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Best Armenian Poems

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Details | Armenian Poem | |

My Mother's Eyes- Thoughts on the Armenian Genocide

They dragged her away
Kicking and screaming
Arms outstretched towards
My little sister
Who lay dying on the ground
Her lips parched
Her eyes sunken
Her wasted arms reaching out
“Myreik, don’t leave me!”
My father pulled her away from 
The young soldier’s hands
The one who had violated her
The one who now sneered
“Keep moving….she will be dead
Before nightfall.”
I hurried after them
Stumbling through my tears
Afraid of being left behind
I turned for one last look
There she lay…her eyes closing
Left behind to join the
The dead along the path
My sister….
That night I didn’t hear her cry
Or complain as the soldiers
Dragged her away
She was beautiful
My mother
With eyes the color
Of the sea
Eyes that danced
And twinkled
Like stars on a clear night
Eyes that smiled
Eyes that embraced
Eyes that spoke
What words couldn’t say
I fell asleep to the sound of my father’s weeping
“Wake up,” I heard her say
As I fought to keep my dreams alive
My eyes fluttered open
I closed them to the hungry faces
I closed them to the filth on her dress
I searched her eyes
Calm and glassy
They looked past me
Not seeing
In them I read
No pain
No joy
No recognition
Tears sprang to my eyes
Tears for the death of my sister’s body
Tears for the death of my mother’s soul…
My mother’s eyes
My mother’s eyes...
They haunt me still.

Details | Armenian Poem | |

My Name is Lelawala-w

Where sunless river weeps and waves into the deep
 Please awake me not as I sleep very charmed sleep.
 Have many a names in different cultures world over
 Boann, Anqet, Mujaji, talaya, Lelawala, & Tsoninar

 Native American know me as Lelawala goddess of rain
 My father married me off to a king as I was fair maiden
 But my true love was He-No, the god of great thunder
 Lurking in cave under *Horseshoe Falls of Niagara water.

Paddling a canoe on the Falls, was swept off the Falls
Luckily He-No caught me while falling down the Falls.
Here happily I and He-No live in the caves of Niagara
That’s my story and now is time for me to get to action.

Watch me on my favorite horse Backahasten or Ashrays
Falling from the great heights clinging to dewy softness
Lo! My grasp gives way and feel free to fall through air
My brothers and He-No with me I no longer have fear.

The sun peeks out above, the rays pierce from top to toe
Amazed to see an array of colors forming the rainbow
My flight continues on, the wind moves me side by side
Wait no more to find what lies as I complete this ride.

The earth is near and the air feels warmer all around
I dance from leaf to leaf and fall softly to the ground
Hand in hand with buddy drops glide the wet terrain
A mighty stream I am now and no more a drop of rain.

* I have placed a picture of the Horseshoe Falls, The American side of Niagara
 on my blog photos. You can also see Picture poem on this link:
I visited the Falls in June, 2000
Dr. Ram Mehta
Sixth place win in:
Contest: Rain, the story sponsored by Constance La France
*Lelawala, rain goddess in Native American legend, 
Boann – goddess of the River Boyne in Irish mythology
Anqet-  was originally a water goddess from Sudan
Mujaji - South African rain goddess 
Talaya- is a Canaanite Rain-Goddess, the dew or rain personified
Tsovinar - the Armenian goddess of sea and rain
Bäckahästen - means brook horse; this was the name of a mythological 
horse in Scandinavian folklore
Ashrays – Scottish mythology - Horse

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Their Blood is Crying Out- The April 24 Reminder

Almost a century ago
Innocent blood was spilt
Almost a century ago
But there remains the guilt

The world must acknowledge
The Armenian genocide
The blood won’t wash away
There is no place to hide

One million and a half
Of Armenians met death
Their hopes and dreams extinguished
Gone out with their last breath

The women brutally raped
And their husbands shot or hung
How many of their songs
To this day remain unsung

The children weak and fragile
Dying for want of some bread
Left in the desert to die
Buzzards flying overhead

The sick and the elderly
Were discarded on the way
No one to weep and mourn
When their bodies saw light of day

The mothers dying slow deaths
Seeing children turn to bone
Wanting to feed them their flesh
Knowing they’ll not see them grown

The young girls flying off cliffs
Rather than suffer disgrace
Others hiding their beauty
By disfiguring their face

The soldiers with stone hearts
Deaf to the moaning sounds
Of the dead and the dying
Strewn on the desert ground

Faceless nameless people
Identity stripped away
Not honored with a number
In this gruesome tragic play

Their blood is crying out
Like faithful  Abel of old
Still demanding justice
Their story must be told

The genocide of my people
Was not hidden from God’s eyes
The world may now deny it
May feed naive people lies

But every single blood drop
Will be accounted for one day
The murderers will face judgment
To escape- there’ll be no way

The Judgment day is coming
My people will see the light
They will be vindicated
They will march out of death’s night.

