mountains !

   The tide of the cycle has turned , changed ,

   Husbands born from quarrels have grown up ,

   The healed wounds took hold , they ended ,

   Blessed be your tricolor veil , mountains !

   How long had the road been closed ?

   Fats had settled in his bosom ,

   An incurable disease had taken hold of my soul ,

   Blessed be the guest of honor , mountains !

   Khatai did not break the bond of love ,

   Nadir did not forget the Hijran mountain ,

   Ilham’s weapon crushed the oil ,

   Blessed be your iron fist , mountains !

   The bee got rid of the oil , the honey ,

   Another slope appears , bare ,​

   A glorious crescent moon rises on the summit ,

   Blessed be the holy banner , mountains !

   Oh Master , thank you for fulfilling your wish ,

   You have also walked the path of ” Grandfather ” ,

   You traveled the world, you ended up in your homeland ,

   Blessed be your unlucky game, mountains !

   Zaur USTAC

   Newspaper 525.-2021.- January 26.- P.14.

   Cavabla

10. The flag , our flag

    On the other side of the Araz

    Our flag is waving.

    Let a hundred Araz rivers flow over it ,

    The land , our land !!!

    South , North, it doesn’t matter ,

    Playful , our playful !!!

    The Araz River is silent , its flow is mute ,

    Mil, the frost is tiring Mugan ,

    The voice rises from Kirkuk ,

    Carving , our carving !!!

    The sky is a prisoner , the Urmu are white ,

    The wolf cries , the wolf cries ,

    A flock of geese is crying in Qashqai ,

    Hat , our hat !!!

    The Karabakh of all four sides ,

    The iron door has long been closed ,

    A tree branch , branchy ,

    Leaf , our leaf !!!

    Of course , the master does not say in vain ;

    – ” Pay attention to your border “,

    There is wisdom in this saying ,

    The pin is our pin !!!

    Ignorance

    My tears flowed freely ,

    There was salt on my cheek …

    From saying Urmu , Urmu

    My heart was on fire …

    Those who curse Sumura

    He left his fellow believer thirsty …

    Man is a foe to man ,

    What mountain or mountain is the sin ?

    Sorrow has aged Savala ,

    Murov is freezing cold …

    The Araz River does not break your silence ,

    The Kura River is within reach …

    My iron door was rusting ,

    How many bridges do we cross ?

    Kirkuk , Mosul are forgotten ,

    We don’t say Iraq in Baghdad …

    Nasimi ‘s tomb in Aleppo ,

    Fuzuli stayed in the harem …

    Babek’s soul is wandering ,

    The castle is in smoke …

    They drown my water with stones ,

    They wash my stone with water …

    Khudafarin , Urmu is angry ,

    They leave us without us …

    My grandfather Shah is in the middle of the road ,

    Koroglu walks in the skies …

    What separates us from ourselves

    Ignorance crushes my soul …

    Tuncay

    In the example of Tuncay

    God took the yeast from the white soil ,

    From Gundogan to Gunbatan, it was yours !

    He gave his engagement and celebrated the seven -day moon

    All the lands that fall are yours !

    Mark the Caspian Sea straight in front of you ,

    The crescent moon around your neck is yours !

    The highest peaks , the deepest lakes

    The forests , the seas , the plains were yours !

    God’s share , may He bless you ,

    Your unshakable faith in God was yours !

    Respect for father , mother, and elders

    Loyalty and trust to the confidant were yours !

    In time you ruled over the whole earth

    The power is yours , the rule is yours !

    Oh, you never cut off what you wanted ,

    The greatest justice and concession was yours !

    Don’t forget , it was like this from the very beginning ,

    You have a compassionate , generous heart !

    He saved , he bestowed gifts ,

    Goodness to Yamana , but only to you !

    In battle , he who strikes the enemy in the forehead ,

    The men with bayonets in their hands were yours !

    In war , holding the plane with a lasso ,

    What is in your power ?

    Crazy Turkish sons in the world

    The honorable name he bestowed was yours !

    The one who, when his name is mentioned , shakes the earth and sky

    Fear cannot prevail , the glorious soldier was yours !

    You made a symbol in the field , The wolf on the pin ,

    The best of the Black Horses was yours !

    You sewed a star and moon sign on the flag ,

    All the intelligence and genius are yours !

    The path you take is the only path of God ,

    You had a clear mind and sharp thinking !

