Poetry

Drinking the Toast of a Thousand Men

The words of the children endure through their childhood;
The words of wise men – lucky to touch youth.
It is not through force that prowess comes forward
And not through its gentleness that it speaks the truth.

Behold the almighty performer – the gentleman:
Time and time again he will show us how.
The toasts that we drink to his hollow existence
Seldom break a sweat on his tailored brow.

And counting the acts, we await the ending
With anticipation, we can guess the plot.
But what happens when all of the pretending
Is simply the start? Is there room for thought?

When … Continue reading Drinking the Toast of a Thousand Men




Become a Butterfly

Let love ache you, Where there is honesty, there lies solace.
There lies comfort, A soothing of the pain.
With the lengthy changes,
And the seamless pillars upholding consistency,
You are trapped in an illusion,
So let the pain be part of it.
Like the sun of the spring,
And the lightning of the summer,
Love — and let it ache you,
Become a butterfly, float away with heat.




Back

Feel the breath of old regrets
Yet nothing takes me back,
With any wish of mine,
I’m glad to be awake.




15 Oct 2019

Familiarity is a never-ending loop — where does it begin?
At repetition.
Repetition is the key to honesty
Repetition is key to finding answers
Repetition answers.




01 Nov 2019

In moments of delight
When objects glisten, Sounds echo thoughts.
How do I not foresee?
How can it be so different?
If I indeed Saw all of it, I’d see it all.




Spring Song

Waves of wind have
Come, come and gone away,
Swinging right and swinging left
Through the autumn night.

Words of love have
Fallen through the open space,
Snowflakes destined for the peaks
What a winter sight!

Bring your secrets,
Bring all your honest friends,
Bring your paints and bring your notes,
Bring your summer’s theft.

Life has fallen
Into another’s hands:
Not a penny here to save,
Not a diamond left.  




Tides

Water to my hips,
Freshness of the breeze,
Coolness of the light.

Water to my knees,
Coolness of the breeze,
Freshness of the night.




questionable flavors

Camping under the paintings dripping of pomegranate juice
Hoping to catch a drop I spend many hours here
The strings of the cello vibrate and drip with luscious honey
This one’s for me
But I’m too far away already




The Iceberg, the River, the Lake

This stream is flowing
To thaw the iceberg.
If it will,
The iceberg is one with the current.
This stream is flowing
To thaw the iceberg.
It froze — Touched the still lake of past.




Նետելով այս վախը,
Ես անցնում եմ առաջ։
և սակայն այստեղ
Տերևները կանաչ
Դեղնել և ընկել են, և վարդերը թոշնել են՝
Իմ հոգում ծաղկել է
Ազատությունը քաջ։




Tides of the Sea

I believed that the high tide
Exemplifies the strong –
Clears dirt, dissolves what’s old,
But I was wrong.

The low tide opens Truth.
Old can’t be shaken or removed.
Old simply hides,
But it resides
In every wrinkle of the new.




The Fields of Wheat

With his scythe he mowed the fields of wheat,
The vast fields – bent under the pressure of the rising wind.
Blending their gold with the gold of the setting sun –
A joy for his eyes, but his sight is nearly gone.
Yellow, orange and red in his veins –
Always mowed the fields, with purpose, or in vain.