Kevork Kalayjian

Armenians have been going from one crisis to the next, from genocide, deportation, armed resistance, revolutions, responding to earthquakes, blockade, and of course to the urgency of the problems that need to be addressed today. The short-sighted approach for profits now, has derailed the people and the leadership in Armenia from setting priorities that should have used domestic resources, and foreign aid with strategies for success to invest with purpose into the future of the nation....

Առաւօտեան արեւը ողողած էր պայծառ՛ կապոյտ Երկինքը՝ գործի մղող ջերմութեամբ: Մինչ սիրտդ, վիրաւոր թռչունի մը արիւնոտ Կուրծքին պէս կը բաբախէ յուսահատ: Ի՞նչ է այս ցաւը, որ դուն քեզի կու տաս Սիրոյ խաբկանք մը ունենալու համար, Որո՞ւն համար կը բաբախէ վիրաւոր թռչնակին Կեանքի համար կռուոծ սիրտը՝ Մինչ փետուրներուն վրայ իր արիւնը կը լերդանայ Ապրելու, սիրելու, սիրուելու կարօտով: Այս վէրքով չէ՞ որ մարդիկ հաւատք կը կերտեն, Իրենց ներաշխարհը յուսադրելու համար, Ու փարթամ տաճարներ կը կառուցեն աղօթելու,...

Որքան ալ հրեշտակային ըլլան իմ սիրոյ երազանգները Ծիածաններէ գունազարդ ըլլան իմ զգացումներու երանգները Նորածին ծիածանի շողերով փայլին և ջերմացնեն իմ սիրոյ խոսքերը Մայրամուտի մելամաղցոտ ամչկոտութեամբ կարմրին իմ այտերը Տակաւին ես չեմ արտօներ որ լեզուս արտայայտէ այդ զգացումները: Ես իրաւունք չունիմ խանագարելու տիեզերքի հաւասակշռութիւնը Ես ո՞վ եմ որ քարուքանդ դարձնեմ կարուցուած հաւատքները, Ի՞՜նչ անձնակործան մեղանչանքներով նոր ծրագիրներ մշակեմ Մոլորակներու և անհատներու կեանքը խանգարեմ Իմ սէրը կը մնայ համբերող, ներող, հասկացող, օգնող, սպասող:...

Ահաւասիկ էջերու տրցակ մը եւս Որ տակաւին չէ գործածուած Փոռձարութիւններ, ապրումներ Տակաւին չեն արձանագրուած Ինծի և քեզի պէս . . . զգացուած Սէրեր որ անծնունդ են մնացած Հրաբխային սրտերու մէջ սանձուած Անթափանց բարութեամբ ծածկուած Ես այս տետրակները ու՞ր պահեմ Որ յանկարծ չգրուած բառերը չերեւին Չ՛արձանագրուած միտքերը իյայտ չգան Չ՛արտասանուած խօստումները յիրաւի Չ՛իրականանան . . . Գէորգ Գալայճեան

Եթէ բառերով փորձեմ սրտիս ու հոգւույս զգացումները արտայայտել քեզի, Անիմաստ ու անհասկնալի բացատրութիւններու շարադրանք մը պիտի լսուի: Եթէ յուսամ որ աչքերուս խօսածը լսես՝ կամ նայուացքներէս ինչ որ բան հասկնաս Յաւիտենական սպասումը՝ վատնուած վարկեաններու կուտակումով պիտի կորսուի: Ներէ ինծի որ այս ճշմարտութիւնը չեմ կարող խօստուանիլ ոերեւէ մէկի և այսպէս ես իմ կեանքը կը շարունակեմ միայն խաբելով ես ինծի: Կը շարունակեմ աշխատիլ, ջանալով օգտակար դառնալ ըստ կարիքի Մաքրամաքուր բարոյականութեամբ նժարը պահել բարութեան կողմին...

We live the joyous outbursts of energy in the death march of an ancient civilization as we see our language decay, we justify our laziness with the examples of lost cultures. our books are stored in storage boxes waiting to be exhibited by museums where our shame is sheltered, sealed within the walls of fear of being different! It was so easy to overcome organized persecution, segregation religious intolerance, and color differentiation, all those were a breeze compared to the government organized race annihilation, the definite death in the unending desert sand, but we don’t care to find out how to overcome this new threat This new partition, based on the ability to spend cash on Berger King, Pizza and movies, or charging our future on such classy items as, Four Seasons, Disney’s, health spas, or searching connections with jazz, rap, or Yo Yo Ma....

