21 Noyabr 2017, Çərşənbə axşamı

 

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ARXİV

Noyabr 2017
Be Ça Ç Ca C Ş B
30 31 1 2 3 4 5
6 7 8 9 10 11 12
13 14 15 16 17 18 19
20 21 22 23 24 25 26
27 28 29 30 1 2 3

 

 

LİNKLƏR

 

 

In hot July month, on a cliff, one photographer and I are standing in front of a waterfall grumbling from the high mountain, either  raging or shining like a diamond,  and scattering cool particles around. We are fascinated in front of abundant waters, frozen in silence, as if we have agreed to be dumb beforehand. Hard and bare rocks are erecting on the right and on the left, falcons and kites are flying over our heads. The smell of  flowers and blossoms have covered everywhere, as if the divine of beauty has decorated these places with her hands. We are silent, but magnificent waterfall speaks. It says ; “ I am a beautiful monument  composed of waters created by nature on the peak of  high mountains, in the shade of clouds, I am the grumbling sound of water world  left from the memory  and legacy of great Noah storm. Look ! Those sharp, copper-like red, moss-covered shingles and rocks are the proofs and signs of my magnificence, power and strength, it is the triumph fete of my powerful waters won over the stones.  While I was running in my silent flow, the stones were blocking  and standing on my way. And when I raged and did not fit my bed I ran over all dams I opened a way through the rocks getting turbulent and roaring. And at that time I subdued these bare rocks, I destroyed and splintered the stones which prevented me from giving life to lands, fields and lawns.

  Look! These high peaks are my hearth, dwelling, seven-color  rainbow is my colorful bangle worn round my arms for everyone to know me, or this is my colored waist-belt. I am the raging and grumbling sound of high mountains, the delighted, enthusiastic , water-foamed  song of creator which is inspired from raining, crying of the clouds, whistling of the wind, cackling of the partridges, I am the ever-said word of tongues – I am Pazmari waterfall. There is only one thing which I want from Adam’s  children , proud children of  Oguz Turks. My only wish instead of enjoyment that I gave them is to be my visitors who often come to me. Let these beautiful pastures, poppy slopes, cool riverbanks with mountain mint, rocky places with thyme, wormwood and moss hear the people’s talks and chats.

It has already got dark, full blue moon among the clouds has found its place long before. Pazmari waterfall looks more splendid in the moonlight gazing from the ample sky, high mountains, slopes, fields with green grass  are covered with blanket  weaved from drops. Nearby in bright moonlight there appear two mountain poppies  with eyes, black eye-lashes and red cheeks. Each of them is the sample of  tenderness and fragility. I want to bend and tear away only one of them, I want to take them with me in my hand and palm. Nevertheless, afterwards I have a pity on this, I don’t tear it away, I don’t detach it from the waterfall flowing abundantly, from her friend who is bending her neck near it. Because the place of mountain poppy is exactly on the peak, its intimate and bosom friend is babbling waterfall. When I go a bit farther willy-nilly I suddenly gaze back. Merry beauty of the mountains, waterfall with loud sound, two snoozing  poppies on foot, and  moonlight  wave  hands slowly and they  see us off telling “we will wait” then all the nature is buried in deep thought. The nature is the greatest composer and the sound of waterfall is the overture of a marvelous song of this composer when he was young and strong at the climax of his creative activity. When it was written the composer was enthusiastic, irascible, ardent, passionate and it was felt in  every note of the song  which  was  full of passion to live and create. It is worth listening to the sounds babbling with predominant and endless love of life , seeing  how the water, flowing from the peak orders the stones for some minutes, feeling and realizing  borderless power of the nature . Fascinating Pazmari waterfall located near Pazmari village of  Ordubad region is waiting for the ways of ones who want to see it.

                                                                        Author: Sabuhi Huseynov

                                                                        Translator: Javid Babayev

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