Dancing Ropes

Ильфат ГЕЙДАРОВ | Поэзия

Dancing Ropes

Who could have thought that the powerful Om
Would live the rest of its days
What a funny, funny scene.
Can you imagine?
The belief that man is only a puppet in the hands of the three gunas,
Is left behind.
The jivas, that used to be down below, are no more —
Gone in multidimensionality.
And those puppeteers from above
Still imagine.
They imagine that they are manipulating.
Yes, their vibration still goes through the ropes.
The ropes that do not bind them to anyone.
Those ropes have been cut,
And do nothing but dance in the void.

What Is Your Mistake?

Do you know, what your mistake is?
As soon as you start making rules,
Division starts.
Division into two fronts –
He who follows the rules, “our own”,
He who breaks them, a “stranger”
(forgetting about the prayer, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know the rules of the game”)
What can I say to you?

Why Did I Come Back?

Why did I come back, again and again into this world?
Through the fog between the worlds,
Where restless cries keep calling me, “Come back”!
I cannot hear them.
There, through the fog, is the world, where my soul rushes so.
You cannot stop me anymore; you cannot hold me.
I’m enchanted!
The grass that is waist-deep cries out, “Hold on”!
Green birds (they’re truly green) in scarlet trees (they’re truly scarlet) shout along, “Don’t go”!
But can enchanted hear?
The fog, an old ally of the lost,
An ally of the prodigal sons,
Purposely laid the way,
So that no one can see what lies ahead.
It was in vain.
Enchanted men see nothing anyway.
Could they attract their old karmic bonds?
No idea.
The conscience under spell is clouded.
Why did I come back?
I do not know

Take Notice of the Moment…

Take notice of the moment…
It differs from the others.
As soon as you announce, “Game out”,
They start a new game.
Try to withdraw —
They raise the stakes (red!?)
And then another thing will happen)

One Beautiful Night of God

One beautiful night of God,
I’ll come into your dream like an unwelcomed guest,
And tell you, what is what.
And just before I leave, I will clear my tracks from the history of visits…

About the author:

Iltifat Heydarov, is a poet and a writer. He was born on April 20, 1967 in the village of Atbulak, Azerbaijan.

He studied at the Sumgait Polytechnic School. He worked at a chemical factory.

He became a member of the Russian Union of Writers on February 9. 2015,

Has publications in Writer of the Year , Heritage of , 

The Land of Cities , RSP. Verses , MOST.

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