When I tried to conquer the secret of friendship, warmth and understanding, -its love- I was told -and it’s too demanding it needs nurturing, it needs attention, you have to give up some ideals here, sacrifice preferences, reshuffle your goals earthly or otherwise, and must concentrate on loving the flower you choose-. I went to the rose, which was vibrant and wild, her fragrance was uncommon, and her touch was magical, and she asked me if I could love her, “just a little bit”, and I asked her, if she could love me, just a little bit....

Why are you here Listening to these repetitions Of rhyme, rhythm, and roar Oscillating music of Imperfect monotones Mesmerizing, hypnotizing and Capturing, no captivating you with Deception and titillating vision # Emancipating your imagination From this boring stuff, which helps you see The excellence in the reader before me, The fantastic in the performer after me. Yet you focus on the walls, the ceiling, the tablecloth As they tell you all the secrets hidden in time Observed and recorded from different angles From different ages # fanatical outbursts on the run....

The sky is more expensive here simply because there are too many windows. It’s no use, but you keep on trying You press the elevator button for the top floor, The lights will indicate that you are going up But down and down you will go Till you reach the temple of faith, There, prayer consists of rearranging the furniture, Until by chance, you will find the invocation, The furniture arrangement, which will please their Gods....

One click! The stapler joins the pages together like the days in my life days are added on the stack some are empty; some are half-full, others are so dense and crowded it’s so hard to make sense of anything. My days! Unmarked pages of a book waiting to be deciphered highlighted, numbered and grouped together in chapters given to an artist to illustrate, so that you will be able to relate maybe even appreciate so much so that you might consider keeping, to read, to express an opinion, and then to declare that...

Someday, when you are running to the train station, or when, you are strolling in the park, lazily, looking at the falling leaf, coming down from the blue sky, you will notice another pair of eyes, and you will wonder, if … enjoyment has yet another dimension with an unacquainted pair of eyes, then you will also ponder, whether we are moved by the forces of pleasure and profit alone, or whether we are driven by that illogical, undiscoverable, magical feeling inside us....

Discover the face placed on your destiny The past might be curious, enlightening, yet deadlocked It was said, ’there would not be’ its never late To learn the skill of discovery, it’s as learning truth it was said that ’ disappearance will occur after 2.5' What kind of unit is 2.5 love, separation, and infertility? A face will be discovered in a destiny, the past is deadlocked! At one stroke of a hammer solely to smash glass...

First you have to add all your expenses. An expense is any outlay of cash, or anything of monetary value which is deemed necessary to get you that which drives you; to repeat the noises you hear, to convey the feelings you live, to express the things you imagine, to transform the pain to laughter, to put tears in the eye of the cynic, to put a smile on a child’s face, that which you call inspiration....

march to death an ancient civilization native language silenced. Look at lost cultures! Manuscripts where our shame is sheltered, sealed within the walls of fear of being different! organized persecution, segregation religious intolerance, and color differentiation, government organized race annihilation, the definite death on the unending desert sand. Now we are tired to overcome this new threat. This new partition, based on the ability to spend cash on Berger King, Pizza and movies, or charging our future on such classy items as, Four Seasons, Disney’s, health spas, or searching connections with jazz, rap, or Yo Yo Ma....

It was light, like thin air a vague suspended state where everything could matter less or anything could matter more compared to others, distant, detached hazy others.

(for those who can make the ultimate sacrifice) Contrary to popular belief there is no good war or bad war. There is no ‘good’ or ‘bad’ in the first place. This is an attempt to take you out of the boundaries of virtue, and evil, to a new horizon a wider perspective. Please be careful and don’t assume that I might be fair, unbiased, educated, unprejudiced, or any other meaningless thing like that....

while the farmer thinks of the children who already grew to leave the land behind to search for a home. Like a newborn the farmer looks at the spring sky full of promise when the produce will be ready to sell when the fruits will ripe full of promise.

