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Spring 1994 (2.1) Traslation from Azeri (Cyrillic) by Tamam Bayatly Onar  Fleeing from Agdam, May 1993 Photo by Oleg Litvin Fleeing from death, But leaving behind our lives. Fleeing from our past, But leaving behind our future. Fleeing our homes, Running towards Hope. But there was no time To carry such an extra burden in the stampede. So we rid ourselves of The heavy burden of Hope Just as we had rid ourselves Of the other things we couldn't take Our cemeteries, Our homes and hearths, Our trees and flowers. Fleeing . . . There was fear, blood and death behind us. But there was nothingness in front - Not even time. Running towards emptiness, void, and timelessness. Somewhere inside our brains and hearts, In the hidden depths of our souls, We felt that this fleeing Was even more horrible Than remaining where we were. But there was no way out: We were fleeing even from God. From now on, Wherever we go We will be strangers, We will be guests, We will be wanderers in an alien place. And though none of us is an ordinary human being, We share a common name - "Refugee." Who can dare comprehend Our unfathomable pain?
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