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Xınalıq Re-visited, 2015-2020.

xınalıq,qınalıq,kınalık, quba, azerbaijan,noah,aliandnino,alivenino
xınalıq,qınalıq,kınalık, quba, azerbaijan,noah.jpg



We’re heading to the road

Night of the news, through out the day;

The weather is very cold, 

The road is long and windy.

I'm sitting behind

My mind is not yet clear,

Watching around

The houses fade away, 

The trees are in order,

Flying blue plastics all around.


We stop.

An old cabin smashed by the wind


Howling dreams pass through my mind

Consisting of thick woods and pillars at night

Fragrance of town

Slow burning wood


Outside has the widest darkness that you can take.



I'm sleeping among the humming

There is a strange timelessness in the smell of the night

Like everything is as always

Pending one step ahead

Shadows are too long

With light sprinkles falling on my shoulder

My ears, my nose and the edges of my eyes get numb


I wake up on white

It burns in its brightness


We are on the road again

What I see a little later takes my breath away

In a fine line in the valley

One wheel spacing in winding roads

Textures change with each step

All colors of cold and heat

Icey water sparkles on the rocks of the stream

Snowflakes like sand

I can't see ahead

The blizzard begins;

Direction is only one step forward

One step from a turn.



I follow the lines

I forgot where I was heading

And where I came from now

The lofty high wall of the valley

Searching for the sky


I am walking on a slippery winding road

I move my hand between the rocks

Colors are purple, colors are yellow, white

The veins of rocks that bloom like flowers

Fish ear*

I'm at the bottom of the mountains

Two thousand three hundred meters above

I get a seashell on my hand


xınalıq,qınalıq,kınalık, quba, azerbaijan,noah

And one more

I always think of the Aegean, these seashells

Hollows of doric columns as in their bodies

(Fluted columns)

Arris, debris.

My iris

Running away, getting smaller

Like a pinhead

It reflects the mind

This is a journey to a profound place

Too far that you can't go without knowing that you're there

So endlessly

To such a narrow, such a thin unknown

Like the sun disappearing in the redness of the sunset

Now the perspective of the road is being deleted

As if disappeared destination

We are waiting to move between the mountains




Nobody passes

There are sounds of birds, the glimmer of water

The road is frozen, slippery

It's hard to walk

There is a Neva passing -fast-

A hennaed lamb tied on it,

In the cold of the air, his ears flapping with the wind

Another Neva is coming

we get it on.


I'm sitting in the back, the road is rainy

We are fast

Surrounding with cigarette smoke

I can't take my eyes from the steep rocks that move away

The window is misting with my breath

As if it is getting darker, the face of the day

I'm like in a dream

In such a distant, supreme, remote corner

I see your lights

The sky is getting bright

The riverbed is expanding

Mountains retreat back

I can now see them all




Roof on top of a roof

Houses made of dark small river stones

Ladders with multi-pane windows

Turd walls, patterns

Cold black, wood fire

Dark, deep dark, grayed soil

When time has stopped, it's like frozen here

Tombstones coming out of the snow like arrows thrown left

and right

I'm in one of those distant hills, where the houses lean on

the houses

Squeezed out of a peak, old aunts facing the opposing mountains

Used to the sinking day in the steamy still tea brews

Unlikely to believe

I don't raise my head

I just centered the two slopes right in front of me

I have already taken the valley in my hand

Fire is burning in my eye tip

Two thousand years without extinguishing

Blue coming out of the ground

The birds of the sky are for you




I walk a one-step cliff streets

The hedges of the fields stretched on the slope of the opposite hill

Like stitching marks

Dividing the white cold cover

I'm standing here with a cool breath

I remember the Caucasian kalpaks

Rattle sounds

The gaps of sheeps leaning against each other

A stick, a dog, a cardigan on the shepherd's back

No tree.

There are only branches here


The sound of the dog reverberating

All the hills are circulating

Disappears then


I was a little startled, my lips are asking;

-I want to go higher

Like a finite endlessness here

As if there is no longer beyond anymore, there is only the rest and the past

It is impossible to jump from top to another top

As always must go up and down, 

the road is straight to see what it sees,

But it is obvious that not easy




The night comes down suddenly

A dark blue colored cover

The lights are on, the chimneys are smoking one after another

My hands hurt as they get warmer

How many winters melted waters, who knows how many springs flowed again...

I'm on such a strange time travel;

I don't want to return.


Playing in my ear:


Noah says, our language is his language

Nobody knows, a man who speaks here says

Here is the top of it - he shows: the ship is there

There is also a lake, pieces of wood float in it

As he tried to touch and catch (the wood) with his hand, it 

vanishes from side to side…


The ruins of the shipwreck

He shows a path

-This is the way of fire that does not go out

I look through the houses stacked up a hill

As few street lights as you can count

Maybe three or five, they look like torches at the end of the pole

I look for the last time when I open the window

-I must return before it gets dark, without missing the road- I say

Frosty air makes you feel itself slowly




We are leaving shaken

I see the herd falling on the path of the mountains

Before spring comes and melts into the (river) bed

They're looking for the last green

They look at the dried branches of the berries

It's getting dark again slowly

What night is this I say

I close my eyes slowly;

Valley blows a whistle in my ear,

I don't understand what I hear.

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This project commissioned for blackcrowsski, 2020.

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