It was light, like thin air a vague suspended state where everything could matter less or anything could matter more compared to others, distant, detached hazy others. But what mattered more, was this one person, this individual, who was not just one anymore, since she was composed of; her, me and the entire world together. Not together like in an alphabet soup, but rather like a beautiful collage of none prescription inclusions of very special feelings, sensitivities made of delicate sentimental mental states, specifically made for this utterly uplifting occasion, which should not be called an occasion because it is more of a preoccupation, an overgrowth of involvement, deprived and eager to conquer lost time and space, it stretches beyond the heart, empowers the mind, with thoughts beyond the acceptable and the imaginable, it ignites the soul, which now conquers memory, it propagates creativity, it harnesses imagination, it liberates dreams....

A trip to the Native American village I like feathers because they are pretty. I like to talk to Santa Clause because I like my Christmas Tree. There are nine pumpkins in the village My friends play with me I like to play with toys, Martin Luther King saved the world. I like my friends and my aunt I like to swim in a hotel pool. I like dinosaurs because Triceratops eats plants....

I prefer to keep myself sorrowful and gloomy by giving my happiness to the gliding breeze. I like to let my endeavors falter and fail by tripping over my last step of accomplishments, abandoning titles by forgetting the roster of my skills. At the critical moment when you are depending on me, I rather cry like a newborn, in witness of the awesome stature, strength, and fame of strangers...

strangers in our own untranslatable paradise we wait for the discovery of new colors and hues to depict what we felt. Taking refuge in intensely personal emotions so extraordinary, that when we try to verbalize we sound like babbling toddlers. we have our daily routine blanketing the deep stillness of treasures so rare planted in each of us by the other defying dimensions of time place and destiny in the clear shiny night the stars keep on singing the sparkling songs of the crickets

You know where Winnipeg is don’t you I was born there. I worked with my father On a farm, we raised cattle I had nine sisters. Come here, Let me tell you a story; One day we were killing cattle, With my father you know I was tying them tight with ropes To keep them still, you see? And my father told me, ‘I’m gonna Kill the next one at the spot where you look at the animal’, and you know, I was looking at the animal right in the eye Guess how old I am?...

Dissolved pupils of the eye floating in search of melted conscience, pitiful, disdained mermaids turning in automatic dishwashers lost fragments of clouds deodorizing laundry bleached charcoal sitting in a powder state waiting for enough liquid vapors to solidify again under the transparent shelf below the garlic salad next to the peeled watermelon, artificially engineered to render seedless almost like the cat pruned and clawless. Dissolved intellect dwelling in cynicism discovering new explanations for all the wrongs the useless expenditures, the failing grades, The decaying health, the dull morale… failing intellect queued up at the entrance, of the comedy clubs, the dance Mecca’s the unemployment lines, the stadiums, and finally at the SAT-college admissions or was it registration line Defrosted purpose made of diluted pupils to see only here and now can find no value in the past nor can envision the promise of a future...

The realization of the loss made me feel hopelessly useless I was fearful, vulnerable, motionless, incapacitated by my inability to move, to go, to leave! A sudden sense of primitive humanness assaulted into my existence, shaking, shattering, and ultimately reshaping all pre-learned notions of reality, and acceptable norms of behavior. There I was ready to use my arms, legs, and teeth to break into that locked door, I was ready to scavenge any road- side dump to find a tool, which will help me open that metal and glass access …...

The land where my people lived once was being shown on TV for its pristine beauty for having vast stretches of untouched nature and scattered remains of the ruins of an ancient glory. The fertile land that I was forbidden to touch the picturesque mountains that I haven’t climbed were being showcased on TV to encourage tourism and entice new peoples to settle the depopulated land My land etched in my soul with its rich heritage and history was on sale together with the enslaved souls of my ancestors....

They will definitely reappear among the brightest of the stars when the urge to discover blasts the dust of ignored durations. Humans only recently began observing the traveling light and gave them names of heroes from a legendary past soon the heroes and the stars were sold to the philanthropists with loved ones, not loved enough. If only there was some light In thoughts or even instincts You would be able to see, stars....

