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.
Anahit Arustamyan
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)
- What Do I Have To Mend? - April 1, 2021
- MINUTES - July 10, 2020
- Coronavirus - May 5, 2020
