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Naira Hambardzumyan


Probably yesterday was Thursday
Probably you were listening to Wagner again
that wet and wistful mystery «Parsifal"
streaming  from mysterious triangle of my fingers,  
Probably you were drinking coffee
Probably you were smoking.

(I'm closing my ears in order not to
be tempt from familiar words again).

Final forms of the world
(final forms just  do  not exist)
continue to  uncover themselves,
Uncover eternity.

If you do not live
Than the horror of death is undue,
Look at the world like
you are looking  to the death of your soul,
I’m hugging my knees strongly
and I understand :
''Life Studies'' of Lowell
Will not save me,
That Yerevan with its one thousand eighty hundred years
In it’s ancient history
One thousand eighty hundred times fur sure
Saw one thousand eighty hundred
Unburied spikes of wheat
And in the honey like eyes of sky
Saw me nude in front of mirror,
One thousand eighty hundred times for sure
And days that are memories of God
Come back to us
through exhausted time.

* * *

And I will sleep one day
(like an old pre man)
Without the blanket.
And the wind will flap the foliage of the pines,
And the angels will hang from the night with bet eyes far away
In the time of their declension:
And again things will slumber in peace
Until morning
And the process again
Will mix signs to the life.
And there will be no one
To stop my fall,
In the time of declension.


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