    Many say it ‘s the end of the world ,

    But he can’t , the new world is yours !..

    Zaur USTAC

    Literary newspaper.- 2021.- November 13.- P.27.

    Cavabla

11. Oh my god, it’s a shame…

    I traveled like a tourist,

    My country is in turmoil!

    I still don’t remember,

    My creeping army!

    * * *

    I have scissors and a sickle in my hand,

    Dust and dirt, wet and wet!

    I want to go back,

    In the land of sorrow and pain!

    * * *

    Since we opened our eyes,

    We heard: “Araz”, “Araz”…

    At that time, Gargar told us,

    It was shallow, it was like a roof…

    * * *

    Now it is impassable,

    It was deeper than that…

    Our only consolation,

    This pain of ours is gone…

    * * *

    And a beacon of hope,

    That unripe fig…

    At that time, we thought,

    – “What a spoiled brat…”-

    * * *

    Arm in arm with the kankans,

    He enjoys living.

    If they don’t flirt,

    The water level often decreases…

    * * *

    Now, according to this idea,

    I’m ashamed of myself…

    Exactly thirty years in a row,

    Tears flowed from his eyes…

    * * *

    Cleansed from all rubbish,

    Even if it goes to hell…

    Shed your tears,

    Even if it flows into itself…

    * * *

    Now I am that fool.

    Like a tourist next to you…

    The collar is bell-shaped,

    Like a beaded artist…

    * * *

    How can I go, Nation!?

    Doesn’t it come to mind and say:

    -Where are your ashes?!-

    Doesn’t it eat away at tears?!

    * * *

    Or the wall of my house,

    The black stone of Gargar,

    The white stone of Shahbulag,

    Won’t he throw his head?!

    * * *

    Don’t you ask, when is it?

    Where are you, “Head of Affairs”?!

    There is no more room left,

    Now, stone upon stone…

    * * *

    Where is your money, your business?!

    Or the one who is hot and bothered!?

    How long have you been here?!

    – Everyone here is friendly…

    * * *

    Maybe like a thorn,

    Bees are also loyal…

    Even the stumps have rotted,

    The beehive is looking for a beehive…

    * * *

    The overgrown ditches

    The end of the line…

    Won’t he say he’ll see me?

    – Where is the point of this!?-

    * * *

    Now I am that fool.

    Like a tourist passing by…

    The collar is bell-shaped,

    Like a beaded artist…

    * * *

    I can’t get past it,

    Maybe a “stupid”

    The road has been waiting for years,

    – Where is this “Fernel”?!

    * * *

    Who expects a story from me,

    I am “The Epic of Victory”

    Look, I’ll write it there,

    – My brother’s melon…

    * * *

    Every time you shake your fist,

    Or when I’m slicing grapes…

    Akhtlag cranberries

    When you step into the shade…

    * * *

    A scoundrel with a knife in his eye

    Let it sink into your eyes…

    I haven’t drunk from the ice well.

    Will you keep your word?!

    * * *

    You are the last person,

    Let’s talk about this !

    As the pressure gets stronger,

    You wander the earth to escape…

    * * *

    Mind your own business!!!

    Let the suffering suffer…

    The cherry will also be peeled,

    Wait, just plant a seedling…

    Zaur Ustaj

    Weekdays.- 2022.- April 21-27.- P.8.

    Cavabla

12. ” Со следом пролитой крови ”

    ( О одноименной книге Нигяр Саттарзаде )​

    Привет , мой очень ценный читатель ! В славной ( военной ) истории нашей страны есть шрам , который никогда не сотрется , окрашенный цветом запекшейся крови . Приближается этот день ( дни ) , который мы иногда вспоминаем как « кровавый январь », « 20 января », « наш день печали », « наш день гордости » . Мы находимся накануне этих чудесных дней . Ниже я еще раз поясню вопрос « никогда не удаляться » , который я с большой уверенностью подчеркнул выше . Подробнее об этом позже … Прежде чем перейти к сути , я хотел бы совершить краткий исторический экскурс в те дни ( 20 января 1990 года и последующие дни ) . В то время я учился в 10 классе средней школы села Юсифджанлы Агдамского района ( именно в то время я уже почти регулярно печатался в газете «Ленин йолу » ).

