Thursday, April 20, 2017

Anahit Arustamyan writes


I talked to the wind through the autumn leaves.
The leaves don't know where time creeps.
Time is never back but where it sits.
No winds know where time kneels.
Old and new, born and unborn don't know where time flees.
I talked to the streams through the autumn streets.
The streams flow but they don't know where time leads its wheels.
Known and unknown may be time's rhythms.
The autumn sun is lazy but not blind to see.
The sun may know time climbs up and down like invented myths.
I asked the autumn rains if they know what time sweeps.
Born and unborn, known and unknown may have the same wings.

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