They will be reunited
With loved ones that they have lost
For their souls we now seek justice
We will achieve it at all cost.

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Dog Gone Languages

Dog Gone Languages

All dogs bark except the Dingo
Humans think they know the lingo
But truth be told – reality
It’s a different sound in each country
In Arabic – hau-hau, how-how
Armenian – haf-haf
In Cantonese – wow-wow, wong-wong
Bulgarian – jaff-jaff
In English it’s arf-arf, bow-wow
In Malay it’s gong-gong
The Germans hear wuff-wuff, vow-vow
The Thais just hear hong-hong
I’d give you more but that’s enough
You need to know this other stuff
Dog barking has one common vice
A dog will always speak it twice
No matter how we hear the bark
Between two dogs it hits the mark
They seem to understand all others
Better than we do our brothers

Mdailey	11/28/12

Details | Armenian Poem | |

The death march of Anahit, Anoush and Aram and Arax

YOU're forcing 
me and my sisters and brother
to suffer or die
on this death row in the desert

YOU're forcing 
me and my sisters  and brother
to walk on or die
on this death row in the desert

YOU're forcing 
me and my sisters and brother
to torture or die
on this death row in the desert

YOU're forcing 
me and my sisters and brother
to kill or die
on this death row in the desert

YOU're  forcing 
me and my sisters and brother
to fratricide  or die
on this death row in the desert

YOU're forcing 
me without my sisters and brother
to suicide or die
on this death row in the desert

YOU're forcing 
me without my sisters and brother
to solitude or die
on this death row in the desert

I'm reinforcing
me without my sisters and brothers
to testify whereby and how
on your death row in your desert

Written for "GENOCIDE: SPEAK FOR THE LOST... the FORM IS POETIC PROSE - Poetry Contest"
sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan
Poetical element - Repetition
Subject: the Armenian death march 
Source:  -  heartbreaking conversations with several, for obvious reasons,  anonymous asylum seekers from another country  than Armenia. For security reasons & (their!) safety  choosing the option closest to their reality until some time ago............
Written by Elly Wouterse
Date 09/23//2014

* the names in the title are chosen by the anonymous asylum seekers but NOT theirs of course 
* the poem  - of course - was only posted after consulting the storytellers &  their emotional approval.... 

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Love Knows not Age

My dad fell head over heels in love with my mom during their college years. Mom was a petite, a dark haired, dark skinned little angel would could warble a song like none other, with a smile that earned her the name, Sunshine! Her real name? Angel! He was a tall, handsome, fair-skinned, bearded man from a far off land named Persia. He spoke no Arabic. She spoke no Farsi or Armenian, though her father was Armenian. The very first words she ever said to him were, “Are you alright?” when he was thrown off the maintenance truck, probably because he was staring at her and not holding on. They fell madly in love…..Only later….later did they discover that she was 10 years his senior. She looked much younger. He looked much older, and this was the Middle East where age MATTERS. 

A strange twist of fate
My love not defined by years
Why should it matter?

She broke up with him and she broke her own heart in so doing. He tried to stay away. Not only was she older, she was part Arab, and his mother would NEVER approve. Armenians married Armenians. If they did not do so, the race would die out. She threatened him in a letter. “If you marry that Arab, you are no longer my son!” 

Forbidden…your love
My heart in state of turmoil
Family demands

The age difference was a chasm that was impossible to cross….but he loved her. He adored her…her smile…her tender heart...her beautiful voice. He begged her to come back to him. “I cannot live without you.” She had been longing to hear those words. They married, and everyone named them….the love birds. When Mom got sick with MS, it was Dad who cared for her, who wouldn't put her in a home, who shed tears for the woman who had borne him three children and had been a support to him during his years of administrative and pastoral work in Iran. He bathed her, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, changed her soiled clothes, took her for rides…the only time she felt free! He carried her down three flights of stars on his back when he had to rush to the bomb shelter….Don’t tell me love is bound to age! NONSENSE! I've seen with my own eyes…a love that defies all odds…and remains strong…to the gates of death.