    О кровавой бойне , произошедшей в Баку в ночь с 19 на 20 число, мы узнали из уст тех, кто приехал в село рано утром 20 числа . В тот день занятий не было . Учителя , студенты и вся общественность села собрались у въезда в село со стороны Агдама и провели продолжительную дискуссию ( митинг ) . Выступали свидетели из Баку , а мы слушали . В тот день на этом месте был заложен фундамент памятника, увековечивающего память шехидов 20 января ( было готово около 40 памятников шехидам . 40 – го числа перед памятником состоялся очередной митинг — фотография, сделанная на митинге известным военным фоторепортером майором Наги Юсифджанлы , до сих пор хранится в моем личном архиве ). Через некоторое время там же был установлен пост у въезда в село … Теперь мы называем это место « Памятник », « Рядом с памятником » … В последующие дни телевидение стало делать короткие репортажи из Шуши ( все в Баку знали о том, что происходит ) … Вплоть до 40-летия шехидов и в течение короткого периода времени после этого в газетах появлялись многочисленные статьи с фотографиями ( особенно выделяя газету « Одлар юрду » , орган общества « Ватан » ) . Наряду с «Хочу ») , были изданы книга « Черный январь Баку – 1990» на русском языке , одним из составителей которой был народный писатель Азербайджана Чингиз Абдуллаев , состоящая из публицистических статей, сопровождаемых фотографиями , и книга « Шехиды » на нашем родном языке, состоящая из стихотворений покойного народного поэта Азербайджана Бахтияра Вахабзаде . В последующие годы мы познакомились с воспоминаниями многих очевидцев , как из теле- и радиопередач , так и из различных печатных организаций … Каждый год мы смотрели , слушали и читали их снова и снова … Наконец, « 20 января » стало в нашей памяти черной как смоль кровью , цветом запекшейся крови … Я хочу перейти к сути , к сути нашего разговора , к причине нашей встречи , над мостом выше «НИКОГДА НЕ СТЕРЕТЬ» .

    «СЛЕД ПРОЛИТОЙ КРОВИ…», КОТОРЫЙ НИКОГДА НЕ СОТРЕТСЯ

    В коротком абзаце выше нет ничего необычного . Эти записи являются отражением того, что живой свидетель — подросток — видел и слышал в те дни . Однако существование книги « По следам пролитой крови », о которой я буду говорить , — это уже вопрос события , истории , национальной идентичности , кровной памяти и генофонда . Автор книги Нигяр Саттарзаде родилась 7 июля 1991 года в Баку .​ Его отец, Назим ( да помилует его Аллах ) , также был известным писателем . Даже тот факт , что ее отец также является писателем , не умаляет героических заслуг Нигяр , не умаляет масштаба и значимости ее творчества . Нигяр Саттарзаде, родившаяся в городе , где произошли события 20 января ( в центре города ) , через год после событий , черпала силы в духе национального фанатизма, который она сформировала в себе на основе услышанного и увиденного ( в записях и фильмах ) , и мастерски справилась со столь ответственной задачей . На этом этапе я хотел бы добавить еще один пример к своим заметкам выше . Из известных событий в « В свете пуль » покойного Каландара Хачинчайли Я также знаком с историей, рассказанной покойным , и мы беседовали и обсуждали с ним эту книгу еще при его жизни ( в том числе во время презентации в зале « Натаван » AYB ) . Вероятно, есть и другие примеры, с которыми я пока не сталкивался . Почти во всех текстах такого рода чувствуется влияние публицистики , ее следы отчетливо видны … Именно в этом отношении « По следам пролитой крови » не сливается с другими следами . Произведение Нигяр Саттарзаде , при всех его достоинствах , является чисто художественным произведением . Я думаю, что молодой автор пошел дальше и использовал важные приемы , основанные на требованиях книжной индустрии и читательского рынка , чтобы завоевать читателя .