Lit like a spotlight, the moon directed attention onto the fast moving clouds of the dry skies. A cat was waiting on the top of the roof, for the perfect moment to hop on the moon. It was such a pleasure to watch the highlights focused on the naked curves and the openings in the clouds, against a background of dark blue, as they danced to rouse and seize attention without demanding a mandatory entrance fee or a minimum number of drinks requirement....

what’s the use of looking beyond the transparent glass when you cannot let your soul travel out and away from you, to experience the wildness of the forests, the infinity of the skies, the uncertainties beyond the first horizon. and don’t you look at me like that! I am not the one who can show you how! you have to give birth to your love within you! as for me, well I …...

high on the clouds there was this one droplet of condensed clouds, almost liquid, water it was, and as soon as the milkiness of the steam in it began to disappear, the globule started to see. And it was the first thing, the pear shaped pearl of water saw, down there high up on the very top of a tree a green leaf … this leaf was different from all the others, the ones on the same tree, and the ones on the various nearby trees....

Incoherent voices stemming from awareness require gratification right at this minute when the present is not realized. The result is this headache which you sanitize by naming it an ‘unbalanced state’ a hangover as if placing stinking garbage in a transparent plastic bag. You understand of course how different it is, watching the fish from the transparent side of her prison, when you witness the view, knowing well that you don’t have the right to see the animal in that fashion, penetrating the intimacy of her routine without her permission and just for that, she takes your casual glance, bewitches it into a gaze, your awareness lost, and with mesmerizing motions, conquers your consciousness, now you are in a most unselfish stage you want to give everything generously she rejuvenates and recharges her vitality feeding on your abandoned awareness, as you stare at her dexterity, until there is only ....

Do you want to go back to your previous lover? Are you serious about falling in love again with the person of so many years ago? All you have to do is to be friends with me, then become intimate a little bit and wham, or swish all of a sudden it will come back to you, and you will realize that you and your ex belong together. It’s not a theory it has been tested....

When you are in love You are in an unimaginable state, As if you are in your mother’s womb. A feeling which you have experienced But you cannot recollect - To come out of it, to be real again, You have to go through the shock Of coming to this world, the pain of birth, You have to cry, and you might seek help. Your occasional smiles are wrinkled The sadness - does not go away, No matter how many lines are drawn on your face Or how many new meaningful relationships Or new friends you have made again....

Clouds of marble In shades of sunlight Define the skies To my heart. Leaves of autumn flutter Dancing between the sidewalks In the vacant roads, Despite the red stop sign Near the corner of the street. My soul is also dancing Like the dry autumn leaves Full of hope, love and magic, In a jubilant crowd it appears, But it’s a crazy, lonesome dance The dance of dry autumn leaves....

It’s all around us, like a silky mist that looms, surrounding our Souls. the piercing pain in the pit of my Stomach, like pale eyes peering in my lies. the Acid that inches up, the Pulse that I hear, the Tears that roll, the Truth that I fear, this dread that I hold now I know, I wish, I knew, To be the change I wish to see. left there, on my knees, Elbows scraping the carpet, Hands over my Eyes, There is no world if I can’t see one....

and the road led to nowhere since I was a wondering Gypsy and it happened during travel on the road from pain to pleasure I gave birth to two unruly spirits made of fire and water like a ditokous homeless mother. and I carried my offsprings with me, on the road from home to the desert, in my basket of dreams determined to shape both of them with the power and the discipline appropriate for the circus role applicable to the prevailing market trend, with the trick to win the most applause the feats that will collect more rewards, … an alphabet taught on the desert sand trampling over the rocks and thorns stepping onto the wilderness with bleeding feet satisfying the scorched earth with blood without admitting pain or sorrow, to overcome...

BzzzzzzzzzzzZZZzzz My Mosquito By Kevork K. Kalayjian, Jr. I woke up afterwards Naked on the beach, There was a swelling In the very bottom of my belly Lost in the pubic hair. “It’s not a dormant clitoris.” The doctor said, “You don’t need a sex change operation, It’s only a mosquito bite.” Ever since by birth My mosquito has been with me Wherever and whenever I am, From the dingiest restaurants to the most decorous bedrooms....

Piece by piece splinters of my heart are carved freeze dried, preserved, and displayed In the museums of ancient history, art and culture. So mighty is my past and so crippled my present That no one sees me, they talk about me as if I am ancient history, an irrelevant occurrence of a magnificent past. No one can see my bleeding heart No one can hear my deafening cries of pain As they cut me to small pieces, to preserve me…...