Wednesday, November 1, 2023





When water turns blue,

Embroidered in white foam,

When women take off

This white and blue embroidery,

And this summer’s day

Leaves to settle

The depths of this white foam,

Embroidered in these waters.

Your feet freeze

During these summer’s nights

(Especially your left foot,

Which froze back in the trenches.)


they read aloud in the evening

The names of the heroes,

And your name was not uttered.

 You feel happy, you feel proud,

For children truly were

In need of heroes,

And then feel sad for they will shortly

Read the names of those deceased

And your name won’t be there either.


You leave reconciled

Towards the depths of water,

To live the ongoing day,

With your frozen feet,

With your mournful look,

Even when it looked at a woman’s nakedness.

She, for sure, won’t recall

When undressed

In that white and blue sea foam.


In the words

Etc, and others,

In anniversary lists,

Your name will only be here at times.


And no one should know

That on summer nights

Your feet froze

(Especially, your left foot).


The Bridles Sky


The bridles sky

And you feel scared of living,

It scares you more than death

Looking at the celestial horizon

Where all you can see are

The shades of the grass.


Back then you wore a golden bow

On your hair

(it wasn’t golden, it had

Scattered, small, blue and green dots,

I was just writing poetry

And golden seemed more suitable).


Birds, with their screams, flew Towards warm countries,

The wind was shaking with their yelling

Stealing your bow.


It’s been a long time

Since birds left for the last time,

They spend winter

Along with domestic birds.

The sky looks deserted…


The Word


The word of lost life

Is the fossil code.

People’s attitude

Is just as important as the word,

That is, speech is the word’s attitude.

While words,

Beams have been damaged,

Stones, struck,

Nameless and vulnerable

Turned into idols for the dead,

And defeat trumpets could be heard


And only to comfort themselves from defeat,

Trees were given the name of “tree”

Stones that of stone

Beam for the stuck trees,

In order to comfort those

Who were honorably defeated,

And bird for birds

So as to inspire our love.


I Am Guilty


I am guilty on everybody’s eyes,

For everyone,

My soul is compliant. It is now subdued,

And, in my mind, slopes are raving.

I am guilty on my own eyes

For my unwritten song.

And my lines didn’t hang themselves

So that I could hang myself with dignity.

I am guilty, unbearable,

And no trace will be left after me,

 Not even my own dust.

God, we went through so much pain,

And it all was just so easily lost!

My destiny blended with the future in the sky,

 It blinded me,

It dazzled me.

I didn’t know that the miracle was fake,

 And that fakeness is a miracle.

I am guilty in the face of my days,

For my dreams and my life.

And I can’t believe ever again.

I am obedient, reconciled and defeated,

There is nothing left for me beyond this world.

All my days, like wild birds,

Led me to death and loss.

 I am guilty…

And there may be a lament

Hidden somewhere.

And maybe someone, among profound memories,

Still whispers just my name.

I am guilty…


The Bird


The bird tears its wings apart

With its feathers stretching to the wind.

The wind, depressed,

Tries to mimic

The flight of the bird.




Trees will talk a little about me,

Afterwards leaves will remain silent on the ground

My friends will testify a little against me.

But darkness, bit by bit, will set its back

On the sunrise, a woman will whisper that This is a lie.

People will tire of daily clothes.


Noon will start descending

Onto the pavement…

And trees will only talk about me…

A woman will stand in the distance.


Women’s Nature


Women’s nature

Is wisdom,

Like ripen wheat

In a field in summer;

It is tenderness,

Like the moon at night Wearing a tilted cap;

It is love,

Like the breeze caressing

The breasts of spikes in summer.

The ozone layers deteriorated,

A fifth of the ice in the Arctic has melted

 And the planet has a fever

Like a woman with menopause,

Because wisdom, tenderness and love

Are upset with us,

As some birds flew into the sky, maybe to find

A different kind of wisdom, Tenderness,

And love…




I am melting like a candle.

Nighttime flowers are a place of birth.

But like blood vessels,

Pavement highways attract me

Like a lascivious woman.

It saddens my tired body…

And the feeling of loss

Brings a mild pain to my heart. There’s no way back:

Under the distant stars

Grows the night flower,

This game of cities

Destroys me from the inside.

 I can’t go back there

Poor and naked.

The night flower is habitual…

 From afar one can suffer.

But each return

Is the same, it crashes the celestial feeling.

We really need miracles,

Our soul is big and dreamy.

The daily remnants

Get burned by our nerves, the fires

Which take us close

To the ruins of death…

 And only the miracle

Will save us,

And we’ll serenely look

On the eyes of death.

The blue mountains

That we see from these dust bubbles.

Stars are beautiful princesses,

They are earrings with diamonds.

There isn’t a price for what has been lost anymore

Oh God, we’re so poor,

And in need of consolation.

These catastrophes

Turned us into someone

Colourless and with no issue,

Memories turned into night flower tears.

And we remained

Mixed with this pavement,

Wandering around these indifferent buildings.


Like The Last Song


One day I’ll write long poems,

I’ll have a cup of coffee in my hotel room

(It will rain, and my liver won’t hurt that day).

 Later the night will invent you…

I’ll smoke; I’ll smoke a lot…

The city will be strange and a bit cold.


On the other side, trains will pass by the windows:

«Perm-Leningrad», «Perm-Vologda».

With your already known movements

You’ll mix the fire in my blood.

Then I’ll talk calmly

About the world and this life.

The window will die of pleasure,

You’ll smile

And on the other side, trains will pass by the windows:

«Perm-Leningrad», «Perm-Vologda».

And the story of my life will end.




Once I fell down in the mountains,

The horse had snorted by the chirping of the birds,

Red rosehip from my left temple was dripping on the autumn leaves,

That day the birds were leaving scars in the sky with their wings,

and no one knew that I was dead…


Translation From Armenian Into English: Zarine Arushanyan




SLAVI AVIK HARUTYUNYAN: A poet and Doctor of Philosophy was born in 1965 in Nagorno-Karabakh. Was appointed to service in Siberia under the Soviet Army in 1983-1985. Graduated from the All-Russian State Institute of Cinematography, Faculty of Screenwriting in 1997.And then in 2000 - postgraduate studies at the Moscow State University of Culture and Arts (MGUKI). Worked in Rusfilm film production company from 2005 to 2015 as a general producer. Author of many monographs and articles. Among the most well-known books are "Semiotic Borders in Art" (published in Armenian and Russian), poetry collections "Belated Telegrams" (in Armenian and Spanish), "Sky and Earth" (in Armenian), "Birdless Sky" (in English, Spanish and French), "Lonely Bird" (in Italian), "Peaceful Days" (in Armenian and Spanish), "God strays among us" (in Spanish), "Peaceful Days" (in Catalan). The books' presentations were held in Madrid, Barcelona, Valencia, Mislat as well as other European cities. Resides in Moscow and Barcelona.

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