    ПРЕИМУЩЕСТВА КНИГИ

    Хотя автор с большой скромностью пытается всячески позиционировать себя как молодого писателя , подпись Нигяр Саттарзаде хорошо знакома азербайджанским и турецким читателям .​​​ Эту идею подтверждают дни подписания , обсуждения и встречи, организованные не менее 3-4 раз в разных местах с участием самой разнообразной аудитории только за последние 20-25 дней . По моему мнению , Нигяр Саттарзаде — зрелый ( или взрослеющий ) писатель , сделавший первые успешные шаги в книжной индустрии и способный составить достойную конкуренцию любому современному писателю за читательскую аудиторию . Характеризуемый и представленный как литературно-исторический роман по решению автора и , несомненно , творческого коллектива , участвовавшего в создании книги , « По следам пролитой крови » имеет , в прямом смысле этого слова , большое образцовое и воспитательное значение с точки зрения как художественной , так и исторической ценности . Физические характеристики книги , изящно отпечатанной в издательстве « Китабчи » , почти полностью отвечают современным требованиям .​​ Что касается главного вопроса – содержания книги Основное внимание в работе уделяется людям , человечеству , отдельным личностям , их поведению в обществе , семье , отношениям внутри семьи , детям , взрослым , людям , их различным языкам , людям из разных слоев общества и т . д . и год. … этот список можно было бы значительно расширить . Но в такой многословности нет необходимости , особенно в нынешнюю эпоху . Потому что , независимо от поставленной проблемы или поднятого вопроса , в центре находится человек , независимо от его национальности , языка , религии или профессии , чьи ошибки , неправильные решения и последующие последствия невозможно устранить .

    Нигяр Саттарзаде начинает свою историю прямо с центра — кульминационного момента , который следует отметить как еще один похвальный шаг , показывающий, что она идет в ногу с требованиями времени . Очень важно захватить читателя с первого слова , с первого предложения . Если внимательный читатель , зритель или слушатель обратит внимание , то он увидит , что, особенно в последние 5–6 лет , большинство фильмов , даже анимационных , рассказов и анекдотов начинаются с острого и напряженного действия . Единственная цель этого начала — подвести читателя , слушателя , зрителя и наблюдателя к тому, что произойдет дальше .

    Независимо от того, в какой точке мира она живет и творит, Нигяр Саттарзаде , как и ее ведущие современники, начинает повествование своей истории с « самого трогательного » места ( даже если герой лежит посередине ) события ( с точки « 0» ) по принципу « до и после христианской эры» , и с большим мастерством ( с профессионализмом писателя ) она связывает события , произошедшие в совершенно разное время и в самых разных местах . Он связывает очень разные и поучительные человеческие судьбы . Он делает переходы . Можно сказать , что на протяжении всего произведения мы почти не сталкиваемся с ситуациями, когда время теряется или когда оно внезапно становится пешеходом . Начиная с появления доктора Рустама и заканчивая историей семьи Гадира , все события направлены на то , чтобы оставить « кровавый след » . Я думаю, автор хочет донести только одну мысль : БУДЬТЕ ЧЕЛОВЕКОМ !

    НЕБОЛЬШИЕ ДЕФЕКТЫ

    Конечно , долг хорошего друга и приятеля по переписке — указать на каждый незначительный недостаток, который он видит , чтобы такой прекрасный и полезный пример можно было улучшить в последующих изданиях на благо общего дела . Как я уже упоминал выше , книга практически идеальна как полиграфический продукт — она напечатана на уровне , полностью отвечающем требованиям современного рынка . Нет никаких проблем с выбором темы , полнотой , полезностью , содержанием или стилем выражения . Наоборот , чувствуется высокий профессионализм и мастерство . В то же время имеются и мелкие технические недочеты . Таким образом , на протяжении всей книги постоянно повторяются одни и те же орфографические ошибки . Надеюсь , что эти незначительные недостатки будут устранены в будущих изданиях .

    ПРЕИМУЩЕСТВА И ЗНАЧЕНИЕ КНИГИ

    Написав это произведение , Нигяр доказывает и подтверждает , что она является дитя города и страны , потрясенной и разбуженной кровавыми январскими событиями как духовно , так и физически . Еще один интересный момент – сколько еще родится таких Нигяр ?​ Эта книга Нигяр Саттарзаде является не только прекрасным примером для будущих поколений , но и связным посланием для определенных кругов . Пока есть Томри , Сарай Хатун , Нушабы и Хаджары , мы не дадим этому следу исчезнуть ! Мы пойдем по следу пролитой крови до конца !

