Happy childhood in spirit of hate
Tomorrow the hatred will concern you

Literature (prose and poetry)

The Armenian

By Ruslan Novres

What an epic! The Jew is not alone on earth,
The foul Armenian has surpassed the Jew now...


Love of Ermen – Shushanik

By Mahir Gabiloglu

This is Baku, a city of the new century. It was called Black City. I don't know whether or not it had a high meaning or the black smoke of factories was the reason behind the name. But we never gave its name in Azerbaijani. This is "chornigorod" (black city). My parents returned their houses near Neftezavodstroy and received an apartment in a five-story building opposite Shahumyan hospital. We started going to school there. We were three brothers and a sister. Our yard was a large international family. The name of our region was also Armenian – Shahumyan region...


The most popular stories from the "Shortest Story contest"

By Perviz Mammadov, Akif Jabbarli, Elnur Bayram, Jeyhun Safarov

Shortest Story contest was announced in Azerbaijan as part of the program Patriotic Upbringing of Children and Youth. Literary portals started publishing the leading stories. Below are the most popular of them.


The Armenian

By Ruslan Novres

Drive a dagger into his heart in the cradle,
This is how every Armenian must be annihilated, killed.

Hey, Jew, he surpassed you (thank God)...

Damn the Armenians, damn Armenia!


The Hay shouts "Artsakh,"
What is the fool saying?
Karabakh will not be
The fate of the Armenians...

The Rus

By Khalil Rza Uluturk

Snowy Siberia,
Sunny Caucasus,
Global paradise,
Turan and Turkestan...

The Spy

By Shabnam Kheyrulla

There was one thing the Armenian woman could not do – change the vicious blood of her nationality running in her veins. That powerlessness left only one way out to madam Aliya, who felt shy, – to swear and curse her congeners everywhere and whenever there was such opportunity. She was tortured by agonizing doubts in her heart.


By Zaur Gurban

"Elnara was also abducted."
It was usual news in the village. It was the second case of abduction of a girl in the small village in the past week. But this case was different.
Unlike most of other girls, Elnara was abducted against her will, in the morning, in broad daylight, in front of the people's eyes, in spite of her heartrending cries. She was pushed into a car and driven away. The people gathered at my aunt's place were discussing the incident.

Reflections on genocide

By Vahid Gazi

Although I accepted the gift, I told my son that February 23 marks the formation of an army which is strange and hostile to us, it destroyed our independence in 1920. Then, in the course of 70 years, it held us in captivity, perpetrated the black January of 1990, and helped the Armenians in seizing and occupying Karabakh. I demanded to express a protest on my behalf to his school teacher over that "naphthalene holiday." ...

The Armenian

By Elkhan Zeynalli (Qaraqan)

Chingiz was a refugee from Karabakh. His entire family died in Khojaly2. He was seven years old then, but he remembered nothing about his family, about Khojaly, he did not remember a single house or a single tree. No-thing… When the enemy passed to the offensive, a shell exploded near Chingiz and after that he forgot everything about his childhood. Snow-covered roads, whistling of bullets and dead people was all he remembered. Like other orphans, he was given to a family in a settlement for refugees. It is impossible to imagine in what kind of conditions the child grew up...

Will the storks come back to their nests?

By Alisahib Erogul

– "The Armenians are our enemies, sonny. These damned people have been making our life unbearable for five years now, turning everything into poison. Once we accepted them as helpers, servants. We provided them with lands, houses and shelter. They grew up on the remains of our bread. May all the good we did to them turn out badly. Just as impudent dogs bark at their owners, they return ingratitude to those who extended a helping hand to them and supported them in hard moments. Scoundrels, bastards, they bark at us – at those who gave them bread and shelter.

Review of the book Khale by Alisahib Erogul

By Gazanfar Kazimov and Masud Mahmudov

The topic of Karabakh, a great disaster of the Azerbaijani people, the most topical subject in contemporary fiction and journalism, is considered the most important and influential means for bringing up the rising generation in the spirit of hatred for the enemy and love for the homeland...

Input data, announcement and preface of Alisahib Erogul's book Khale

By Alisahib Erogul

The storybook by writer and publicist Alisahib Erogul includes stories that tell about the killings and slaughter committed by Armenian Dashnak fascists against the Azerbaijani Turks, and the bloody pages absorbed by the vital memory of our people. We hope this book will help you bring up the rising generation in the spirit of love for the homeland and hatred for the enemy, and will help the readers heal the Karabakh pain...

Grandfather's deadly lesson

By Gunay Novruz

Once upon a time there lived a grandfather and his only grandson. The grandson was also a son to his grandfather. Of course, there was a time when the grandfather himself had a grandfather, but now he was alone and there lived his grandson. The grandfather, having heard tales about Jirtdan1 from his grandmothers and grandfathers in the past, could not tell his grandson these tales. The grandfather understood that it would be wrong to praise Jirtdan and present him to the child as a hero. "Because this nation had Davanshirs and Babaks," the grandfather thought and argued with himself mentally...

Three-year-old Asker

By Jabir Novruz

As soon as he wakes up,
He takes the gun,
My little grandson
Kills, slaughters the enemy every day.


