Karen Antashyan

unaware of everlasting
easily starting and hardly ending
between women and men
from a humble dawn sunflower
you dropped,
a dew
and passed under orange-peach trees
filling with yourself
or life-o-love-o-lightly
the ravines
dug and delved
by an ancestor of mine – Arek.
Flirting with stone vishaps
caressing their smooth ribs,
you coiled…
And once,
all of a sudden
you got lost wavelike
somewhere in the Indian Ocean
faraway, fathomless, nameless.
And while for a quarter eternity
the yearning
still anonymous
was fermenting in the space,
In my shell I grew up five helices
in your depths
and you
didn’t survive, nor waited,
but sunburnt
passed to the god of sun,
twisted on the heavenly sheets with him
rolled with him recklessly
dipping in life
yet godless space and time
you –
snow-white sailboat,
a girl, а dolphin, a mew,
a song presentiment never put to words
Ea –
a cloudlet
wet tenderness
marking the bounds of biosphere…
With girlish grace
fondling yourself
vaguely and sleepy
you slid, you froze
you cuddled, you hugged
you slumbered
on the top of the northern holy mountain
impossibly lots of years before my birth
an icy silver water-dust
Ea –
a snowlet!
I remember the dream of yours
that we named “water lily”
and then there were blue
sea-crows like me.
the time-wheel
of your solitude
and my homecoming
ran on
and on…
While my seeds were roamed the deserts
while my seeds were dancing with frivolous winds
losing their way in the dark underworld
they wouldn’t come back
or returned as mixed blood barbarians –
drop by drop
you gushed
down the holy mountain
to trace me
squeezing yourself into every crack and cleft
touching, sniffing, licking
the salted footprints of my existence in the world
my petroglyph-thoughts
and me still unfound
the tremble of your expectation
brought out of your forty nipple eyeglobes
the mellow elixir of love
Ea –
I heard you:
“Stay inside me just a little bit more,
just a little bit…”
I breathed you – the sea.
On that day
the first prayer
of cavernicolous
sea worshippers
was born.

By Eva Martirosyan

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