    РЕКОМЕНДАЦИЯ

    Накануне очередной годовщины событий 20 января книга « По следам пролитой крови » проливает свет на темные улицы кровавой ночи 19-20 января 1990 года . Каждому , кто считает себя ребенком этой страны , обязательно стоит ее прочитать . Желающие прочитать книгу Нигяр Саттарзаде « По следам пролитой крови » могут приобрести ее в книжном магазине « Китабчи » , расположенном в центре Баку , недалеко от станции метро «28 мая» , по адресу: улица М. Кашкай , 8 . Не забудьте поделиться с нами своими мыслями после того, как получите книгу и прочитаете ее . Рецензии на книги будут публиковаться в течение года в журнале « Yazarlar » и на сайте «yazarlar.az » . Избранные статьи будут опубликованы в сборнике под названием «ПОСЛЕДОВАТЕЛИ СЛЕДОВ» в конце 2025 года . Эта статья может стать вашей первой статьей , эта книга может стать вашей первой книгой . Почему бы и нет ? Не забудьте прислать свои комментарии , большие или маленькие, о книге на zauryazar@mail.ru . Участников ждут приятные подарки .​​ Спасибо , что были моим собеседником до конца . Спасибо .​

    Заур ЮСТАК,

    Главный редактор журнала « Язярлар » ,

    Член AYB и AJB​

    Будни.- 2025.- 16-22 января , № 2.- С.7.

    Cavabla

13. Вышла в свет новая книга под названием «Поэтический мир Заура Устаджа»

    Вышла в свет новая книга под названием «Поэтический мир Заура Устаджа», посвященная творчеству известного поэта и главного редактора журнала «Язярлар».

    Автором очередной книги, изданной в серии «Заур Устадж 50», стал Вагиф Исагоглу — один из первых профессиональных военных журналистов в Азербайджане, президентский пенсионер, поэт-публицист.

    В предисловии к книге сам автор сообщает следующее: «Представляю эту монографию к 50-летию Заура Устаджа — писателя, поэта, переводчика, публициста, ценного интеллектуала, любимого читателями как один из видных представителей современной азербайджанской литературы, пленяющий сердца своими стихами».

    Книга, представляющая собой системный и широкий анализ всех произведений Заура Устаджа, начиная с первых написанных им образцов и заканчивая недавно опубликованными, рассчитана на широкую аудиторию — филологов, журналистов, преподавателей высших и средних учебных заведений, студентов, докторантов, независимых исследователей, а также всех интересующихся азербайджанской литературой и культурой.

    Редактор книги — Турал Джафарли, дизайнер — Сабина Гусейнзаде, издатель — Сабухи Асланд. Художник обложки — Рахила Гаралова.

    В своих монографических анализах Вагиф Исагоглу ссылается на авторитетные источники и известных азербайджанских филологов, издателей и литературоведов, таких как Гурбан Байрамов, Вагиф Юсифли, Али Рза Халафли, Ульвия Гусейнли.

    525-я газета.- 2025.- 19 февраля (№31).- С.9

    Cavabla

14. Осень

    Чудо природы,

    Осень — это слово для нас…

    Разговоры и смех в горах и долинах,

    Осень уже не за горами…

    Желтый лист, посмотри, какой красивый,

    Кто смеялся, кто грустил?

    Грустно, грустно, красиво, красиво,

    Осень — горький орех…

    Мастер ценит слова,

    Что в миске, выходи,

    Медленно, медленно, медленно

    Осень, которая приходит в жизнь…

    Полстакана

    Та половина, что ты оставил позади

    Скажи, ты помнишь чашку?

    Ровно три дня с тех пор, как ты уехал.

    Он потушил пожар…

    От того места, где встречаются ваши губы

    Я целовал тебя, сколько раз…

    Безвкусный стакан того дня

    Возвращайся, детка, к сахару…

    От того места, где вы держите

    Я пытался поймать…

    Найдя след, следуйте по нему.

    У меня нет крыльев, чтобы летать…

    Обратись к идолу, эта чаша

    Это украшение моего дома…

    Держим пальцы крестиком.

    Твоя рука украшена…

    Последние оставшиеся капли

    Я его не разрезал, я его сам выпил…

    Я пригласил цветы,

    Вот как было найдено решение…

    Земля для горшков,

    Я — цветы, ты молчишь…

    Терять нечего,

    Ты так мил со мной…

    Может быть…

    Может быть, мы придумали осень?!

    Листья желтые только для нас…

    Может быть, времена года остановились?!

