Twenty Twenty-Two, Between You Two

April of my life. April of my years.

April in the sun, April in ashes gone

She rode into moonlight, ghost of a village lost

Her hair black and silky, tainted, torn, scalped

Her flurry, her glory, humble obedient family

Girl with a future. A whiff of freedom, esprit

A new century, domestic skills a tyranny

A slight hope, cracked hint, salvation, glee.

In the evening, fires burn, dire screams

In the day, rape, sport, bets, bellies torn

Tis a boy, no, a girl, tis dead, is all

Gyavur, pollute and soil no more.

A Kafir, a sip of coffee while cleaning the dagger’s tip

A smile, a dance, a fire, a scream is this the Turk of 2015?

The Azeri of 2021? Bayrakdar as Viagra, prowess indeed?

Is this Russia dealing lies, promises, empty words and deeds?

Armenians lost again in a sea of ambitions twirling around them

Israel, Georgia, Pakistan, as allies, to the nose of Baku oil Billions

Spilling into the black sea.

Our blood as windshield wiper fluid, debris.

Bedros Afeyan

3-30-2022

Beverly Hills, CA