Avetik Isahakyan Poems

THE wind is howling through the winter night,
Like to a pack of angry wolves that cry.
My hapless willows bend before its might;
...

The centuries have brushed by
its summit like minutes
and have gone.
...

Never trust black eyes.
Be wary. Be warned.
Their darkness is a deep,
endless night.
...

One day in the desert a bedouin
looked up and saw a mirage shimmering
ahead. Not water, but the splendor
of a dazzling girl.
...

Where does the stone
Lie, now,
That will be
The headstone over my grave?
...

With sorrow in my heart,
Poor and wretched,
Cane in hand, my head bare,
After many years of pilgrimage,
Once again I returned to my native land.
...

In the quiet dusk I see it.
The thin smoke rising from my father's house.
Outside the willows sway. And in dark corners
invisible crickets start their song.
...

Over the stream
The willow is bent,
It stares in silence
On the running water.
...