Friday, December 28, 2012

The Colour Of Loneliness

   Loneliness can have different shades, but it's always the same colour - white.
White... The colour that has all the other colours inside it, but at the same time it's so unnoticeable. The white can always be there, but you can't see it unless there's some darkness around it. Just like the white colour, we all have the feeling of loneliness inside us, but it comes out only during the hard times. The scariest thing about loneliness is that it is everywhere. It can meet you in an empty room or follow you among the crowds. Loneliness is an inner feeling, there for it's harder to control. You can't avoid it, you can't hide from it or keep it away from yourself. Loneliness is a part of all of us, it lives in everyone. We have no choice but to fight it, unless it is strong enough to take over.

Loneliness can have different shades, but it's always the same colour - white...


                                                                                                     © LiLit Ghazaryan

Thursday, November 22, 2012

The Ocean Of My Love

   Love... It's like jumping into the river without knowing how to swim, without having any guarantees that you will survive...

   And even if you die, you know it's going to be worth it. Blinded by the emotions you are willing to give everything for the feeling you have while jumping off the bridge. You don't think about the consequences while flying in the air, feeling the true freedom. You are willing to jump into the river, knowing it might be the end, just for those couple seconds of happiness, freedom and unity with yourself.

   Just like the love stories, the rivers are also different from one another. Some choose the nice and calm rivers, that give them peace and comfort. Others prefer the crazy rivers, live along the risks, dangers, speed. Some step off the small bridges, so close to the river. They just walk into the water and start their way with the calm river. But some choose the high, dangerous bridges. They are hunting for the feeling of satisfaction they will get when reaching the river after jumping off the bridge, risking everything, including their on lives.
    Just like all the rivers, the love stories also have different rocks and difficulties on their way. Some people fight against the big rocks on their way, others find a boat and make the road easier. But there always will be those who will use the same boat to just run away from their love, to get closer to the shore and get as far from the river as possible.

   Love is just like a river... calm in the morning, crazy at night and faster the next afternoon...
   Love is just like a river... somewhere closer to the bridge, somewhere further from the shore...
   Love is just like a river... It can be full of spring flowers and autumn leaves, that fell into its waters, but it can also be full of rocks and dangers...
  
    What about me? What kind of river did I choose? How high did I jump for my love? What risks was I willing to take?
     I did not choose a river at all, because I was chosen by the deepest waters of the ocean. There were no rocks on my way, because I had miles and miles of the open ocean to fight against. I had to cross the half of the globe, crossing the endless waters of the ocean, without knowing how to swim.

   Love is like a river and you choose the kind you want to fall into, unless you get chosen by the ocean...


                                                                                                            © LiLit Ghazaryan 

Friday, November 16, 2012

We Can Fly People

  The book of the past... I opened it again and the old pages started telling the old story. I don't even know what makes me go back. Did I miss the old tale? Maybe. I don't want to go back, I don't want to go through that anymore. But still, something forces me to go through those old, dusty pages, to read them one more time, to read out loud. Why?
  I want to change the ending of the story. I want it to be more realistic or just less selfish. We made it all so complicated, people always do that. I wanted the story to have a simple ending, something that is expected, but leaves no marks.
I want to change the ending, to make it so small and unimportant so that I will never look back to the old pages. I want it to be so certain and even boring so that the old book never interests me anymore. I want to change the ending, so I can simply move on and forget the old book.
  How funny... We people are so funny and poor. We take the smallest matters and turn them into a giant book. We take a sentence with no meaning and follow it for the rest of our lives, our pathetic lives. We give meanings to things that are not important. We are scared of the facts that maybe do not even exist outside of our imagination. Maybe we live nowhere else but in our minds. Maybe we are nothing else but characters of somebody's dream. Eventually that person will wake up, we will vanish away, the dream will be over. There will be nothing left, the dream will be gone, we will be gone... Everything will be gone, except those worries that we created long time ago. Those worries will still be hanging from trees like empty jars, with a strong surroundings and no meanings inside. Is that all we leave to this world? Empty jars of worries and problems? How about colourful balloons, full of smiles? How about bright lights, decorating the dark streets? How about light paper planes taking our dreams to the wonderland? How about...
  When did it happen? When did we start carrying those heavy bags of books? Why do we still carry those books of the past events? Why? We could fly. People could fly if they wanted to. I could fly if I was strong enough to leave those old books. But no! We carry them, we take them with us everywhere! We go back, read the same pages over and over again, delete the word and replace it with a one that is more aggressive, more painful. And we keep reading it, imagining it, again and again, again and again... and again... again... again
   I'm tired people, I want to fly. I want to  be as light as a feather in the wind. I don't know about you, but I'm throwing my old books away.
  I want to fly! I am going to fly!

