In all my places of absence
I sow my reticence
from you…
Yet who punctuated
among the scents of my word?
Absolute scars,
inside my forehead of a vigil dream…
Whenever you wish to translate
my bloods,
collect Job’s stones
from my poems…
Those are secret cells
of your Son’s
round-scripted sorrow…
Translated from Armenian by Anna Talalyan
*
I know, I will wake up someday
from the mystical dinner,
will wear my father’s
damaged footsteps
as little pockets
filled with immeasurable love…
Can my days − I wonder −
scale that much unbearable
lightness?
Translated from Armenian by Harout Vartanian
Yearning
The shadow of color
is scaling
the scars of day;
walking the serenity
of an encountered dream…
The flower is the secret
of pain;
an introspective smile.
The scion names the sin.
Beyond personal bandages
of prayer,
the self-denial of a tree
is as much bright
as warm are the hands
of night.
I am freezing… your name.
Translated from Armenian by Harout Vartanian
Love
Trough the 30 dawns of my life,
from flower to flower,
leaving all my sins aside,
by the time I arrived,
she had already left,
leaving the Supper table behind…
And I
laughed the words
inwards until yesterday
like
psychotropic fish…
It turned out 33 was too many…
Translated from Armenian by Anna Talalyan