Syrena2011 Poetry (1)

The gloomy ghost of death wanders deceitfully and stilly,
What has been done, he only knows.
The mind knocks at doors aggrievedly
Looking for a place to stay covertly…
The wind of grief is repenting the sins,
Day is a slave of old deprival,
People drink tears with the palms affined
Tears of the old whip and a new history.
Losing again the mind by its own bite
And still amazed at the false delusions,
Flam hastily leaves the own mother
In the incomplete and feeble darkness.
And the children with the exceeding gladness
Leaving the fusion behind
Give their lives for the liberty
And disappear among the lightful stars…
It is a stage for joyance and cry
Who will echo to our mourn?
It will rain on this Earth,
Children dreams’re troubled.
Where should I hide these crazy beings
Not making them the slave of your blood ?
Don’t build a fire on the roots,
I can’t respond to Ararats…