My Angel is gone
The sweetest joy of my life
When you were my wife

Eileen  Manassian Ghali

Details | Armenian Poem | |

ottaman strikes

sway armenian horde
your master,the ottaman
passes through your door

i wrote this to mark the anniversay of the ottaman/armenian war of 1915,today is the 
marked anniversary.i believe this would be the view of maybe a young,swaggering ottaman 

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Love Is a Shrine

She has such beautiful eyes,
That proclaimed romance
This stance 
Is not enough to praise
Her profound beauty.
Bleeding from the open door,
Her tears are swiftly serenading 
the rhythm of life.
With a gentle apparel,
And beauty so fine,
With age became sweeter
With time it blossomed ripe.
She has such beautiful eyes
That I can built a shrine
Of love to glorify her..

Written by an Armenian Poet
Translated by Ernest Badounts

Details | Armenian Poem | |

My Identity

You Armenians who question my identity...
Who whisper behind my back and smirk
Considering me a half breed
Not pure
The child of a mixed marriage
You who refuse to speak to me
In your mother tongue
Because my words falter
And my accent is disgraceful
You who turn your back on me
Unwilling to ratify
My identity
Unable to include me
In your inner circle
Of the chosen purebreds
Be ashamed!!!
Yes, be ashamed and hang your heads
My identity is not based
On the language I speak
Nor the knowledge I know
Nor my appearance
Or customs I follow

Slash my wrists
Slash them both and see…
Let the blood flow
And mingle with the red 
Of the blood of the martyrs
Splashed on the Armenian flag
See also the orange in my blood
Reflecting the color of the fertile land
That brings forth the nourishing wheat
See also the magnificent blue of my veins
Matching the blue of the flag
The color of the pure sky
That looks down and smiles
And blesses my beloved country
My motherland……

For Nathan A's Contest

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Not Forgotten- Victims of the Armenian Genocide

They fell by the way...
The old
The sick
The famished
Discarded heaps of humanity.
They jumped to their deaths...
The beautiful
The young
The desirable
Preferring to die than be ravaged.
They marched on....
During the day
During the night
With no destiny in sight
Endlessly enduring...
The insults
The beatings
The rapes
The stench of death.
They bowed their heads...
Their blood soaked the ground
Their screams muffled
Their anguish stifled
Their hearts torn
Their hopes murdered.
They still march on...
Through the wilderness
Of our seared consciences
Ever searching
for a final resting place.
Their blood stll cries out...
For justice
For acknowledgement
For restoration
For healing.
The Armenian Genocide
Will NOT be forgotten...
By all Armenians
By me
By God!

Details | Armenian Poem | |

folding forts

ottaman empire
armenian genocide
with pride,tradition

Details | Armenian Poem | |


      Armenian Genocide
To The Memory of Those That 
   In 1915 Genocide committed 
By Turkey

They killed the helpless 
Those pigs ,that ruled the world
with no compassion.
They murdered women and 
innocent children,
The vultures of the world,
To kill the voice of hope
Injustice, Blood, Hate was their 
Dark wolves hungry for blood.
Atrocious beasts that glanced 
like shadows 
They killed our bodies,
But they can never kill our 
Now Watch!  We are united 
with our undying spirit;
Who can destroy us?
Who can defy?
The righteous blood was spilled 
upon the Mother Earth,
Earth screamed with birth of 
Now you! Yes you!
I am here to remind you
That we still stand strong,
Unshakable in mighty God,
We laugh at you,
Mock you ;
You sons of destruction.

The Truth Must Be Told
The Truth that is Forgotten

Details | Armenian Poem | |

The Armenian and The Liverpudlian

The Armenian and The Liverpudlian 

It’s hard to see sometimes
How chalk and cheese can mix so perfectly
Makes you wonder how the differences of character
Can work together

He, all forthright respect and daily clarity
She, all winsome wishes and artistic poetry

And yet somehow they relate to each other
By default
They weave and intricate pattern  
Of threads in reality
And threads in dreams

Football, Liverpool FC runs in his veins
A passion and obsession 
His pride and his downfall if they win or lose
Staunch supporter he remains
Though quieter now than times gone past

Art and music, a dancer, she, of ballet precision
A passion and obsession
With such flare and grace and delicate turns of love
For the folklore rhythms of ancient songs
A picture of music’s expression in her form

