TAXI

I put the small sum of money

 I had earned the day before

On the toughened palm

Of a pale-faced taxi driver.

Taxi, take me,

Deliver me

To the silent yesterdays

To the happy yesterdays

On the wings of the butterfly.

I have a letter to the dead ones.

***

This is neither the first nor the last

The order was given

The sharp axe of the executioner time

Was raised slowly.

This is neither the first nor the last.

It has a number of scaffolds

The place of execution: in front of the cashpoint

From which you withdraw the pension.

Or the soft and comfortable seat of a plane,

The side of the bedding

Once you slept with your lover.

The other day I counted

At least thirty two heads

Were thrown into the black hollow

Of the emptiness.

The black hollow shouted

In thirty two languages:

‘It is enough, I don’t have place anymore,

I want the heart of a poet or a hand of an artist,

I want a tongue of a philosopher,

Send them to me, tell them

I have enough places for them.’

The order was given,

The sharp axe of executioner time

Was lowered.

A poet had a heart attack

While writing his new poem.

A little bit of an artist

Was found

When the dust of cannon projectile

Disappeared.

A philosopher was hung

By his tongue

From the hand of the familiar clock tower.

It is neither the first nor the last.

***

I am such an unhappy man

I am such an unhappy man

I tossed the cigarette butt on the asphalt road

The shining cars rushing forward didn’t trample down it.

I am such an unhappy man

I want to hang myself like Yesenin

But the price of hotel is more expensive than museum’s price

I am such an unhappy man 

I need to confer with Hidayetli Sadiq

But he is unavailable, his number is out of range.

I am such an unhappy man.

(Translated from Azerbaijani into English by Sevil Gulten)

________________ 

Published under International Cooperation with "Sindh Courier"