POETRY, 2004
1. Tango Monmartre
2. When darkness covers your existence...
3. To Awakening Souls...
4. Wisdom is the last thing that matters now...
5. In Search of Feelings
6. The Soul
7. A step inside...
no time in their world
no music
no words
no gestures, no sigh
and while he dreams
she simply flies
there is no rush
no tune
embrace and blush...
gentle whistling
forgetfulness
and tender listening
to hearts and souls
there is no bow
only steps
only whirl
of slow passion
there is reflection
in one's eyes
tango in a small
Parisian corner
tiny street
a paradise....
February 2004
When darkness covers your existence,
When sounds ache like wounded heart -
Forget attempts of false resistance,
And give your life another start.
If fails - you'll see and feel its failure,
But if succeeds - that's your reward.
Life smiles just only when you pay her,
If not - await the fire and sword...
February 2004-02-20
awakening
a picture on the wall shadow
drops of childhood from eyes -
glimpses of warm memory...
fall into another dream - red tulips,
wideness and bareness of a field,
wind in the hair,
mother's arms, gentle and tired...
awakening...
emptiness,
foreign verbs
conjugation attempts - in vain...
continuity and change of march,
winding roads and streams
suddenly ending in nowhere...
awaken you too, my dream,
wait not for the one
who may never come
March 26, 2004
Wisdom is the last thing that matters now -
you will say, leaning against the wall.
Your white hair is the proof to it,
an eternal glance from the past.
Find some space for free life,
don't let them intrude and cast you away -
their impudence is abnormal,
your meekness is fragile and innocent.
Glorify youth, when there are still memories
left after roads, insomnia and loveless-ness,
ruined walls and roofs of smoked churches
and never-ending, timeless anger.
Wisdom is always the last thing to come,
but it stays after we are gone.
No matter what the color of your hair is -
No reproaches are allowed. Silence is bliss.
July 1, 2004
When the sky turns into an oval bowl,
Full of your tears,
I will dip my long, thin noodles into its soy liquid
And enjoy your taste...
When my fingers refuse to listen,
They start searching, too long, too slow,
And start to resemble one perfect sculpture
Of innocence, pure and dirty at the same time, in the same space...
When the waterfalls grow into an echo,
I cry your name, voiceless,
And you hear me, there, far in the skies
Where the day is night and the night never stops.
Why so? Who is there, behind your transparent shadow?
Scraping the sky - stone on stone, metal on metal
And love - upon the whole humanity,
As a big invisible lid.
Stop me, if I fall,
For there is no abyss to hold me,
There is your endless bowl
Where I dip my noodles
And remain forever
Someone in search of ... stop.
August 5, Tokyo
She was alone -
A star in the sky,
A soul, somewhere, in an indefinite 'there',
Lonely, awaited by the wind.
She knew how to fly,
She could touch the trees
With her tired wings,
But she could never rest.
Those who saw her,
Became blind, for she was too white,
Too pure for the mortals
And their earthy dreams.
The only one, who could hold her,
Was her twin - blind to the world,
Open to the eternity.
Yet bodily too weak to keep her forever...
August 16, 2004
A step inside
the memory of water
to purify myself
with the unending strikes.
minutes ache
drop by drop
transforming into an idea
and falling down,
ripe, pure, mystic...
I step inside
the memory of air
to find a meaning
of each breath
hours pass, smoothly
beside my long shadow
awaited by souls,
they are sacred.
I step inside
my imagination
to remain myself.
August 10, 2004
| Acknowledgements: |
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| Published with
the permission of the author. © by Sara Margaryan |
| See also: |
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|
Sara Margaryan's poetry in Armenian | in Russian |