    Мы бежим прочь, к осени или весне…

    Хоть его листья и опали, они все еще желтые,

    Тутовые деревья созревают осенью,

    Говорят, осенью встречай вторую половинку,

    Гранат сочный, яблоки сочные, айва желтая…

    Мастер, он не современный человек,

    Слова Ноя были видны во дни Ноя,

    Сколько раз душу трогал Омар Хайям,

    Его деда звали Алескер, его деда звали Сари…

    Фиолетовый

    Кто научит фиалку,

    Кто будет гореть черным, черным…

    Жгучая тоска Вайолет

    Снег горит и горит…

    Голова фонтана — это лед, тайно,

    Твоя рука падает, угли кусаются,

    Мой Господь не допускает ошибок,

    Он со вздохом поднимает взгляд…

    Мой господин, мой шатер — это место,

    Дай мне милость, дай мне возможность,

    Мой пот станет фиолетовым,

    Он выходит из-под снега, он пахнет…

    Мой белый цветок

    В саду жизни бушевала зима,

    Все крепко спали в своей белой комнате,

    Я вдруг увидел тебя на ветке дерева,

    Добро пожаловать, доброе утро, мой дорогой Агчычы!

    Ты дурак, снег черный рядом с тобой,

    Бог дал разрешение, но он не посмотрел,

    Где эта снежная зима, где цветущий цветок?!

    Добро пожаловать, доброе утро, мой дорогой Агчычы!

    Мои руки не чисты, позволь мне приласкать тебя,

    Мой предел не тот, дай мне почувствовать твой запах,

    Я садовник, мой долг – следить за вами,

    Добро пожаловать, доброе утро, мой дорогой Агчычы!

    Мой цветок

    Ты — венец всех цветов в моем мире,

    Мой сладкий, медовый, потный Шехчичей…

    Я попал под чары лепестков света,

    Мой умопомрачительный, золотой Шехчичей…

    Я застрял в колее, совершенно беспомощен,

    Множество цветов цветут справа и слева от меня,

    Превратись в пропеллер и летай вокруг меня,

    Мой казначей, я выбрал правильного человека, моего Шехчичея…

    Хоть раз, хоть на мгновение, прощай.

    Мечты не дают душе моей покоя,

    Даже если конец — смерть, приди и возьми меня в свои объятия,

    Трудно жить в тоске, мой Шехчичей…

    Как красиво

    Видя наш мир в цвету

    Какие красивые глаза, какие красивые…

    Целитель наших душ,

    Слова прекрасны, прекрасны…

    Те, кто сажают цветы, пожнут цветы,

    Язык скажет то, что говорит сердце,

    Он увидит прямую кривую, прямую,

    Равнины прекрасны, прекрасны…

    Стань мастером и поддайся очарованию слов,

    Всегда очарован улыбающимся лицом,

    Очарованный следом, оставленным в сердце,

    Следы красивые, красивые…

    Лист и почва

    Мы отнимем жизнь, которая дает жизнь,

    Лист забывает, что ему нужен лист…

    Мы даем яду почве, а не воде,

    Земля поражена любопытством…

    Хазале, нет покоя, пока она не достигнет земли,

    С твоей иссохшей душой дай жизнь твоей душе,

    Спи спокойно с вечным законом,

    Листья подметаются и выбрасываются в мусор…

    Они сажают в землю столбы, а не саженцы,

    Они строят забор вместо арки или канала,

    Они делают кожухи из железа и бетона,

    Земля медленно уходит под землю…

    Не будем лишать жизни того, кто дал нам жизнь,

    Давайте не будем пересекать пути этих двух влюбленных,

    Не заставим листья тосковать по земле,

    Лист подобен земле, земля — листу…

    О, Учитель, Насими, говоривший правду, умер,

    Истина — это капля, если она утонет, то станет озером,

    Братья разделили Адама, который пришел один,

    Даже если мы забудем, земля не забудет…

    Я обожаю лето.

    Эта осень приносит мне другую жизнь,

    В надежде на осень есть любовь к лету.

    Весь сад, сад, полон сокровищ,

    В надежде на осень есть любовь к лету.

    Это осенний ветер или весенний бриз?!

    В незрелом бутоне, пот победы,

    Золотая роса на золотом листе,

    В надежде на осень есть любовь к лету.

    Учитель, ты получил венец от самой Истины,

    Красавицы довольны твоими сладкими речами,

    Он не видит, печаль сочится сквозь его грустные глаза,

    В надежде на осень есть любовь к лету.

    Шахи Джахан

    Когда дерево жизни цветет,

    Наступила весна, давайте напишем это время года!

