Long Armenian Poems
Long Armenian Poems. Below are the most popular long Armenian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Armenian poems by poem length and keyword.
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
No….life!
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.
PITCH GOVERNS MELODY AND HARMONY
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BY: ------------------------------------------------
The discomfort of her saying no
crumbled me to the point i would
be dumbfounded not knowing
what to do, maybe that is why
she told me know.
"then to put your needs ahead of
ours and not to mention mine"
she spoke, I listened not
understanding. She began a
movement of showing less affection.
A difference in love language?
I just went elsewhere. A greater good,
my intentions where to do it for us
but her lack of support for such
endeavors often divided us.
Not seeing eye to eye
we often would spend lesser
time together. It popped and as I
thought it became valuable it was as promised
a find!
I told her and she looked at me with a look
that caused me to just leave.
"the skirmish of broken feelings"
started over her possibly not
understanding what I was
saying or tryna do. I often felt used in
our relationship. She liked money I thought
making more would have her pleased
it didn't.
I stopped the complications
and behan to stop talking to her at all about anything
that had promise. She thought that
i was emotionally manipulating her.
I thought she was being mean.
Beauty and brains are an asset.
What the hell was I going thought?
-------------------------------------------------
From:: The GIG by;Theremin Armenian Duduk
word decribe the following..........
'engagement, assignment, performance
, or contract work.'
I left her behind
emaciated
I left her
dying
I left her
I left her
I wanted to die there with her
there in the desert
where I left my mother
there where the stench of the dead and the dying
filled the air
I left her
my other children dragging me on
the soldiers shouting
threatening..theatening
I had to go on...for the others
I left her
my little girl
who was too weak to speak
too weak to cry
my little girl
whom I smothered
knowing it would be quick
not wanting night to call
the animals to crawl
over her still living body
not wanting her to hear
the death wail of the old and frail
all around
I smothered her
and kept on walking
not hearing
not seeing
not smelling
not living
not breathing
I left her
I left my heart
I left my dreams
I left my tomorrow
and every yesterday
every memory
every hope
of a better day
I left her
and in that starless night
there in the desert
naked and bleeding
starving
shivering
I knew....
"the rest is silence."
Eileen Manassian
"The Rest is Only Silence" is from Shakespeare's Play...Hamlet. I, however, will not be silent about the Armenian Genocide. This is in memory of the 1.5 million Armenians who lost their lives in the Genocide of 1915.Though this is a fictitious write, the events depicted did happen during the Armenian Genocide in 1915 by the Ottoman Turks. One million and a half Armenians were marched into the desert in what has come to be known as the Death March. April 24 marks 101 years since that event. Not all countries have recognized the genocide. Unfortunately, America is one of them.
If you want to read an account of those days, read The Sandcastle Girls. Read of how woman were tied to stakes as the soldiers rode past on their horses and decapitated them. Read of how the orphaned children were gathered at night and put in caves and burned alive. Read of how the woman marched naked...their wounds festering, their hair matted...almost inhuman. Read of how women committed suicide rather suffer rape while others disfigured themselves to go unnoticed. History cannot deny the genocide. If justice is not served here...it will be....one day. God told Cain..."the blood of your brother Abel is crying out to me." The blood of these martyrs cries out today for recognition.
one's from japan
one's from ukraine
one is from turkey
two are from spain
one speaks portuguese
another korean
two speak mongolian
though none speak armenian
one likes thick coffee
another aromatic tea
one tokes up on a hookah
one fancies me
one's here on a visa
a second's an asylee
three are new immigrants
for them nothing's free
one was a surgeon
one a head nurse
a third was a physicist
here they'll do worse
one's here alone
two got divorced
three are now roomates
to split the rent, perforce
one gets splitting headaches
another the chills
a third is congested
so many are ill
one is quite homesick
one could care less
another's family disowned her
her life's a big mess
all are my students
so eager to learn
to improve their 'poor English'
~ there's money to earn
Note: The students all think, to a man/woman, that their English is "poor." It's not. International students are 'driven,' and in more than a few cases their English borders on excellent...At worst, it's functional...
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
I was only twelve back then,
It seems like yesterday.
I suppose these terrifying memories I have,
Will never go away.
Gendarmes after Gendarmes,
Came to our town.
They took my oldest brothers,
And shot them to the ground.
My heart began to sink,
As my Mother screamed and cried.
She sat beside their bleeding bodies,
A part of us just died.
Early one morning,
I woke to a sound.
It was hundreds of Armenians,
Marching out of town.
Soon after they took my Father,
They came back for us.
They told us to quiet,
So there would be no fuss.
We marched and we marched,
To a dark rancid inn.
With the hope and wonder,
Of ever seeing daylight again.