                                                                                                                     © LiLit Ghazaryan  

Saturday, October 6, 2012

The "Nothing" is Talking

  -How pathetic...
  -What's pathetic?
  -I'm pathetic!
  -You?
  -Yes! Me! Just look at me. Sitting here all lost and confused, acting like a lost little bird on a strange land. But then I think am I acting? Maybe I am lost in a strange land.
  I'm pathetic.
  Is there a mirror here?
  -Why do you need a mirror?
  -Why?! To look at myself, to look at me face and try to figure out if there are any features left. To try to understand if I have at least a drop of character left.
  Mirror... Do you see anything there?
  -I see your reflection
  -Am, I beautiful?
  -Well, you look pretty.
  -Pretty... nah, I'm pathetic. Look! There is nothing, just emptiness. My eyes... they are almost gone, I can see nothing in my eyes. And they were so deep and full of emotions once. Do you think I've lost my emotions?
  -I don't know
  -Well, I do. And yes, I did! I lost everything that showed that this person is me, actually was me. Who am I now? Nobody, nothing, an empty space, a mistake. But no, if I was a mistake people would at least notice me, some would try to fix me, but nobody sees me, so I am nothing.
  I'm nothing people!
  Can you hear me?
  I'm nothing!
  How sad is that, they can't even hear me.
  -But I can
  -You? You can't even talk
  -Yes i can. I am talking now.
  -No my friend, you are not. If not me then you wouldn't talk at all. You are just my imagination. But wait, I said that I am nothing, so I guess I can't have imagination either and that means, my friend, that you are also nothing.
  We just don't exist!
  Me and You!

                                                                                                                              © LiLit Ghazaryan  

Thursday, September 13, 2012

I Want to be Your Emptiness

  Your silence...
  It's killing me.
  I sit there right next to you, trying to figure out what's going on, doing anything possible to pull out a single word from your mouth, but all you do is just sit there quiet. Without making a single move, you're staring at the same place, at the same emptiness. You don't say a single word, you don't even move your eyes and I can see the same emptiness reflecting in your own eyes. I sit so close to you and still I can't reach you. You just close yourself up, you don't let me get closer to your soul, you build a wall between us in your mind, against which I'm powerless, I'm nothing.
  Why?
Until this very day there's a part of you that you're still hiding from me. Even after I've opened up myself like a book in front of you, you still have dark corners hiding somewhere, not letting the light reach them.
  Am I still a stranger?
  I thought I had won your trust a long time ago, but turns out it was not enough. You broke me, you opened up my eyes. No matter how close I get, you still keep a distance between us. Why?
  How silly of me to believe that this was something different, that there was nothing but a see-through curtain between us and our hearts. Now I see that it's a cage, a glass cage hiding you from all, including me.
  So simple and yet so deep...
  So close and yet still so far...
  Right when I thought I've reached you, you back up again.
  Am I asking for too much?

  I just want to be truly close to you. I wanna be there. I want you to stare at me and not at the empty space. And yes, I will even be willing to be that emptiness for you, just stare at me next time, I will be your emptiness, please, stare at your emptiness... Stare at me...

                                                                                                                          © LiLit Ghazaryan  

Sunday, August 12, 2012

The Midnight Sun

   Don't ask me any questions my friend, I don't have answers for you, I don't even have any answer for myself.
   Does it hurt? Not anymore. It's been painful for so long that now the pain has turned into a part of me, a small piece that I have to carry with myself, because the reality is that it will never leave me. That piece is you, my friend, you and the distance that is standing between us.
   Did I need to go through all of this to realize who you really are for me? No, I knew it already. What was this journey all about? What was the meaning behind it? How could I be so blind? Leaving all you have for gaining something you wanted so badly... Was it worth the price? Was it a wise decision or a reflection of the wish staring at me?
   I tore myself into two pieces, two parts that will always be fighting against each other. Will the battle ever end? No, it's a part of me, a  part of the struggle I carry around within my broken soul. I draw a self-portrait with two different faces staring at one another. I turned my soul into a hallway with sliding doors and the ghosts of the memories keep hunting each other in those hallways. I did this to myself. I divided myself into two selves that are so alike and so different at the same time.
   I watch sunset while the other part of me desires to see the sunrise at that very moment. I try to get lost in the darkness of the night and the other half of me is seeking for light and sunshine. I stare  at the moon while the other self of mine sees the sun in the bright afternoon sky.
   And what do I get as  a result? A sunset followed my morning, the sun shining around the midnight stars.

   Don't ask me questions my friend, I myself have a lot of them, but I've stopped asking any. I blindly look at the sun, shining brightly in the middle of the night, surrounded by millions of stars...


