A Prayer
By Shant Norashkharian
That you may bless and acknowledge
The first steps of the infant
Who crawled so long to walk and say
Amen with his first syllables...
That tenderly you may reveal
Your rare presence like a secret
Shared by lovers who have just met
To make way for your miracles...
That you may force creation
Into channels built with patience
And defended with fortitude
In hundred years of solitude...
That I may wet my feet again
In the waters of Lebanon
As the gentle heat of its sun
Permeates deep in my shoulders...
That my homeland would never weep
Or bleed with hate so old and new
That I may leave these foreign shores
To patch the wounds and open doors...
That your thunder may never end
When million lips thirst for raindrops
And your wise men may never bend
Under whips of insolent mobs...
That your prophets may at last learn
To live without self-destruction
And above all that we may earn
A step toward your salvation...
Arcadia, California January, 1990
CIVILIZED MAN!
By Shant Norashkharian
I hear the walk of silent men
Orange shadows in sinking sun
Faces as if hit by not one
But a thousand puzzles undone!
A procession of thousand souls
Marching, dancing to ancient sounds
Long departed, faded and gone
O the music is dead and gone!
"What said the earth, we've forgotten!"
Murmured the rain on the dead leaves
Of all the trees that were broken
Like old soldiers with wounds open!
“What said heaven, we've forgotten!
Rivers, mountains are now the slums
Of deformed birds and still-born cubs
And fish with gills clogged with sulfur!”
Alas! Alas! Civilized man!
Thousands of years of sweat and blood
Billions of births and deaths and wars
What shall we say if we are asked?
Stars colliding, atoms fusing,
Galaxies formed to give us homes
What shall we say is the result?
Alas! Alas! Civilized man!
I hear the sound of nightingales
Which have no place to rest and nest!
"Shame!" Nature roars, "Bathe it with blood
The heart that lives in greed and mud!
Build it with stone the wall of woe
To hold the floods of tomorrow
When the skies cough with cancer dust
And the fires lick the last green sprouts!”
I hear the walk of servile men
On the cracked soil of toxic lands
Where once children had played and danced
And now locusts have multiplied!
Let mothers mourn and shut their wombs
Before they greet a darker dawn!
Alas! Alas! Civilized man!
What shall we say if we are asked?
The Caballero
By Shant Norashkharian
He kindles the soul
This Mexican boy
And pants like a whore
Of his love canto...
A cheap rum he drinks
This old amigo
And dances solo
Then all night he sings
Till the bars spill
With the smells of sweat
And the burrito...
Like magic he plays
This incognito
While he picks his chords
With fat fingernails
And like a bull full
With chile salsa
Bounces at the sight
Of the big bosoms
Of a Latina...
A man with no roots
This viajero
Calls home where he puts
His heavy torso
From birth unto death
A passajero
He follows his boots
Where it fits his moods
This wild gitano...
In talk and in deed
He is a rare breed
This caballero!
The Land Of Waste
By Shant Norashkharian
In red October
Comes the ruthless wind
To cut the sick leaves
And to grant their wish
For executions...
In this land of waste
The soul cries and weeps
And the soul still prays
And the soul still waits
Like endless summers...
There is no life here
Just a silent drum
Which everyone hears
And walks by its rhythm
And lives by its will...
Day in and day out
The xeroxed faces
In four-wheel boxes
Move East and move West
Move back and move forth...
Day in and day out
The dancing shadows
Of automatons
On concrete runways
Rearrange themselves...
There is no life here
Just an empty dream
Which no one has lived
Promises on screens
And sun-dried feelings...
There is no life here
But fossilized thoughts
And scattered feelings
Like colorless beads
Of a rosary...
In this barren land
I wait with my arm
Stretched like a beggar...
For my poverty
In this poisoned land
All the fruits are filled
With the pesticides
And the cattle's meat
With hormones and drugs...
In this land of greed
The taste of the sun
Is forever gone
From the yellow corn
And the cucumbers...
Here the deadly air
Of gases from labs
With five-inch-long names
Hover in the skies
Like patient vultures...
There is no life here
No great men live here
O tomb of my hopes
O killer of songs
Oppressor of minds...
There is no love here
No passion lives here
O womb of my fears
Woman of my tears
And mother of whores...
Here the eagle's wings
Are cut with chain saws
Here the bulbul’s songs
Are drowned by mowers
In this land of woes...
Here the poet's words
Are treated like jokes
Here there are no foes
Just indifferent looks
And some polite words...
In this land of waste
The soul cries and weeps
And the soul still prays
And the soul still waits
Like endless summers...
Etchmiadzin!..
Etchmiadzin!...
Etchmiadzin!...
Holy!
Holy!...
Holy!..
I live
To hold your incense in my lungs!
I live
To see my people in your heart!
I live
To make my music with your bells!