    Если кровь кипит, в детстве зимой

    Не для зимы, а для лета того времени…

    Араз — гора, она меняется от состояния к состоянию,

    Река течет спокойно, и люди идут своим путем,

    Друзья и знакомые держатся за руки,

    Если он раздвинет ноги, напишите его возраст!

    Венценосный поэт писал стихи без губ,

    Королева души по природе своей не приемлет гостей,

    Шахи-Джахан живет молча, без вопросов,

    Где бы вы ни находились, напишите свой возраст!

    Я гулял.

    Я прошел дюйм за дюймом по твоей родине,

    Мои следы на каждой горе и в каждой долине!

    О высоких горах, которые еще не преодолены.

    Я устремил свой взор на самую высокую вершину!

    Я шел, неутомимый, по горам,

    Я посмотрел, самый дальний луг, сад,

    Я никогда не критиковал время, эпоху,

    У меня много винограда у фонтана!

    Я ходил по этой земле, вырезая и вырезая,

    Я был гостем даже на самом обычном камне,

    Спрашивая о состоянии каждой травы и цветка,

    У меня есть обещание, которое я сдержал в своем сердце!!!

    Заур Устай

    Литературная газета.- 2024.- 22 ноября, № 45.- С.29.

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15. Вы — венец моего мира, вы — цветы.

    Ты — венец моего мира, ты — цветы,

    Мой медовый пот — это мой Шехчичей.

    Я очарован светом лепестков.

    Мой Шехчичей – драгоценность, которая пленит ваш разум.

    Я застрял в колее, совершенно беспомощен,

    Множество цветов цветут справа и слева от меня,

    Превратись в пропеллер и летай вокруг меня,

    Моё сокровище, которое я выбрал, мой Шехчичей.

    Хоть раз, хоть на мгновение, прощай.

    Мечты не дают душе моей покоя,

    Даже если конец — смерть, приди и возьми меня в свои объятия,

    Трудно жить в тоске, мой Шехчичай.

    ллл

    Кто видит наш мир как цветок,

    Какие красивые глаза, какие красивые…

    Целитель наших душ,

    Слова прекрасны, прекрасны…

    Те, кто сажают цветы, мы будем их срывать,

    Что сердце говорит, то и язык скажет,

    Он увидит прямую кривую как прямую,

    Равнины прекрасны, прекрасны…

    Стань мастером и поддайся очарованию слов,

    Всегда очарован улыбающимся лицом,

    Очарованный следом, оставленным в сердце,

    Следы красивые, красивые…

    ллл

    Луч надежды засиял сегодня вечером,

    Пусть это сделает гном.

    Пылинка в недрах ночи,

    Достаточно довести дело до конца.

    Эти руки тянутся к тебе,

    Тропинка, тропинка, укажи мне путь,

    Я приду, я не буду далеко ходить, я спущусь,

    Да будет так же, как было дано Моисею.

    Пусть он пройдет через пустыню или лес,

    Мой друг, моё оружие — ручка и перо,

    Накорми мою душу славной пищей,

    Пусть он будет высосан из камня и скалы.

    Пусть это будет гений Насими, мой друг,

    Пусть это будет ошибкой, мой друг,

    Сделай Надири, Каджара моим доверенным лицом,

    Пусть мой друг воскреснет на пути дружбы.

    Мой господин, на моем языке закончилась благодарность,

    Мои молитвы всегда доходили до тебя,

    Теперь этот раб заблудился,

    Дайте мне задание, и пусть оно будет успешным.

    ллл

    Я обошел каждый дюйм своей родной земли,

    Мои следы на каждой горе и в каждой долине!

    Из высоких гор, которые еще не преодолены,

    Я устремил свой взор на самую высокую вершину!

    Я шел, неутомимый, по горам,

    Я посмотрел, самый дальний луг, сад,

    Я никогда не критиковал время, эпоху,

    У меня много винограда у фонтана!

    Я ходил по этой земле, вырезая и вырезая,

    Я был гостем даже на самом обычном камне,

    Спрашивать о состоянии каждой травы и цветка

    У меня есть обещание, которое я сдержал в своем сердце!

    Заур ЮСТАК

    Газета 525.- 2024.- 19 января, № 10.- С.15.

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16. Мой современный брат

    Интервьюер не всегда является ищущим ,

    Авель убил своего брата , брата …

    Возможно ли быть современником своего времени ?

    Кто продал Иисуса , брат ?

