MINUTES
written by: Anahit Arustamyan
@anonarnune20141
Minutes dance me, you, and someone else.
A red dress made of silk leaves a colourless shade.
Precious pearls are nothing as winds have no necks.
A yellow dress made of satin melts on a shadow’s face.
Who knows where the wine stains stay.
Minutes pump hours and days.
Days are crumbs of ages turned pale.
Tears flee from eyes to rain.
Minutes steal whatever we save.
I was born in Yerevan, Armenia, 1963. After graduating the university I published some of my earlypoems in the local anthology called ''Garun'' translated into English ''Spring''. My later works were published in different international anthologies and online magazines. I authored paperback books entitled My Intoxicated Ink, The Queen Of Metaphors and e-books entitled My Wandering Muse, My Lyrical Tongue and The Phantom's Dolphin. My books are in English and available on Amazon and Lulu.
Latest posts by Anahit Arustamyan (see all)
- October Melody - October 15, 2021
- What Do I Have To Mend? - April 1, 2021
- MINUTES - July 10, 2020
