The Poetry Of Shant Norashkharian
Once We Were So Pure
By Shant Norashkharian
Once we were so pure like the new snowflakes
We returned the light which gave us glory
And sheltered the seed until it called us
To water the mud and welcome its birth
We were so pure then that our closed eyelids
Every time opened to a new wonder
And the lullaby which put us to sleep
Was the sound of frogs and crickets and rain
Then we even blessed our own predators
Because they made us wiser and stronger
The world was not there for us to conquer
But to embrace it like a mother’s womb
We were so pure then that we never spoke
Of love and wisdom or another life
We were here to shine with every sunrise
And prepare the way for every new spring
Crescent City, California
O White Master!
By Shant Norashkharian
“O white master, where are you taking my people
and yours?
(Palestinian poet born in 1942)
We have known these stones of Jerusalem
From the time our feet were bare like our souls!
We have known prophets who slept in the shade
Of our old vineyards and our olive trees
We have known the sea which brought us breezes
From a distant land undefiled by man
We have known all this but never murdered
Holy men of God who came to teach us
We have known labor and refused to beg
And built our houses on our own orchards
We have known silence when the world turned back
As our pain bounced from satellite dishes
We have known all this and now the suicide
As the sole option left for our fighters
Where do we turn now when the sky itself
Throws back our prayers like used rocket shells?
Where do we appeal when our oppressors
Rip the land titles our fathers gave us?
Where do we hide now when the white master
Brings aircraft carriers larger than our towns?
We have known all this and what freedom asks
To be paid only by the cash of souls!
Crescent City, California
O You Foolish Man!
By Shant Norashkharian
There are no seasons after five decades
The snow keeps falling and rising each month
The bed that was shared grows cold like marble
After waiting long for a caring touch
His home stood alone weeping in whiteness
And there were no paths leading to his doors
O you foolish man where is the greatness
Which lifted you out of this gravity?
The fields of wisdom which had sustained you
Have become barren from your indifference
O you foolish man who will trade copper
For all of the thoughts you gathered like bees?
And now when more snow piles on your shoulders
Who will come to help you carry the soup?
O you foolish man with worn-out sandals
You lost the best whores while chasing the truth
After five decades your words have bounced back
Like rocks thrown by boys to tanks deaf like steel!
Now you must explode like super novas
In a universe where you can still shine
Crescent City, California
They Are All Black
By Shant Norashkharian
“ ‘I can’t explain it’ you said ‘I can’t explain it
I don’t understand people
no matter how much they play with colors
they are all black’ ”
(Greek poet, 1900-1971)
Like my own shadow a man walked with me
In the parallel valleys of my time
He said once he knew of all the colors
Crying like a child with just black crayons
Now all his thoughts were clipped like wings of ducks
And his vision was measured by yardsticks
Now like a liquid he was filled in molds
To become the shape which pleased his masters
Now he was a part of the statistics
Like numbers which stood after decimals
His smile appeared as just drawn on his face
And his voice sounded like electric fans
He carried within the birds of his youth
Which had stopped chirping as in the winter
He carried within a salvaged painting
Of a landscape which had a rainbow
Somehow one by one the colors faded
And his black shadow was all left of him
Crescent City, California February, 2002
Without Land And Sea
By Shant Norashkharian
“ Shifting broken stones, breathing in
the pine’s coolness with greater difficulty each day,
swimming in the waters of this sea
and of that sea,
without the sense of touch
without men
in a country that is no longer ours
nor yours.”
(Greek poet, 1900-1971)
Tomorrow we shall walk again but on older feet
Which stick to the ground harder and harder each day
And we shall talk again but with older tongues
Nothing! Nothing we said shall be remembered!
Who can hide his terror from the final demise
Which drips into our veins like colorless poison?
And we shall pass by the same mountains
Which we dared not to climb with our burden
Because we had to carry our ruins within us
Nothing! Nothing we rebuilt escaped its collapse!
Who can shorten the time for the wounds to heal?
Who will endure long enough to hope again?
We looked at the land from the north to the south
And at the sea from its first wave to the last
And we saw that all is same and will be the same
Nothing! Nothing will change after all the battles!
Who among us is not a refugee and a nomad?
Who among us can claim an inch of the sea or the land?
Even those who traded VCR’s for their daughters
And those who stepped on our lungs for new titles
Tomorrow they shall walk like us with hanging heads
Nothing! Nothing is lost in the memory of the wind!
Who will compensate those who were sold
Before they owned anything and not even themselves?
And our solitude which creeps like the fog
Until it covers the abyss between us and the world
Why does it weep for friends who are still alive?
Nothing! Nothing should demand the last ounce of our love!
Who among us shall draw the final landscape
Where we could play like baby goats and mock the wolves?
The country we carried inside is now heavier
Yet even a breeze from fig trees will lift us to its shores
And even our roots roll to it like tumble weeds
Nothing! Nothing must be taken away from its womb!
Who among us shall write the last movement
Of our unfinished symphony without the master?
