We may meet, Goddess Anahit! You gave me your name and your ancient myth. There's a bench where I can sit. There's a branch where a bird can sing. I wonder if you gave me your perfume made from mint. Do the stars stretch their knees not to slip? You didn't smoke but I do, Goddess Anahit! However the ashes are the same in time's messages. Who knows whose beauty shone in the ancient fortresses? You are still a statue in time's voyages. Who am I in my old and new bandages? We have the same name in time's images. Do the stars meet their myth Goddesses?


Happy birthday to you, every newborn day! Wait for a butterfly! It has something to say. I know your minutes will be in their haste. Happy birthday to you, every golden ray! Will a locked door let you in to stay? You know which key may be made of clay. What is this silver key forged in my brain? Hello, emerald bud! Happy birthday! Wait for a butterfly born to breathe during one day! See you soon, tender snowflake! You will let a snowdrop take your white face. There is something which lays nothingness on a puzzled glance. What makes these waves dance on their sapphire lake? The air wings draw their own way. Hello, air wings! You were born to play! Hello, my silver key! Have you shone like a golden ray? Happy birthday to you, every newborn day! Do wait for me! I have something to say.


Don't interrupt our dance to see what can melt or what can stay! A melted minute embraces a shade through the cosmic glance. Don't interrupt our dance as I will be a swan one day! I will be wandering and calling a ray. The sky's fallen piece might have formed a lake. I am still a lady being both fool and sage. Being a swan I will dance my ballet on a light blue stage. Its waves may echo the sounds of this earthly race. I guess I will be a swan one day. Aren't you laughing at this nonsense? You will fall in love with my white lace. The sky dropped its pieces to create seas and lakes. These oceans may be the sky's endless tales. Ask a swan if it learned to live without a lady's tempting face! I am still a lady on my life's way. All these melted minutes are screaming to say what can melt or what can stay.


How long would a poem flit across a poet's lips? Tongues! You are never tired of climbing up the hills. Hearts! Are you really flirting in a drip of ink? Times! Your carriages are never tired of running to blink. Would a poet find a blanket made of silk? Bitter beer wouldn't be as sweet as milk. Poet! Who knows what you drink. I might sleep not to rise in one morning's mint .Could I be a poem recited by a rustling leaf? Who knows how poems stretch a poet's skin. What does a poem drink to climb up the hills? A poet is a poem but who knows this.


Hey, shepherd! Play your pipe! The sun has woken up. It can comb your hair with its passionate eyes. Do play your pipe to the plants with emerald tongues! Who can count the drops which the soil has drunk? Shepherd! You don't need a white shirt and a tie. This barefooted river is as blue as the sky. It may also steal the sky's silver shine. Hey, shepherd! Play your pipe! The grass may hear and smile. The grass doesn't need a painted mask. Its green sunglasses can look at the sun. Hey, shepherd! Play your pipe! The day hasn't changed for the night. You can find a lost drop in a green-eyed bud. No river needs any boots to run. Play the tune which the curly clouds might have sung! They remind you of the goats making fun.



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