my poem in supercilious shirt

we were despised through the phone  throat from a warm room

I spread my hands in the air and amazed cried ”Lord”

and as my amazement wasn`t a proper one

I kept silent and got down from the armchair

because in order to reach the heaven

one needs hands masticating a windowpane

and voice that  lost sensation for the gender


I prayed to you, Lord, with my palms

wind slammed the door instead of you

and I began to laugh because of fright


the entangled shadow of my feet began to smoke slowly a cigar

and I nibbled the interesting parts of my pen longer

and so my eyes weren`t filled with tears

though in moments like this the head of the rite is TEAR


I would like to speak in Old Armenian as I don`t remember when once i did it

my Lord, I have so many improper absences

your old language is a close phone number

a silent voice, you don`t know – whose

slam the door just like you did yesterday

fright will pray inside  me

and the walls of my room will be worn out because of my laughter

my naked poem like an angel will fly from a wall to a wall


I`ll put on my jeans superciliousness and will wear out the boredom clung to my shoes

I`ll foretell the close phone number and return a call

I`ll be closer than you`re to you

Lord, look down on me through the phone throat from a warm room

I Love You

Author` Hasmik Simonian



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