Saturday, July 1, 2017

ANAHIT ARUSTAMYAN


ANAHIT ARUSTAMYAN

I AM A PIECE OF PAPER

The ink will never walk out of me.
I know this. I am its piece of paper, blue or green.
I am an emerald spring or a rainy autumn with brown leaves.
I melt in a summer's heat.
I float in a winter's silver mist.
My worn out slippers don't leave my feet.
I can climb up the mountains only in my dreams.
I am a piece of paper for my dripping ink.
My worn out slippers won't last or will.
I am a piece of paper for my inkpot's quill.
Patience is stubborn in its helplessness.
I can find a bench to sit.
The bench doesn't have wheels.
The bench doesn't have wings.
O, no, it has both in my blue ink.







BIRDS PROBABLY KNOW

Don't worry, my darling!
I will fly to you with a mild breeze.
The breeze will raise me with its transparent wings.
Don't worry, my darling!
Just try to believe!
A bird may guide me all over the seas.
Planes fly through the sky without me.
They probably know that I don't exist.
I can appear in your night dreams.
My eyes will shine through the moon beams.
Don't worry, my darling!
Just try to believe!
Birds probably know that I exist.







I IMAGINE WINGS

I don't look like a comedian.
I am not a clown crying through laughter.
No, I don't have a mask but a white bandage or a plaster.
With my silent words I guide my voyage further and further.
I must bite my tongue as my own wounds cannot be deeper than the world's ones.
I imagine wings and a flying bird seems a miracle.
I am not a comedian or a clown crying through laughter.
I ask a pilot if my wings are ill inside the plaster.
Mr. pilot is not a doctor to answer.

ANAHIT ARUSTAMYAN




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