AN ELEGY
By the pathway stretching out to the infinite
I meet the crowd
that passes me by
Uncaringly,
even through me–
Smashing the bones of my soul
under its feet.
The crowd did not spot me;
It didn’t notice the lofty
Waiting of the lovers
In the waning of the flowers:
Could it be they spotted
That all the walls risen with
the bricks of law
Are an abyss, a chasm?
Could it be they spotted
the height of the hillock
And death’s death
Under your feet?
Could it be they spotted–
grand as crucifixion–
The peculiar mystery
of hanging oneself,
After a treacherous kiss?
By the pathway stretching out to the infinite,
Where the multitudes,
Their eyes fixed on
the corpse of death,
Pass by the hillock–
There I encounter myself;
There, in the same crowd,
I hold in my fist
the first stone I’ve picked up
To throw at the sinner.
I was disregarded.
They crashed the bones of my soul
under their feet,
Walking away–inside me.
THE TRUTH
Maybe the truth
Is warm
Like a woman’s body;
Or cold–
Just the size of a beggar’s palm.
Translated by Samvel Mkrtchyan
