Tatev Chakhchakhyan | Stop! Let me sleep
WRITE A POEM If your country is rocky and droughty write a poem to live softly. Our president who, to my mind, is philologist writes poems of loneliness and sadness in the back of contracts and so he writes of dismissal in the minutes of despair… And the Opposition calls rhymed names, and we...
Garun Aghajanyan | Non-orgasm
Their family was somewhat artistic. He was an elegant young man, with a thin moustache. He came to ask for Zabel’s hand. Everything turned out to be casual and rather absurd. First Manvel had fallen in love with her older sister, the neighbor’s widow. She rejected his dogged overtures, saying: “You’re wasting your time. Why...
Norayr Adalyan | Determined To Kill
He firmly made up his mind to kill his wife’s back-door man, whom he had never met and had no hopes to ever meet. There were a lot more men in Davayatagh than women; in fact, there were several men per one woman. So, which of them was him…? Men, like famished mangy dogs, would...
Armen Shekoyan | Poet and citizen
Lord’s Prayer Our common and secret Our private and our strange Our subsoil and our breeze Our huge and our small Our weighty and our frail. Out merit and our skill Our prose and our verse Our aptitude and gift Our exodus end exit Our only outlet. Our select and absolute Our hope and our...
Tadevos Tonoyan | The return of Niburu
THE RETURN OF NIBURU August. The sky smells sweetly with stars: My family tree has reached the sky, And from the thorny shrubs of star-spikes Is rising again the Niburu – hope of mine. Cherishing Niburu returns to see How has grown my family tree Which’s been grafted upon the last kiss Bidding farewell with...
Levon Khechoyan | The Earth Shuddered
They forbade us to enter the church with weapons. Free candles were passed out to us, for the salvation of our souls. We lit the candles inside the church, leaving our weapons outside. Then we took their villages with meteoric rapidity. We approached the town; the town also fell. We went in and out, running...
Ana Arzoumanian | She, the never daughter
1- Everything started with a lie, fumigating. Puffs of stink in the hands, combustion of blows in the country emptied out of bodies; religious stroke of disinfection.
Vahe Arsen | By the path of the lost sun
TOWARDS YOUR INSOMNIA Midnight stands like a soldier waiting for the war’s end, a dream within a dream in thick night air that catches fire and blazes suddenly, not seeing its twin. I was there hurrying toward your insomnia under the crackling clay of the roofs, with the city a whitening star in my palm....
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