MY ISLAND by

by Shmavon Azatyan

Arménia

You are the heavenly island

I swim to                                                           

to be harbored

from the gloating of all world.

The sea is cold,

day is gloomy,

I’m numb -

my feelings turn frigid.

Yet you

have power on my heart.

I toil to you;

the autumn day sinks

beyond the high waters -

life draws away,

and the jump of

the blindfold lightening

speckles my anticipation.

And then the predisposition

I divine

in your manner

loses its advantage. 

The time

we at last come to speech

the island has gone. 

In between you and I

seas lie laden with somber skies;

only the anonymous topography

we’ve both cared to observe

is what can lead us

to one another.