THE SUN IS INCENSE
By Razmik Davoyan, Armenia, Published in Issue 1.
The sun is burning in the universe
Like yellow incense,
A yellow miracle.
And the bread in my hand
Which resembles the purest Host,
Smells of incense and of the world.
The sun today
Has become disoriented and delicate
By some miracle
And is gliding with a mild touch over all
That men have burnt
The square light
Resembles a traveler in the dark.
The square light is pompously silent
Like an aquarium
In our eyes pulled from the darkness of the deep,
In the deep darkness pulled from our eyes.
The triangle light
Nailed to the wall.
The lone blade of light
Seen through the opening of curtains
And the light of the stars, breaking the stiffness of the air,
And the light which resembles the blue smoke of eyes
And the eyes- treasuries of light.
The square light crushed in the walls
A square silence
Like an aquarium.
(Photo by sxc.hu)
I pour the pink night into my glass
And drink it in silence.
And the glasses jingle
With an uncertain sorrow, an unknown joy.
Of noble faces
Ablaze with the fever of this great silence
Are formed in their depths.
I called upon the touch of fingers -
It wasn’t there.
I looked at my image in glass lips –
I squeezed the tulip
And its black sorrow
Remained in my hands.
The sun is gliding along its yellow path
Pouring into the monk’s jar, his incense burner,
And the fire goes out in the birch woods…