Poem about Baku

Baku is a magnificent city! Everything is possible in this city! It has incredible magic, it can drive you crazy – in the most wonderful way possible. Countless poems are being inscribed to it, like no other city. This is how one makes a poem to beloved. Breathtaking, heartbreakingly tender songs are being composed about it. A variety of books are being written about Baku. The author of the book did not set himself the goal of covering all the facets of Baku: its history and culture, its traditions and customs. Simply because it is impossible: such a book will be in hundreds of thousands of pages. And writing it is an impossible task: a lifetime won’t be not enough, even if you write with the help of the whole world.

However, I want to write such a book – because this city worth it. Moreover, I want this book to be different from the others, to be special, and unique. Capacious, but concise, precise, but vivid. Like a poem. But a poem that can not only be heard, but also seen.

To see how East and West met in this city, even though Kipling insisted that it was impossible. It is possible! But perhaps, only here in Baku. This is a city at the crossroads of ages and civilizations, cultures and religions, a city, where lives a special, unlike any other, nation – Bakunians. Bakunians that always remain Bakunians – even if they leave to live in some other city. Because there are no former Bakunians.

Bakunians are inseparable from Baku, moreover, the concept of «Bakunian» itself is not derived from a notion of belonging to this city. «Real Parisian» or «real Petersburger» means that a person was born and raised in Paris or Petersburg. «Real Bakunian» is a moral notion. A qualitative one. «Real Bakunian» – means a decent, noble, kind, well-mannered, intelligent person. A person of honor. That is from Baku.

Baku is the age-mate of the Common Era; it is more than two thousand years old. It grew, formed, and developed on the blessed land of Absheron, on the shores of the ancient Hirkan, or Khazar, sea. The Caspian. From a small medieval fortress, it evolved into a modern metropolis, in which, like on the palette of an impressionist artist, a multitude of colors is mixed. And every color is unique.

Due to the convergence of East and West in Baku, the capital of Azerbaijan was figuratively called the «Paris of the East». But Baku is not Paris. Baku is Baku! It is better than Paris! And my «Poem about Baku» will become a poem, celebrating the most beautiful city on Earth in sounds and colors!