I never see a dream longing for home. But in my today's sleep I visited an occupied district with a group of people. Everybody wore civilian clothes, only one in a military uniform. And I was there because I trusted that man who was in a military uniform and I didn't wander away from him. We were in the courtyard of a tall building. Then we went upstairs. I felt mixed emotions of fear, joy, amazement and excitement. While going upstairs I was thinking: "Shall we be able to return safe?"

We are on a middle floor and a door opens. The rooms are empty. Suddenly a man comes in with two chairs in his hands...

(April, 11, 2014)  

I wrote these words in a social network two years ago, just in April.

I wish to talk to someone somewhere. But it is difficult for me to find that place and that man to talk to. I wished such a place that would smell wormwood where the houses had been pulled down, and poppies that were rarely grown and were swaying heavily on the land where people had lost their legs, arms while running under the hail of bullets, or because of missiles or mine bodies had been smashed to pieces. Let's not think whether they are flowers or the martyrs that were waving off and asking us 'to come', saying 'we are here'.

I wish to sit beside the poppies that grow in Jabrayil, or in Gubadly; the place could be Lachin, Shusha, Kelbajar, Khankendi, Fizuli, Aghdam - first let it be one of those districts, then every day one of them - you could sit near the poppies and think: who should start first to speak and about what should we speak first after all that had happened?

Sitting near a poppy may keep you silence as it does, and think - as if quick answers are needed to questions asked suddenly.

***

...I remember very little about how we drove through. When women - mothers selling bread made in an earth oven knew that we were going to Leletepe, they almost hugged us. I'd never been to Fuzuli. Imagine that you are on one side of the village and the enemy - on the other. Passing by the ditch in Horadiz, I thought about my father. He was unaware that I had come to his homeland. I quickly regained my temper. It wasn't the right time for being emotional. It was necessary to be firm, to encourage people, to be a guide. Similar prairies, roads, paths were replacing one another. Suddenly, cheerful voices of the friends in the car interrupted my thoughts. Someone said loudly: "This is Jabrail!"