Rolling The Yarn-Ball Poem by Sona Karapetyan

Oh, won't anyone (a considerate soul)
Give me the dress made of yarn ball?
So cruel to deny me such a small request-
An old dress from the Communist times
(You remember it, right, the soft pink rose color of it?)
It will inject me with euphoric recollections,
Soothe this one hard momentum
And sprinkle maybe the fire on and over.
If I irritate you with the old and the gone-forever times
With constant back-turns to some once-in-a-lifetime day
(Remembered by me only, I suppose) ,
I sincerely ask your pardon
And meanwhile insist
That you accompany me in seemingly fruitless searches.
Well, if you feel sure the yarn ball can't be rolled back
Without losing some precious chance
(Logic is on your side, I agree
I don't seem presentably keen on that matter)
Be sure I roll it back this once
…And wave abstracted in a treasury unbreakable.
You see, the dress once used to be a simple yarn ball,
And a pair of blessed hands knitted it for our youngest one
Attaching the permission of unrolling it Spiritually, exclusively for her.
(Which she took to experimenting rather enthusiastically)
So maybe (a hypothesis I believe, quite crazy in itself
But utterly imploring to be tested)
By simply rewinding the yarn
I will experience the reiteration so much longed for.
You won't know really till it echoes deafeningly,
The phantomlike laughs of a full bright second.
But honestly, how shall we compensate
The torture you are soaking me into
By refusing a humble crumb of euphoric memory?
Would you rather chase me
Covered in registered, counted and weighed, logically square sweat drops,
Assuring that time flows linearly right
Towards future.
Then tell me, why the time line
You just kindly demonstrated, flickers
Like that pink rose colored dress.