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Sara Ajemyan Poem
The currency of strength he holds not deaf to.
In tact, a willingness in favor of their ability.
Touched, not by the unfimiliar hands of hindrance,
but by her waking heart that speaks.
Uninterrupted, by the thoughts of the trained unfortunate.
His fortune, submits him to ideas of the unknown.
He speaks, with no approval of the mind.
In the Infinite, he expresses through feeling-
A playground; void of the pain of past, a fimiliarity is at play.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2016
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
Feeling the threat of unease,
I make myself known.
The approach not for understanding,
But for an ear that listens.
The smells of familiarity confine the space-
Not void of confusion….
However willingness leaves me tender.
The offering of both psyche,
And that of my ancestral nourishment.
The bitterness of words left behind;
For an immediate surprise,
Of sensation pleasant to the tongue.
This duality speaks-
Not of this kitchen, but of our bond.
A room for appetite, and an eager mind.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2015
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
The constant is postponed,
by the fall of a silent army,
a cold welcoming is quickly followed.
A mind interrupts the concord,
supplying a nourishment of
indescribable strangeness.
The lack of neutrality intervenes
with the up and coming flow,
inviting a rude awakening.
The future is now submerged
with an uncomfortable past,
washing away any sort of obscurity.
Completing it's sole function,
it quickly strives to leave with
the unmemorable aftertaste
of the conditioned body.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2012
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
Stare runs cold;
Warmth in hand;
Chest at ease;
Mind in trouble.
Attached to the hip;
Hand on heart;
Stabs you in the back,
Body doesn't heal.
Finger on the prize,
The prize runs wild.
Run while you can,
Body never lies.
Never mind the youth,
Never on time.
The wise are coming,
Rise for the cause.
Pull the trigger;
The target; man-made.
Preach to a choir,
Not yet met.
Save a life,
Not from an enemy,
But the self.
Faith in freedom;
Parade keeps on.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2016
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
The Wind, my channel.
The Pain, my past.
The Rain, my companion.
The Suffering, my past.
The Trees, my protector.
The Annoyance, my past.
The Fire, my reminder.
The Aggression, my past.
The Sun, my provider.
The Frustration, my past.
The Visions, my adviser.
The Disappointments, my past.
The Insight, my friend.
The Anxiety, my past.
The Lovemaking, my passion.
The Suspicion, my past.
Her Smile, my objective.
The Hesitation, my past.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2012
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
The quickness of the hand is replaced by the sudden sight of an immobile body.
This body, free from attack yet as common as you and I.
Wrapping behind the other, the legs meet, suggesting the motion of a female.
There is a nod of acknowledgement, yet too far from understanding.
Attainment-out of the question, but the human body perfected.
This naturalness causes envy, yet is a temporary reaction.
A lightness is masked by vulgarity, which easily can be disarmed.
A bond is craved, yet never fully realized.
Considered seeker of truth, but only speaks of it.
There is confusion within the finesse,
Yet others will dance around it, indulging in their own interpretation.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2016
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
A tenderness only he can explain,
Fluid like the rivers that filled his heart.
A free spirit, yet family played a constant role.
Kicking back while the rays playfully washed away worry.
Living in the moment, he never took tomorrow for granted.
Through rain or shine, he will be remembered daily.
Father, we miss you greatly, this is not an end, but a new beginning.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2018
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
A freed culture plays with possibilities, with hearts in heat and no distractions in sight. Running through masterpieces they go beyond the limitations of themselves. No need for self protection- their communities stand tall. Art: Dead and forgotten; nature’s magic speaks to them. The world exists; the beginning of abundance.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2016
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
Spins the floor that is marked by her feet.
Her mind sober, yet her heart weeps.
Soldiers of rejection line her vision,
a confrontation not quite ready for.
An extended invitation;
so badly did she want to shred,
yet her fragile loneliness told her otherwise.
Once a vessel filled with flowers,
her heart now shriveled like fruit in heat.
She missed the passion behind the silent stares,
sometimes dragging on for mile stretches.
The stench of his disposition lingering on,
with no sight of honest closure.
With slender hope, she pushes forward with
her back toward the darkened day.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2016
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Sara Ajemyan Poem
The politeness ate at itself until what was left; the bare bones of anger.
This rage didn't find pleasure in the company of others.
It sat in a corner, conjuring up schemes that slowly collected dust.
There by his side, laid a mysterious book, when opened revealed nothing but vacant pages.
In the dampness of the couch, he sat staring into it mumbling feverishly.
What seemed to outdo eternity, suddenly a swift motion surprised his own senses.
His hand found the finely carved wrinkles around her neck, carefully tracing where it ended.
Like a complex map, her body reflected old age yet a strange sense of innocence.
He found mad pleasure in seeing such purity in her worn soul vehicle.
The ritual was about to take place, euphoria suddenly occupying his vision.
Winter of terror filled her whites while her weak arms tried to push him away.
Bloodshot and blue, her limbs merged with the furniture; cold and unconscious.
Copyright © Sara Ajemyan | Year Posted 2016
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