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#armenian

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earthling

Don't Court Loneliness by Tathev Simonyan

Don’t court Loneliness; She will never leave.
Do not bow to Her; don’t offer your soul,
for the lips that kiss will turn into chains,
and Her warmth will freeze
the blood in your veins.
Don’t court Loneliness, She'll feed you to Grief
and burn what remains.

via metamorphesque



Don’t court Loneliness; She will never leave. Don’t take Her to bed; do not raise your hand, and trace her rivers with trembling fingers, for Her smell lingers and won’t go away. Don’t court Loneliness, for She will linger. Don’t whisper Her name; She will answer back. Don’t speak in the dark; do not let Her hear, and echo your words in the dusky light, for Her breath will dight the wounds of your skin. Don’t court Loneliness, for Her voice unsights. Don’t offer Her wine; She will sip it slow. Do not hear Her sing; do not let Her sway, and dance in the corners of your dim-lit room; it’s a treacherous tune and will never fade. Don’t court Loneliness, don’t dance to your doom. Don’t court Loneliness; She will never leave. Do not bow to Her; don’t offer your soul, for the lips that kiss will turn into chains, and Her warmth will freeze the blood in your veins. Don’t court Loneliness, She'll feed you to Grief and burn what remains.
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Morgan Fletcher :vbike:

@cstross @futurebird in the very good #Empire podcast episode 36, The #Armenian #Genocide: Road to the Deportations: "You know, I think that a lot of historians are trying to portray the meetings between Şakir and Talaat Pasha in such a light. But, you know, all we know is out of their deliberations, we have both a public law passed for the deportation of Armenians. And that is public, that's a matter of public record, that Armenians were by government order to leave their villages and be taken into deportation camps by the authorities. And then a series of secret orders, which were really communicated verbally by Dr. Şakir in many cases himself. He traveled around Eastern Anatolia or else by leading secretaries of the Committee of Union Progress in their regional provinces to call for the mass murder, particularly of the men detained.

tapesearch.com/episode/the-arm

1/3

www.tapesearch.comEvery Podcast Conversation at Your FingertipsStop listening to hours of podcasts to find what you need. Search transcripts instantly and discover insights others miss.
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earthling

Dead Doesn't Mean Absent by Tathev Simonyan

Dead doesn’t mean absent.

Dead doesn’t mean I've stopped setting a plate for you
at our kitchen table.

Dead doesn’t mean forgotten.

Dead doesn’t mean the music stops,

or that your laugh has no echo.

I still hear you in the creak of the floorboards,

see you in the blue hues of the morning,

feel you in the sunlight pooling on your chair.

Dead doesn’t mean gone.

(...)

via metamorphesque



Dead doesn’t mean absent. Dead doesn’t mean I've stopped setting a plate for you at our kitchen table. Dead doesn’t mean forgotten. Dead doesn’t mean the music stops, or that your laugh has no echo. I still hear you in the creak of the floorboards, see you in the blue hues of the morning, feel you in the sunlight pooling on your chair. Dead doesn’t mean gone. You’re the space between my breaths, the pause before I dare to speak your name aloud, as if the air still welcomes your voice better than mine. Dead doesn’t mean I let go. I keep your coffee mug by the sink, your favorite book on the nightstand, and the scent of you folded into the blankets I can’t wash away. Dead doesn’t mean an end. It means carrying you in the quietest of times; the world gallops on, but I slow it here—in this room, where the light still falls as it did when you were here; I keep you anchored here— in the rituals, in the ordinary, in the space where absence becomes presence. I make a shrine of the mundane, and there are two plates on the table— one for me, and one for the memory of you.
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earthling

"If there is no love...", Vahan Teryan (translated by Tathev Simonyan)

If there is no love – then, tell me, what for
Must I strive and toil in this wicked world?
I’ll retreat to the dark embrace of earth,
And shall fall silent, as if turned to stone:
Let the cold heavens sneer at my expense,
Let the earth revel in its greedy feast -
If stars hold no meaning, no divine intent,
If no one hearkens to the prayers I send…

via metamorphesque




Orpheus leading Eurydice from the Underworld, Corot, 1861
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