Eight languages she speaks, Eight !
While he falters on Liverpool accent
But captures the essence of a foreign tongue
Chef he is of delicate cuisine
And she of wine’s pallet appreciates

Never have I know two such complex differential lovers
That intertwine and mingle so well
Or seen such ready acceptance of each other
In people prepared to accept any stranger
For who they are

How far apart did their lives begin
Liverpool England
Yerevan capital city of Armenia 
What wild horses drew them together
What turns of fate
Could bring this poetess
And this football obsessed
Man and woman
You have to ask

But through all their trials
They remain together
And in a few months they will be married
Do you know when you know
That something will last forever
They will I am sure

It’s a strange but cheese and chalk thing
That mixes together so fluidly
But of all the things that brought them
Together so perfectly
It is Love, respect and Honesty
Both of them
Have these admirable Qualities

To your future my friends
May you live in blending love

Details | Armenian Poem | |


While he was puffing in *"Duduk" 
Death plunges, fainted alone 
In desolated deserts. 

No lulling wind, 
No amusing lightning, 
Nor shading house, 
Not even the ‘black weeping clouds'
Yearning, to his companionship 
While he was puffing in *"Duduk" 
Heart plunges and fainted, 
Till the scent' melodies 
Flowing into pale dry grass 

*Armenian musical instrument is one of the oldest double reed instruments in the world.

Written by © Fatima Nusairat

Details | Armenian Poem | |



You have the biggies like Chinese-Americans
And Latino-Americans and German-Americans;
And miniscule groups like Armenian-Americans
Or   Bosnia-and-Herzegovinan-Americans;
But why do we never hear of  English-Americans,
Scottish-Americans or Welsh-Americans?
Sound weird  don’t they?  Kinda unnecessary.
Anyone ever heard of Canadian-Americans?
Or Australian-  or New Zealand-  oh  why?
And hey,  what about French-Americans?

These are not hyphenated Americans
They are eliminated Americans, 
And other groups include
Old people, who  are Antiquated-Americans
Mothers  -  Unappreciated-Americans
Pre-1492  Yanks are  Antedated-Americans
AFL-CIO  are  Aggregated-Americans
Dwarfs are Truncated-Americans
Smog-breathing residents of LA  are 
Asphyxiated-   or Hyperventilated-Americans.
Thank God I’m normal, I’m just American.

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Armenian Triumph

Ages have past, but the past never forgotten ever.
Remembering the pain and agony will remain forever.
Men, women, and children destroyed for no cause.
Energy from their souls lives on without pause.
Never forgetting, possibly forgiving in a future time.
Individuals once but now belonging to a horrid crime,
Angels now caress their souls and sing their praise.
Now we must in our hearts a monument raise.

Tears of woe will pass growing triumph from now on.
Realistic dreams of a future without pain will come upon.
Individuals, couples, and all that suffered in the past.
Unanimously we pray that our future will truly cast.
Many everlasting triumphs of love and peace in our land,
Preparing every soul for the glory upon us will stand.
Here and forever with faith and love our souls ever so grand.

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Armenian Genocide

Maybe the suffering will end soon

Hope's only a death away

If we're lucky we'll all be dead tomorrow

If we're lucky we'll all die and leave behind this sorrow

Tired of seeing our people weep

Their deceased bodies in the streets

Starvation is life, malnutrition's set in

Our homes have been taken along with all our men

If we're lucky we'll all be dead tomorrow

If we're lucky we'll all die and leave behind this sorrow

The children are crying

We're all slowly dying

The end for our people is near

If we're lucky we'll all be dead tomorrow

If we're lucky we'll all die and leave behind this sorrow

Details | Armenian Poem | |

Armenian War Child

This child of war,

feel as her blood runs cold.

Observe the festered wounds upon her feet,

the bullet hole in her head.

Why would someone wish such innocence dead?

Her mother slain by her side.

Her brothers and sisters, all have died.

Her father cradles the lifeless body in his grasp.

Weeping frantically, with hatred in his soul.

The demons came and murdered,

left all for dead.

The world’s turned a blind eye to their plight.

The brave few that do remain,

fight to end their children’s suffering and pain.

Tired of watching their sons beheaded,

their daughters molested,

their wives and mothers burnt alive.

The burning of their towns and homes darkens the skies.

Their religion mocked, their priests disemboweled,

left hanging in the center of town.

They fight to preserve their way of life,

but the world’s turned a blind eye to their strife.