    Его сожгли на Западе , его повесили на Востоке ,

    Они отрезали тебе язык на Юге и на Севере ,

    Те, кто говорит новые слова , блевали кровью ,

    Пропеллер был счастлив, когда его зажгли , брат …

    Мотыльков при свете свечи ,

    О драгоценностях , которые падают не вовремя ,

    Безумцев , носящих корону разума ,

    Время и место были известны , брат …

    Братья бросили Иосифа в колодец ,

    В Посланника Аллаха ( мир ему ) были брошены камни ,

    Ни снег , ни время , ни « камни » ,

    Он никогда не любил своего ближнего , брата …

    Они забрали имя Наими ,

    Они отняли у Насими его права ,

    Гении всегда были одиноки ,​

    Скажи мне , что это была за ложь , брат ?

    Они думали по-другому , они одевались по-другому ,

    Но они ели , чтобы жить ,

    Они не были « людьми того времени » ,

    Судьба многих была такой же , брат …

    То , что вы называете современным, — это тайна , загадка ,

    Конец тех, кто думает иначе, — разрушение .

    Желание мастера – получить прощение от Бога :

    – Да простит его современник , брат …

    Постановление

    « Кто учится в сорок лет, тот играет в свои годы ».

    « Высохший колодец нельзя напоить , переливая воду ».

    Кто родился глупым , тот глупым вырастет , глупым умрет …

    Человек рождается от сына , человек становится храбрецом ,

    Если он родился без чести , он станет хитрым , хитрым …

    У животного есть пол , у растения есть корень ,

    Это не смешивается , это стоит отдельно , волосы каждого ,

    Никто не может нести чье-либо бремя ,

    Некоторые понимают быстро , некоторые понимают позже …

    Мастер , две девятки дают восемнадцать ,

    Ариф никогда не совершает подобных ошибок .

    Если не кровоточит , то тыквы , чаи, четыре девятки ,

    Они держатся за свои пояса в сорок лет и тратят свои силы …

    Справедливость есть .

    Каждое слово имеет свою закваску , свою сущность ,

    На самом деле это нога , голова …

    Язык кондитера слаще меда ,

    Сумка вся мокрая …​

    Есть такая поговорка : книга ценна ,

    Есть взгляд , который настороженно относится к адресу ,

    Дети Адама готовы к путешествию ,

    Если пойдет снег , тропа будет каменистой и каменистой …

    Пусть мастер скажет , напиши на камне , на скале ,

    Почему кто-то должен влюбляться в ничто , а ?

    Когда это запрещено , оно падает на грудь , на дрожжи ,

    Плод дефектный , глаза и брови спутаны …

    Будь как будет

    Луч надежды засиял сегодня вечером ,​

    Пусть это сделает гном ..

    Пылинка в недрах ночи ,

    Достаточно довести себя до конца …

    Когда эти руки протянулись к вам ?

    Радуга , тропинка , укажи мне путь ,​​

    Я приду , я не буду смотреть ; вверх , вниз ,

    Точно так же, как было дано Моисею …

    Пусть он пройдет через пустыню или лес ,

    Моё оружие , моё оружие ; карандаш , точилка ,

    Накорми мою душу от славного урожая ,

    Пусть это будет спрошено у камня , у скалы …

    Пусть это будет гений Насими , мой друг ,

    Пусть будет так , мой дорогой друг ,

    Сделай Надири , Каджара моим доверенным лицом ,

    Пусть мой друг воскреснет на пути дружбы …

    Мой хозяин , мой язык полон благодарности ,

    Мои молитвы всегда доходят до тебя ,

    Теперь этот раб заблудился ,​

    Дайте мне помолвку , пусть она станет важной вехой …

    Место наказания

    Мирские блага остались в этом мире ,

    Вспомните историю Соломона .

    Кто его построил , кто его разграбил , кто его разграбил ,

    Ешьте его как мед .

    Рвение , злодейство и коррупция бесполезны ,

    Жадность , обман и коварство бесполезны ,

    Лицемерие , страх , зависть бесполезны ,

    Будьте любезны и , если необходимо , возьмите « гаду ».

    Пусть мастер скажет хоть слово , выслушайте его ,

    Знаете ли вы , почему Адам пришёл сюда ?

    Это место – место наказания , пойми , ты ,

    Правда ли , даровать жизнь и богатство ?!

    Заур Устай

    Литературная газета . – 2024. – 20 января , № 2. – С. 18-19.

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