THE QUEEN'S GOLD CROWN by Anahit Arustamyan at



written by: Anahit Arustamyan


The sun is a gold crown. I always look down. There might be a gloomy rose in a green lawn. There might be a lonely dove in a crowded town. Life is a mystic queen in its luring gown. How many roses has it grown? How many doves have ever flown? A pub smokes at night but it cleans its lungs with the air of every rising dawn. How many beads has the pub glued to the queen’s gown? A lit bulb may smile at the pub’s clown. The clown’s eyes don’t want to see the rug painted brown. I am still in this pub waiting for any dawn. The queen’s shawl has been embroidered by a magic needle to amaze any lawn. Playing chess the queen touches any pawn. Life is the very queen riding a crazy fawn. The sun is the queen’s gold crown.

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