Let’s say — purslane

“- What to cook today?
your question cut off our conversation
and I wiped off the tears that you didn’t see.

Then you (or me — what’s  the difference?)
will leave, flying away with just one wing,
so that I don’t kiss you for every right thing you say,
so that in me (or you)
your (or my) presence doesn’t exceed the 85%.

And then again I will take my spoon
and mix your fairytale away (how do you bear me?)

We turned our child into a dream from a plan,
and wrote it down in our books —
just to remember, nothing more.

We were so honest to each other,
that I — myself couldn’t be to me.
Your blasphemy sounds like a
blessing to me now.

I covered your head with red,
so that your innocence of Magdalena
wouldn’t flow under others’ feet,
so that others wouldn’t smell your curls,
so that when you flow out of me
(as I was flowing out of you)
you are whole again.

And without you-
I’ll be just a colorless and empty jar
or the smallest from herbs,
let’s say — purslane…

Translated by Mariam Sargsyan

For the sake of poetry

“I’m not confused. I’m just well mixed. ”
— Robert Frost

I merged my cell into yours
then flayed it
to write a music
from the sound it made

“cynic”,_you didn’t say

I  stuccoed myself to the public asphalt
the community trampled me
I made gorgeous lines under its steps
so they can never read it
(it was more powerful to make lines on your skin)

dressed my environment with similar uniform:
grey and simple.

my uniform was similar too,
but there were colors
simmering inside of me,
the ones
you boiled

looked for excuses for our divorce
couldn’t find anything else
“For the sake of poetry”.
and you labeled me as
“a victim of public needs”:
I didn’t mind.

Prepared your runway
made some test flights
and after inspection
allowed your flight
“who gave you the right?” you said

And now
you make lines
better than me.

Your heart, which was bigger than your head
and your wisdom disproportionate too,
you spreaded to the public, as if:
Here I am, the colorful one,
And I’ll eat you all.

That the community ate me,
was not the reality:
I did it to myself:
as if each of us built our own world,
and then made a boiler from it,
and then attacked our self-made worlds with our spoons
to mix it.
And you added some spices to my boiler-world,
to make it good-smelling
(the world, which is between our ears)

mixed spoons:

I licked my gorgeous lines from the community’s steps
(it was more powerful to make lines on your skin)

“Asshole”,_ you said
I didn’t mind.