My brother Sisak and I,
Escaped from their evil wrath.
We walked back to Bitlis,
On a well beaten path.
We searched for food,
Just like we said we would.
We wished and we prayed,
But it didn't do any good.
My brother soon starved to death,
But I had to carry on.
To tell this story of a Forgotten Fire,
A battle that I won.
The Turkish soldiers came,
And caused so much strife.
They wanted to kill everyone,
Obliterate all Armenian life.
I was only twelve back then,
It seems like yesterday.
I suppose these terrifying memories I have,
Will never go away.
The world was silent as they died
The victims of a genocide
Armenian blood considered cheap
Dehumanized, their wounds cut deep
Starvation in a desert land
A naked, bleeding, hopeless band
The relocation just a ruse
A Death March of rampant abuse
Few decades later, Hitler said,
“Forgotten are Armenian dead.
Perhaps I too can do the same,
for who remembers them by name?
I’ll kill the Jews, yes, every one!
The world can’t stop me till I’m done!”
Another genocide took place
For Jews, no favor, mercy, grace.
These horrors haunt humanity
But who can stop insanity?
Now Jews are on the killing side
They claim it’s not a genocide
Poor Gaza has no wailing wall
the bomb blasts made the strongest fall,
and wailing’s heard on ravaged streets
where children lie in bloodied sheets
From rubble rises stifled cries
a mother dies with open eyes
her arms still clutching baby tight
while blasts light up the Gazan night.
A father faints beside the grave
of children whom he could not save
And those who manage to survive
Must fight for food to stay alive
Though Israel forgot its past,
the truth of what they’ve done will last.
The word they use? Retaliate!
The proper word? Annihilate!
Get rid of every single one
The work of vengeance must be done
A freedom fighter? Terrorist?
The slaughtered ones can’t answer this.
Instead of useless rhetoric
Protect the dying, wounded, sick
Wake up and stop this savagery
Please do it for humanity!
No matter what my choice of word,
I grieve for those who died, unheard
I groan with shame for what I see
The death of human dignity
To you who did not raise you voice,
Who claimed you really had no choice,
one day the genocide will be
of loved ones in your family
Before you go down to the grave
Cry out for someone’s help to save
But silence will reverberate
For lesson learned was learned too late
When your life bleeds out on the ground
The world will watch without a sound.
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Out of the freezer
I bring the Christmas cookies
as my heart fills up with cheer~~~
The tree lights twinkle
Festivities are prolonged
My baby comes home tonight!
Eileen Manassian
In the early morning hours, I'm going to the airport to pick my daughter, Shereen Natalie Ghali. Due to her studies, she missed all 3 Christmases. Three? Yes..three. We celebrate the 25th, but the 6th of January (Armenian Christmas) and the 7th of January (Egyptian Christmas) are also important dates for our family. Still...Christmas wasn't quiet the same without my baby with me. We will have Christmas...all over again. :)
I'm circling the globe
That lies in an eternal and deep sleep
And I see a square-headed being
Orange hair, and a face like a bowl
Reddish clay called Armenian bole
Who thinks he's a god, a sorcerer, or a wizard
Who easily gets in wherever he wants
Thanks to the press and TV.
He thinks he's a genius
Worthy of winning the Nobel Peace Prize
Because he has a five-meter-long
Similar to the Boicuaba snake
Enemy of all other snakes
Especially the rattlesnake
Which is the one that's making noise today in Venezuela.
He's a "made in USA" character
From the Middle Ages.
He likes to walk and fall asleep while walking
Peering at the spot where the beauty queens pee
In their beauty pageants.
He enjoys great fame because he catechizes immigrants
By kicking them in the ass.
Before reaching the beauties' urinals
He throws an iron ball as far as possible
To break the windowpanes.
Out of impatience with the act
He pulls out his erect , saying: -Give it a go!
He continues its natural course
Without trying to alter it.
He peeks out and glimpses the place where the beauties are
Naked, scared, and half-dead.
He lets the ball roll
Saying to himself, addressing his
Not caring a damn
About the beauties' natural and emotional state:
-What a fine meal your god will have!
I'm already licking my lips.
I'm almost there.
I offer you my supreme erect
For you to take back to your honeycomb.
Oh, what a moment!
When one of them approaches
I think her name was Vesta
To seize the immense member
In a game of ball-throwing
A piece of glass severed his glans
Leaving his entire genitourinary organ
Black as pitch.
Confused and stunned, "the Carrot" withdraws
Like a farcical clown who performs
The tragicomedies of war and peace, of genocide
For nations and peoples
Renunciating and swearing oaths
To take revenge on the beauties when he can
Walking all in circles
Around the globe
Without getting anywhere
Feeling screwed without wanting to.
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