WE SAW WINGS OF A DOVE ON THE ROAD, MY DEAR!

we saw wings of a dove on the road, my dear

torn wings of a dove

we saw huge buildings and big cars, dear

the big cars drove us through the labyrinths

and we saw big cities, dear

 

and I can`t forget, dear

the muddy and rubbed small wings of a dove

in the dust of the noisy and plotting road of the big city

and you rubbed them guilelessly and passed

I can`t forget, dear

the way I hugged you

kissed your cheek

and you cried-bis bravo!

and insisted on the repetition

I just can`t forget, dear

 

I leaned my head against your shoulder

you put your feet on the stone and it made me angry

dear, your body became like a coffin and called me

and I blew up on it

 

there was cold wind

we weren` supposed to catch a cold

but we did  it

 

later we were leaving the old city endlessly

and how beautiful the old city was on that cloudy weather, dear!

so close and romantic like the loneliness of a loan man

and a bound dog was unwilling to bark

and how did that dog get we weren`t strangers to each other?

 

I was acclaiming your name incessantly

-and how good your name sounds, my pagan god!

and how passionate and fresh it was

 

-and how peaceful you are, just like a Christian

and how much I love you when you love me!

and what kind of wind it was-

great and high wind!

and I was running here and there

and wind would blow me away if you didn`t take my hand, dear

I was too light, open, springy

and my body was the homeland of Death, dear

-how, nice it is to call you-My dear!

and again – dear and endlessly – dear

you were happy

as vardan hakobyan says-you announced,

-I was happy!

 

I was watching you coming down on the staircase

the way you approach the taxi

the way you looked from the window and the way

I smiled with naked and sincere love

and I was waving my hand in the air

where there were crows, wind

and there was your acrophobia

and there was my wish: I wanted continuously to cry and I was ashamed

and you said, ”You` re happy, you don`t need to cry. ”

 

we saw torn wings on the road

It`s not important who left them there

they were torn wings and you rubbed them guilelessly

and how high wind it was, dear, but you took my hand

not to let wind blow me away.

 

Author` Hasmik Simonian

 

 

 

 

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