Biography:
Nigar Arif studied at Azerbaijan State Pedagogical University in the English faculty in 2010- 2014 and graduated from “III Youth Writers’ School” in “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union” in 2016- 2017. Nigar Arif is a member of “Azerbaijan Writers’ Union”, “World Union of Young Turkish Writers”, “İnternational Writers’ Union in Kyrgyzstan”, “ Writers Union of Central Asia”, “International Forum for Creativity and Humanity” in Morocco and “ Union of North American Writers”.
She was granted the Presidential Scholarship for her achievements in Poetry in 2024. One of her books “ The Room of Memories” was published in Iran in arabic ABC, another one “ Human’s Rain” in Azerbaijani in Baku. Her poems have been partially translated into English, Turkish, Russian, Persian, Chinese , İtalian, Portuguese , Montenegro, Spanish, Arabic, İndian, Urdu and have been published in different countries. She was a participant of “ IV LIFT- Eurasian Literary Festival of Festivals“ which was held in Baku in 2019 and “30 Festival Internacional De Poesia De Medillin” in 2020 which was held in Colombia, „Panaroma International Literary Festival 2020“ in India at an online platform and “ 8th Layoune International Poetry Festival and cultural talk with poets from five continents “ in Morocco in 2024, “16th İnternational Poetry Festival in Uzbekistan” in 2024. Nigar Arif was awarded by the present of the President in Azerbaijan. She also participated at the” Word trip Europe” project, „100 poets around the World for love“ and “ Fourth Global Poet Virtual Meeting 2020” and so on…
WHEN YOU LEFT
I used to see the flushed eyes of life
in the geography classes,
I used to see the truths that erupted like volcano,
and plains
on which was creeping the lies
under the truth,
I used to see fell down knees
of the highest mountains,
The same wind was blowing in all countries,
The same rain was raining all over the world…
I was a country myself,
Yes, I was…
When I wanted to subdue the country like you
my heart was shaking
like it was an earthquake;
sweet waters were running,
pure springs were running
in the bottom
of the most rocky and barren lands.
I used to see the beautiful faces of the best creatures
in the far-off places…
When you left…
When you left,
I realized that
human being is the biggest iceberg;
he is melting for years
and flowing to dying…
THE WAY
Who did really cut out my way?
Either the way is chance or I’m green.
I may be the last human on this road,
Maybe I’m just a gravestone of this road.
My dreams looking through the window,
My leg got tangled with my own way;
I don’t know how it looks from that side,
My fate is clapping at my falling.
Or maybe it’s not me going on this way,
It’s my road, limped, my road’s crawling.
It turns to ground, it changes to stone,
It just follows and blankets with me.
How this way did fall on my fortune?
Maybe it slipped out of my pockets?
Had I trampled on its face and head?
That’s why it is so impudent to me!
THE WIND
Hey wind, knocking door to door,
is that one door you’re looking for,
is that enough for you?
Where are they now,
those open doors
from the hot, sunny days of summer?
Where are those that loved you,
to dine with and to rest;
who once were pleased to welcome you
and treat you as their guest?
Hey wind, knocking door to door,
where are your lovers now?
Now the weather’s turned to winter,
have they turned cold as well?
Don’t knock, my dear, don’t knock,
no one’s opening their door,
no one will look out for you, nor call on you,
no more.
Who, I ask, now the weathers changed,
would call on you at all?
Go dear, go.
Just wander round these dull grey streets
and break dry trees in anger;
just wait as winter turns to summer and your friends,
dear wind, with the sun, will grow again once more.
THE CLOC IS SLOW
Look at the world’s clock
It’s an hour slow.
Either joy is late,
Or life is drowned by sorrow.
Even if it talks and laughs
like a happy old man.
The world’s laughs are lame
as the tired past.
He’s begging or seeking
with a wishful hand.
And spends the days on steps
Fighting against the wind.
Out of the sweeper’s eyes
Falling his nights.
The broom in the calloused hands
wakes up the sleepy streets.
He is a driver on the bus
Passenger in the wishes,
Looking for his fate
With the hope to change.
Look at the world’s clock
It ‘s an hour slow.
Let’s set up it anew,
For a better life than now.
THE RECONCILIATION
Hey man, taking umbrage at himself,
Have you done a lot of sinning?
All you’ve lost, is just yourself,
Is there anything you gained?
Who took you from you?
Who left you to the void?
Who put his hand on your heart?
And calmed you like that?
Who ruined your life and fate
looking at your „sorry“ face?
What did he leave in your eyes,
Dropping as tears?
Maybe it’s you, and,
you’ve become a pain for yourself?
Maybe you just let your joys
slip through your fingers?
Hey you,
Who’s oppressed by sorrow,
Walking in his thoughts,
Getting tired of his ways…
Losing the sun among complaints.
.
Turn back,
Make peace with yourself.
Shake hands and have faith ,
With that one whom you turned away.