By Fikret Sadykh

Armenian, hey Armenian!
Your evil has burnt me,
The mountains and gorges you set on fire
Have burnt me.
Hey, you are fooling the entire world
And making new plots.

Piece of land

By Ali Samedli

Once upon a time there lived a people. The blossoming valleys, the amazing meadows, the admirable mountains, the life-giving springs and the forests full of game animals were pleasant to the eye. That tribe had countless horse herds and sheep flocks. The sons of that tribe ploughed, sowed and reaped the harvest with their honest labor. That tribe was never carried away by the riches or property of other peoples...

Murder at delivery ward

By Nofel Adalet

The waves, like unbridled horses, were rushing to the shore and after breaking against the rocks, were rolling back. Esmira was watching it and turning over the pages of her past. Even the hardest things of those days now seemed sweet to her. It was because her youth and her maiden dreams remained there, in those years...

A talk on the run

By Sevinj Parvana

– Don't cry, my daughter. Let the Armenian babies cry
– Where are the Armenian babies, mom?
– At the very bottom of the hell
– But why let them cry? Don't you feel sorry for them?
– No, I don't. May the snake bite them if I am lying.

Three admonitions

By Gulzar Ibrahimova

Forgive me, my grandpa, I cannot visit your grave as the land where you lie is under the enemy's heel. But wait for me, I will come without fail and save your grave from the enemy's boot! Even if it happens very late! ...


By Bahadur Gobustan

Homeland, homeland, homeland, homeland,
Earth, father-mother, you, I,
Foreign land, foreign land, foreign land, foreign land,
Parting, nostalgia, torments, sufferings,

Mother Azerbaijan and Cat Ermenistan

By Malahat Aghajanqizi

We have a spoilt cat in our home. Children call it by different names. Meanwhile, the spoilt cat grew up and became a disaster to me. Even animals can be impudent. When it rains and the ground turns into a medley of dirt, the cat wishes to go out for a walk. It goes to the courtyard, dirties its paws and hair and comes back home. Moreover, as if on purpose, it walks on the cleanest places, leaving behind itself the dirty "imprint of its paws." ...

Ahriman of the globe

By Shirin Kerimbeyli

Hey Armenian, hey thug,
Devil, Shaitan, say who you are.
Ahriman of the globe,
Hey crafty provoker,
Butcher, criminal,
Isn't the shed blood enough?
Isn't the slaughter over?

Still a small child

By Mirza Alakbar Sabir

Listen, my husband, don't annoy me! Don't repeat the word "school!"
Don't reproach the lad for swearing, wait with putting him into the corner,
You'd better give him a present and press him to your bosom.
Don't trouble him with a pencil box! He is still a small child!
Let our little son use bad language, he is still a small child! ...

Satiric poem

By Mirza Alakbar Sabir

What good thing has my son found in learning?
He is drilling the same thing! Ah,
My sweet son has pined
Reading books, newspapers and other trash!

Forgive me, my Sona

By Gulzar Ibrahimova

"Sona, my Sona, wake up, you will be late for classes!
Sona did not respond, so her father came up to her, sat down on the sofa bed and stroking the silky, gold yellow hair of his daughter, started to wake her up.
Sona yawned gently, even stronger pressed to herself a toy hare and started to ask her father with a sleepy voice, "Let me be your sacrifice, father, let me sleep at least five more minutes." ...

Oh Khojaly!

By Latifa Askerli

The Armenians plundered our homeland,
Burned the Turkic people,
Drank their red blood like wine.

«Armenian lullaby»

By Yusif Kerimov

One of the bright memories of my childhood is related to a song I heard in Gulistan (Kesme Shikeste)... My elder brother was a truck driver. Apart from his main work, he sometimes made money on the side, earned his crust. In autumn and winter, he brought firewood from mountainous villages and sold it and in spring and summer, he supported those who went up to yaylags and those who came back from there...

«Enmity in Azerbaijani way»

By Shabnam Kheyrulla

Recently, I happened to witness my neighboring children playing catchup outside. I got carried away by the children's game so much that I decided to watch them for a while. A girl aged 5-6, her brother, one year younger than she, and other children of nearly the same age were deciding noisily and joyfully who was to run and who was to catch up. After long arguments, they at last decided to distribute the roles through a counting-out rhyme. I had decided to leave, but a counting-out rhyme voiced by a little girl attracted my attention with its uniqueness and singularity.

Times when the waters ran heavily and the smiles sprang

By Vusala Mammadova

Every day, my grandpa turned over the pages of the Azerbaijani Soviet Encyclopedia, big and in a red cover, and my uncle often ironed a red cloth for banners. Those were amazing times, when 120 rubles could make people happy for a whole month. We could see war, hunger and poverty only in movies...

My enemy toy

By Shabnam Kheyrulla

A small room, scantily furnished by household things, it is felt that someone lives in the room. Some of the things are folded and covered with a white cloth. The curtain rises and a girl comes into the room, examining the furniture with interest, lifting the cover hiding long forgotten things from the past. Under the cloth, there is a desk with boxes and drawers...