The Shepherd of the Mounts
Mounts… high, emerald mounts… You, that are the land and throne of the gentle breeze, sweet-scented flowers, sacred verdure and dews, of lively, cold springs, gloomy clouds, igneous lightnings, gush of waters… You, that are so close to the Almighty, the stars, the moon, to the celestial grants and mysteries, solemn and majestic mounts… Is...
Zareh Khrakhuni | The unowned field
It is waiting. On this side of the dam The thirsty field is waiting To fulfill its thirst. On the other side The reservoir is swollen With water. It is waiting. On this side of the dam The field is waiting To be immersed. On the other side A river bleeds the water away Like...
Silva Zanoyan Merjanian | Under my skin
Silva Zanoyan Merjanian is a widely published poet who grew up in Beirut, Lebanon. She moved to Geneva during the Lebanese civil war after personally experiencing the devastation of her beloved country. She later settled in California to raise her two sons with her husband. Her poetry reflects a little of what she took with...
David Poghosyan | Delusion
The best and the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched – they must be felt with heart. Helen Keller Part 1 Revelation My father is a pilot. I’m very connected with him, he...
Anna Maria Mattaar | Sun of the twins by Hrachya Saribekyan
Sergei Bulgakov: “That life is a supreme reality, it is evident and certain for all those who participate in it. Nevertheless, it is a spiritual life, hidden in the “secret man,” in the “inner chamber” of his heart; in this sense it is a mystery and a sacrament. It is above nature — in other...
Nune Levonyan | I love fairy-tales
The tree and I get evenly old, but the tree does not make a tragedy of it and each Indian summer does not write poems of defoliation. The tree and I have similarities: we love to dress up and be beautiful to death: but I do not allow common passengers to cool in my shadow....
Marineh Khachadour | Through the Rainbow
“When you reach the rainbow, you will be transformed into a boy,” my grandmother told me when I was a young girl, and I tried many times. Not because I wanted to become a boy, but because I was determined to experience a miracle, the extraordinary. I stopped trying to reach the rainbow around the...
Ghukas Sirunyan | My mother is asleep
MY MOTHER IS ASLEEP My mother is asleep beneath the rows of red pepper, Beside the gourds relishing the sun like grandmothers— In the windy warmth of the autumn leaving the meadow. My mother is asleep beside clemency, worth, and fruit-trees, On the edge of vigor, jealousy, and precarious undertakings, Beside the smoldering hearths, vivacious...
Diana Hambardzumyan | Poor Cow—Its Belly Is Swollen
I saw him for the first time when I was toothless in my mother’s belly. I was all scrunched up, moving around anxiously, and I thought it might be this man with a mustache. I wished that it was me in his place, munching on an apple. Right in my mother’s belly I dreamed that,...
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