Sara Margaryan

POETRY, 2003

1. War in Iraq
2. Sunset in the Rain
3. When chaos rains...
4. No. It’s not the freedom... (New)
5. City without Stars (New)
6. We seem to have lost (New)
7. Autumn Rhythms (New)

1. War in Iraq

I have never seen the sky
with bursting fountains of bombing.
I have never seen that parade of stars
coming down on the night city.
Am I considered happy after all?
Or have I missed something important?
I have never, never in my life
seen wounded children.

March 2003, Austria


2. Sunset in the Rain

Walking through the rain
Towards the sun, the sun in its decline -
Can you grasp a ray?
Measuring the steps from home to woods -
Woods with no end.
Murmuring... the dead leaves,
River beneath the slope,
Tender yellow flower drops
In the brownish dry leaf sea.

Can you hear the rain
On the tree crones?
Can you name the bird above?
Its song is its triumph,
Triumph of the nature,
Alive over the dead.

Rainbow bleaks, tempts, disappears...
Then it gracefully throws itself
Behind the naked hills,
Strikes the horizon
With its multi-coloredness
And gives way to the sleepiness of the sun.

Sunset in the rain...
Can you grasp it?
Can you pass its chilliness, wetness and warmth
To the ones you love?

Stadtschlaining, Austria



When chaos rains...
What happens in the chaos?
It rains...
My space is mine,
But I don't need it
As I am alone.

It rains, and, getting wet through,
I realize that I want to touch people
Who are as wet as me.
I want this chaos to stop.

May 2003, Austria


…external revolt is a way to bring about internal freedom…
Jim Morrison

No. It’s not the freedom,
It’s self-satisfaction,
It’s homage to oneself,
It’s the whim of desire.

External revolt? Who cares? Who worships?
If the earthquake is here
And you are not under ruins.

Then what? Cigarettes in the cave?
Empty bottles and hiccups after sunset?
Rattling roofs and trampled insects?
Overthrown thrones and bloody puddles?

No. It’s not the freedom,
It’s self-deception,
It’s beauty in brackets,
It’s a road…to graveyard?

External revolt for internal freedom…
I would vote for an upside down,
For tears of soul, not the tears of the wounded.
I WILL vote for internal struggle,
For the freedom of wings…

July 22, 2003

5. City without Stars

you live in a city
where stone scrapes the sky
where the starts are hidden behind the roofs

you live in a city
where the smoke of cigars
makes the nostrils loose

where the motion leads the crowd
where the snow melts in mouth
caught in air and coughed out

I sleep on grass of emeralds
and eat unripe and dusty plums
right from the trees

I share bread with funny ducks
and quite seldom smoke cigars –
it's my caprice

you live in a city
where music slaps wind
where the glass is god

you live in a city
where the color of green
turns habit into sport

where the beauty should be dug
where one beer drunk from mug
does make you drunk...

I catch the moon
and sing and dance
and call you –
tell me once
that you can see me

how? where?
among the cars

you live in a city
without stars

september 2003


We seem to have lost
That affection for being,
The love of discovery,
Pleasure of seeing.
We praise the misfortunes,
And sink in depression,
Feel comfort in lying,
Performing aggression.

The flowers lost
Their fragrance and beauty.
We live in the world
Of time-tables and duties.
We feel so bored
In the silence of nature,
That take to the forests
Tape-recorders and pagers.

With constant reproach
And endless refusal –
We suffer of headaches,
Wake up in confusion.
More than ever this world
Has been stuck in complaints –
We hate when it’s hot
And we hate when it rains.

And wind is too strong,
And the clouds – too grey…
We find it so wrong!
Suffice it to say…

The tear, like petal,
Will dry in the air.
One strike – and the end
Of the constant despair.
Oh, stop it! Just smile,
Let the dullness surrender.
The being is wise,
And the nights are so tender…


7. Autumn Rhythms

Follow me. Under the moon,
Where we usually meet.
Follow me. Shattering stones
Will fall from the roofs.

We will never be happy together,
But today…just follow me.
Pure, innocent…don’t utter a word.
The petals faded. Follow me.

I don’t play games,
I don’t stay sober.
I wait for the impossible.
Reward my patience. Follow me.

I still believe in you, my angel,
Your empty eyes…immortal glimpses.
Who lives? Who dies?
Eternal question…

The old café, memories are smooth,
The lampshade, the cold tea, the unfinished scenario…
Are you still alive, my dear friend?
Of course you are, running after lunch
To the beautiful and ugly women’s rooms,
Telling them what they want to hear,
Sleeping on their floors, beds, tables…

Mornings hate you, drunk and stupid,
You, who have left a treasure behind,
You, who can love like nobody else,
Yet you, who are so ignorant of the sense of life.

Are you still there, waiting for my shadow?
Wanting my love, which belongs to the other…

Answer, from the darkness of your existence, from the eternity of your shame…

Answer, for I still cherish our nothingness together, I still think of you, oh fallen angel!

Curious, I stepped inside,
To fall again.
I flew and touched the walls,
They did not hurt.
They stank,
They cried,
They were wet
And made of mud.

I had to sleep.
Yet I could not.
I stepped inside.
And… there was too hot.



Published with the permission of the author. © by Sara Margaryan
No copying or redistribution allowed without the written permission of the author.

See also:

Poetry collection of 2002

Sara Margaryan's poetry in Armenian | in Russian

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