‘It is yours,’ I said. ‘Yes, it is mine,’ you agreed. Your belly will grow and I will read poetry to your swelling, pink flesh. I will nurture you with Hayastan food. We will be as one. ……………….. silence ‘It is yours,’ I cried. ‘No, it is not,’ you muttered. ……………….. nothing.
My Own
Armenian News Network / Groong
November 5, 2005
November 5, 2005
This is an archival article originally published on November 5, 2005.
Information may be outdated.