Tir
on my pliant and blackened knees
at the timeworn steps of Yerazamuyn
crumbling stone beneath my weight
of a temple shrouded in mystical promise
I offer you a dream of such twisted delirium
with bleeding themes and distorted faces
and I ask whether my kindred name
is etched within the pages of your versed book
and you, oh venerable scribe
take me in your adamant embrace
and guide a soul that has lost its way
bestowing your precious gift into my pores
of indelible ink engraved into perspiring forehead
and when my tongue twists and my voice fails
your words metamorphose from my fingers
to scar vellum print with its permanence
Meghri Sarkissian
