Margaret Aslanyan (Armenia)
Margaret Aslanyan was born in 1990. Studied Spanish Language and Philology at Yerevan State University, Department of Romance and German, then received a Master’s Degree in American University of Armenia․
Author of 5 books, translator, founder, editor-in-chief of ‘’Yerevanyan Esquiz’’ literary-cultural website, magazine, publishing house.
When love leaves by every train – fly to New York:
all the tragedies in big cities are tiny clouds,
meetings – rainbow.
Memories lives here a butterfly life,
with every yawn are born an unbending loves,
at the entrances one day you lose your forbidden longing,
irreversibly throwing your old shoes down the skyscraper.
Fly to New York when you’ve abandoned,
when you’ve been searched among others,
when the trees of your faith have frozen,
and confused you with the broken door,
when the phone stopped ringing,
the city is flooded with black rains,
when you’ve forgiven them all heartily
and forgotten in the coffee grounds.
You will suddenly feel:
no one has embraced you so much forever,
and you never love someone with the head
in the middle of May with no tear…
From the loneliness irons
that is thickening in my tissues
I built my little house…
The autumn was crying at the door
of boundless sufferings:
the yellow forest of sorrow,
deserts of despair in glance.
Then I forgot what the Word was…
In the streets people were staring at my fingers covered with thorns,
I was looking at my hands and I didn’t remember whom I hugged,
I was drowning gradually from the internal bleeding of longing,
counting the stars falling from the sky,
expecting the return of Lord…
One night the rocks were roaring incessantly.
I woke up from a sharp blow to my heart.
I remembered you were…
Autumn will dedicate me
the memory of lilacs that you didn’t present me this year,
behind a swallowtail
I’ll shake my white handkerchief
and a little sad
I՛ll go to make lemon pies:
repeating in my mind,
that a miracle will definitely, definitely happen
that there will never be, never be sadness of lilacs
not presented to me…
The drama is over.
The fish of memory are weeping the sea,
horror birds carried to heaven
the red tears of silence.
No dream came true.The winter was cold.
Destiny was unbearable sting.
You scorched the heavens from powerlessness,
I found my heart in deep despair.
They said you got sick with the heaviest silences,
they said your eyes are a wound:
when I smiled four nails rolled from my eyes,
when I smiled the floor responded the cry of broken glass:
non of the blind pride based on the solitude
I do not believe in salvation of the ruined cities between us
and returns which don’t fit in any shoes …
Translated by Ann Simonyan and Sone Ayun