Four hours into the night...
The stars appear without the light.
Breathing short and deep -
Somehow I’m not asleep.
There’s something I cannot find
Swirling endless in my mind.
Is it money, is it fame?
It’s not that different,
And not the same.
It feels as if a separate soul,
That feeds upon the limpid snow.
Like the water that feeds us all,
Like summer, winter, spring and fall.
(21st of December, 2006)
First Ache
© Copyright: Тигран Хачатурянц, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110042104227
Свидетельство о публикации №110042104227
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