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Umid Najjari, Vice-President of IWA Bogdani

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Umid Najjari was born on 15th of April 1989 in Tabriz (Iran). After graduating from Islamic Azad University of Tabriz in 2016, he entered Baku Aurasia University to continue his studies in Philology in Republic of Azerbaijan. “The land of the birds” and “Beyond the walls” are among his published works in addition to some translations. His poems have been published in USA, Canada, Spain, Italy, India, Turkey, Uzbekistan, Iraq, Kazakhstan, Georgia, Chile and Iranian media. He was awarded the International LIFFT festival diploma in 2019. He achieved “IWA Bogdani” Award in 2021. He was awarded the “Mihai Eminescu” Award in 2022. He was awarded the International Prize “Medal Alexandre The Great” in 2022. Najjari has also been elected Vice-President of the BOGDANI international writers’ association, with headquarters in Brussels and Pristina. And He is an active member of the Turkic World Young Authors Association
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Bermuda Triangle

I’m a soldier who has lined his face to the cold wall of the trench

My bullets are words …

Place your eyes on mine!

We all are wounded in this war.

We’re all exiled in our land…

Place your eyes on mine!

Your eyes are like Bermuda Triangle

The gone never come back …

If you’re asked, respond:

The poet never came back!

***

The snow

The nights that I miss

Your voice is like a song that Lord recites

Comes like snow to my morning.

Silently…

White …

***

Tragic Poem

A piece of me has stayed far away

Under the rain

Those are gone from me, don’t have a “return” ticket

The storm is the nightmare of the trees on old nights

The fingerprint of a woman is shivering in the fancy of windows

A prisoner with hands like an elm leaf

Whose voice as light

In the name of the freedom

She may write this poem on the wall of his cell

May give birth by the voice of pigeons instead of the sun this spring

Instead of the bullet wound of the girl in this war

May shot this poem into her heart …

“May”s are birds of pain in the sky of wishes

Fly … fly … and disappear.

The past of my hands are Greek Gods

Has been forgotten

Buried in the cemetery of history

My eyes were buried in your far beautifulness

Bury me with my loneliness in autumn colors

It’s autumn …

Leaves are bulletin of elections

The trees elect the death

***

The cemetery of letter

I kissed the darkness of the night …

I entered into the sun pages of the morning.

My hands bear the greenness of leaves,

Spring is my hands …

Looked into the world to find my eyes.

The legs of men pain,

Scarf blows on the head of the woman,

The scarf

Blows like the flag of the country,

Blows …

The hands are opened to the poem in my mind,

Catches the skirt of twilight,

The opened hands for the poem in my mind are shackled,

Drowned in the sweat

It’s a long time, the mirrors don’t show the poets

Poets have been buried in the cemetery of letters

Here, the sun sets down with the time of women

Here, the wind blows from darkness

***

The love beast

Nothing remained for trust

Nothing remained for waiting

The last train left empty

The people of memories didn’t catch the train …

This season passed very hard

Like a year without spring

Nothing remained for cheering glasses

No kneed to rest our heads …

The color of my voice is autumn

Falls from the boughs of love

The lips are closed …

The window is covered by steam …

The beast of my love lives in a glass

Breaks by a word

I can die by a word …

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