Perhaps a little farther we shall find a harvest
Of all the seeds that were scattered on barren fields
And a tavern of joy where the unheard songs fill the air
Nothing! Nothing will silence the music forever!
Who will search in the ashes for the lost bracelet
Of the girl who blew herself up to build a nation?
Perhaps the serenity of acceptance will make us whole again
Like the night which softly embraces all of us
Yet we lost the instinct of sleeping like kittens
Nothing! Nothing shall bring back our innocence!
Where shall we go to collect all that we squandered?
How shall we find those to whom we foolishly caused pain?
Perhaps at the end we shall see a porch
Flooded with the lights of the faces waiting to greet us
And their warmth shall bathe us with the smell of jasmines
Nothing! Nothing which has an ounce of love shall die!
Who shall recite the final poem of mankind
For the audience of a thousand and one angels?
Crescent City, California March, 2002
Let Them Fight With Rocks! We Shall Fight With Words!
By Shant Norashkharian
“We were ground in the coffee houses of the East by
War of words
Wooden swords
Lies and empty heroes.
We did not kill a camel or a grouse
We did not try the game of death
We did not play with knights or give up one horse
We did not make an inkwell from the wound
We did not make blood from ink
Upon a single pebble.
Trivia preoccupied us
We killed each other and now we are crumbs
In the coffeehouses of the East we swat at flies
We wear the masks of living people
We are half men
In the garbage dump of history.”
Let them fight with rocks! We shall fight with words!
A nation on knees pushed into trenches
With its broken flags and cancelled passports
A nation erased from history books
By the publishers of false witnesses
A nation abused for five hundred years
For five hundred years a nation silenced
And disarmed to fight the war of the rocks!
Let them fight with rocks! We shall fight with words!
How can it refuse to follow lost tribes?
With what suicide or noble purpose
Could it justify its right to exist?
Who can pass judgment on the fearless ones?
Who among you can stand in their places?
A nation on knees pushed into trenches
While we fight for them in coffee houses!
Let them fight with rocks! We shall fight with words!
Our rulers have sold the ground under us
Wearing white aprons to serve white masters!
Yet we bow with them facing the Mecca
While they laugh at our angry wooden swords!
Who can receive wreaths before spilling blood?
Yet we honor them as if the heroes
Are made from speeches and stolen ballots!
Let them fight with rocks! We shall fight with words!
Last night they had roofs today just blankets
And they had poets who could vomit fire!
Today the silence above the rubble
Will record the deeds of their destroyers!
And again we shall hear the buzz of flies
From the honey mouths of rented tyrants
With the promise of more wars with sweet words!
Let them fight with rocks! We shall fight with words!
And our dignity has lost its features
Like a Sphinx beaten with thousand sand storms!
It hides in a cave like an Arab girl
Who was raped and thrown to the desert beasts!
Only in playgrounds we fight our big wars
And throw big slogans against their missiles
As the nation dies while still on its knees!
Let them fight with rocks! We shall fight with words!
And when they are dead and trenches are filled
We shall be gathered all of us half men
All hundred million half men of the East
In the garbage dump of our history!
There will be no sons to carry the wreaths
There will be no words to fill the abyss
Between the mothers and the lost nation!
Crescent City, California
I dedicate this page to the great Sergei Prokofiev, who gave me much strength when I was in great need. May the Lord God bless him forever.
Le Roi-Soleil a di:
"L'etat c'est moi."
Vous, mon cher Prokofiev, pourriez dire:
"Le Soleil c'est moi."
What joy to be hot and shining!
What pleasure to consume the moments in flame!
I converse through light with those who shine.
I reign. I am in ecstasy. I burn.
The Celebrities
By Shant Norashkharian
With their whitened teeth and designer smiles
They collect silver from the silver screen
And pave mountain tops to build their castles
And fence even clouds behind their high walls!
With their egos blown like an accordion
They have microphones linked to the whole world
Yet they seldom raise their voice for justice
Or use their blessings to save the voiceless!
In the age of dwarfs they walk like giants
And spread their feathers like pompous show girls
They sell illusions to those making bricks
For the castles where they are not welcome!
They are pharaohs of the modern age
Who build pyramids made of sand and fame
And when it is time to enter their tombs
They leave nothing for the earth and living!
Crescent City, California
Give Me The Flute And Sing
By Shant Norashkharian
“Give me the flute and sing
As the song is the secret of eternity
And the lament of the flute remains
Even after existence is perished.”
Kahlil Gibran
(Lebanese poet, 1883-1931)
O man what would your fate be
If you could not make music?
And how would you seek mercy
If your voice abandoned you?
O man take the flute and sing
So your breath will sustain you
Even when birds fall silent
And the streams come to their end!
Look farther than all the clouds
Until your mind is unbound
O man bow before the grass
For it knows more than your books!
Keep your lips far from red cheeks
For they will leave you wanting
Kiss the flute and gently touch
The keys of eternity!
And when you are abandoned
Like a flower by the tree
Raise your head and sing again
To save the weak from despair!
Give me the flute and the wind
So the music will always stay
We shall perish if we fail
To nourish our beauty!
Crescent City, California
January, 2002
