sometimes my heart takes me
to the walled courtyards of the Old City
to the streets where my նենե (grandmother)
laughed and played
and carved her initials into stonesometimes it calls me to
sandstone cities
and undulating deserts
where my ancestors fled and
where the mosque’s
haunting prayers stir
my sleeping soulsometimes i hear
the melancholy songs of
my mother tongue
and i long to stand on the հող (dirt)
half of my being was formed from,
to dig my toes into my
rootssometimes i’m drawn towards
places i do not know, but
that i hear calling mebut louder than the voices
echoing in ancient monasteries
and stronger than the force of
my meandering spirit
is the pull to youyou are where I ache to go back to
Tag: wanderlust
i am restless
within, aching
for wildness
running after a dream
unsure of what it isi am hungry for dirt
and the smell of
rain,
i feel uncooked inside
i am not ready to give myself
to anything
because there is so much to know
so much to yearn for,
to lovei wonder what would silence
the hunger.
it was my first word
at thirteen months old
and my first word to you when
i met you on the train to Zurich.
do you remember? we huddled
next to each other in our seats
and with warm breath whispered
about our dreams
while the rain hit the windows.
this was your seventh stop
on a journey to see the world,
i was looking for a corner to call home.
excitement numbed our lips, teeth
hit teeth and
we laughed
bumping noses
warm breath
warm breath and
you could almost feel the magnetic
field around us in
that little corner of the world as
it rolled past in our windows.
mother, the sea
is calling out for me;
don’t you hear it through
the windows? and i
want nothing more
than to see it’s every shore
i want to be
under every inch
of the sky, wherever it
ends.
i want to walk
on every stone,
every road,
every blade
of grass. but
there are more grains
of sand in this world
than there are seconds
in my life and i am
already running out of time.
a drowning desire
to dream, you touch my
shoulder and push me to
sleep.
spin cotton candy from
my spine, pour words over
me like maple syrup and
i will taste them, like
black and white memories,
when i wake.i’m sailing face down
on this ship,
with dinosaur theories
on rippling white waves, and now
i’m running fast
on Italy’s shores;
running towards
crystal green promises
you try not to blink
away;running faster until
i’m flying
above rooftops to
my grandfather’s heart.