>>> Home POETRY “ He who shared bread with me, became against me “

Naira Hambardzumyan

“ He who shared bread with me, became against me “

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Death as an Luscious Lotus,
Lies and wakes up,
In erewhiles beaten roads
In a place,
Where the sun becomes revelation,
And the wake is interpreted by the silence of the earth.

Death as a passable border,
Reached the chained gates of the sky,
By the sun’s canoe

The fortune tellers today pass by,
Erewhiles beaten roads

Somebody prays
And the shadow of a bird,
Flies above the tombstones.

Somebody passes his own shadow,
As life is totally,
A chaos with unwritten words

The words are torn,
From the essence of the things,
And they become signs.

And where is the door ?
To Nowhere.

Death as an nelumbin nuciferum,
Goes to the castle of silence,
Of the Black angels,
And its footprints,
Yellow nelumbo
Are blossoming,
Between the cold taste of broken pavements and soil.

I love autumn,
The time for all the funerals
When the November cries,
And beats all the tombstones…

The moon masses silently,
The agony of word
Oh, off….
Listen to the tonality                                    
Of the syllabic blood of those who are alive…
/The agony continues/
Freed the moon from the chains
Sat down on the chair
And when they realized,
They are guilty against Wolf-Poetry,     
Bowed and removed their masks before death/.

And the pillar of the word is risen,
And the song in it.

Orion woke up in the green sky,
And my word racked,
Like the nerve of the century,
The high voltage gallows,
The bubbles of the essence.
Are leaving calmly,
The brass of crocks of the sun.

The power is rule,
The rule is weak
The shadows of black,
Are leaving towards the wandering groups of the fortune tellers,
Which are preparing for their flight
Near the cave .

The plazmodiums are breathing the air
Of the fainted air
And people,
In wandered nowhere,
Are condemned to the chains of the atomis gallow.

It is the moment of silence,
“ In front of the black square”
The mass of farewell
In a squared tombstone…

The real word is broken there,
There the death is breathing with wetness.


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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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