                                                                                                                          © LiLit Ghazaryan 
  

Sunday, August 5, 2012

The Damaging Help

   I was standing in line, waiting for my turn to check in. Another flight was waiting for me, another short trip about which I was neither excited, nor worried. Two people were standing in front of me. From their conversation I figured out that they were father and daughter. The daughter was a young woman and it was obvious that she had a visual disability.
   I was busy with my own thoughts and was not really paying attention to them until their turn came to check in. The assistants wanted to help the woman and carry her on a wheelchair. The father was trying to explain that she didn't need any help, but they insisted. That's when he lost control over himself. Seeing that the staff did not pay any attention to what he was saying the old man got so upset that started to yell: "My daughter is blind, but her feet are fine, she can walk perfectly! She just doesn't see, but she can walk to the airplane herself..."
  "It's ok dad" was the only think the daughter said and sat on the wheelchair.
   The father's eyes turned sad, the upset impression turned into a feeling of guilt, he looked sorry, sorry for his daughter and for himself. There was so much pain on his face, he would probably just sit there in the middle of the airport and cry if he was not so embarrassed. He was watching his daughter leave on a wheelchair, feeling completely helpless himself.

   I was already on the flight back home, but I could still hear the old man's voice: "My daughter can't see, but her feet are perfectly fine!"

                                                                                                                                                               © LiLit Ghazaryan 

Thursday, June 7, 2012

The Monster... Jealousy


  I look at you again with that tricky smile and ask "Are you jealous?". Even if you are, you try to hide it using all your professionalism, without even realizing that the only answer I want to hear is... "Yes".

  Yes, I want you to be jealous, maybe just for making sure that you still care. I need your jealousy as a sign of care, attention, as a proof  that I'm still loved and wanted. Yes, I want you to be jealous, I want you to feel how it hurts. I want you to realize that love is not always sweet, romantic and nice.
 You think I'm cruel? I'm just weak, I'm lost in my own game. Why? Because of all the other ways I choose the most silliest one just to be sure that you still love me. How stupid of me... And how risky at the same time. I know, I know that every second you can just walk away, that's what the jealousy does. It's like the narrow line I walk by and I can fell on any side of the border every second.
  I fight against a non-existing wall between us, creating a real one. I'm walking through the fire, hoping it will bring back the flame of our love and instead it's burning the only connecting bridge we have left.
 "Are you jealous?" Please say "Yes"... Please...

Jealousy is a monster, it can be cruel, bitter and blind.
But there's  a kind of jealousy that we all need sometimes.

Are you jealous?
It's not the question that matters, but the answer...  Sometimes...

                                                                                                                   © LiLit Ghazaryan


Monday, May 28, 2012

The Shadows in Love

Photo by LiLit G


... and our shadows fell in love.

  To love... 
It's when you always see he's reflection right next to you every single time you look at yourself in a mirror. It's when your shadows follow one another no matter if you are together or not, close to each other or apart. 

  To be loved... 
It's when he's looking right into your soul through your eyes even when he's not facing you. It's when he touches you with his look and whispers gentle words with his silence.
  
Together as one... 
It's when your shadows fall in love.



                                                                                                                            © LiLit Ghazaryan

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Գրիչն էլ զենք է

   Մեր կյանքը պայքար է: Պայքարում ենք բոլորս, պայքարում ենք ամեն օր: պայքարում ենք գոյատևման, մեր նպատակների ու երազանքների համար: Պայքարում ենք, որ հասնենք ավելիին: Պայքարում ենք չարի ու վատի դեմ: Աշխատում ենք գտնել բարու փոքրիկ բյուրեղիկներ ու դրանցից մեծ բեկորներ ստեղծել: Պայքարում ենք թե՛ մեր, թե՛ շրջապատի խնդիրների դեմ: Մեծ ու փոքր, կարևոր ու անկարևոր, բայց բոլոր այդ խնդիրներն էլ իրենց ուրույն լուծումն են պահանջում: Իսկ ո՞րն է մեր զենքը: Ժամանակի ընթացքում փոխվում են խնդիրները, դրանց հետ միասին փոխվում են նաև զենքերը: Բայց բոլոր այդ զենքերի հետևում կանգնած է հզորագույն ուժերից մեկը՝ մարդու միտքը: Իսկ մարդու միտքն արտահայտելու բոլոր միջոցներից ու ձևերից լավագույնը գրիչն է: Այդ պարզունակ իրը, հայտնվելով մարդու ձեռքում, հոգի է առնում, կերպարանափոխվում է ու շնչավորվում:
Դառնում է բարի կամ դաժան, միամիտ կամ խորամանկ: Չարաճճի մանուկից մի ակնթարթում վերածվում է իմաստուն ծերունու, հեքիաթից տեղափոխվում է դաժան իրականություն: Իր տարբեր ու հետաքրքիր կերպարների խաղացանկում կարևոր տեղ է զբաղեցնում զենքի կերպարը: Դառնալով զենք՝ մարտի է ելնում, գնում պայքարի, բղավում ու զայրանում: Գրիչը դառնում է ամենաքաջ մարտիկն ու ամենատես մարդը: Եվ զենքերից հզորագույնը՝ գրիչը, դուրս է գալիս պայքարի: Շրջում է փողոցներով ու չի անտեսում ոչինչ: Լուռ հայացք է նետում իրականությանն ու գրում: Անվերջ գրում է: Տխուր նայում է փողոցի անկյունում կուչ եկած մուրացկանին, նստում նրա կողքին ու շարունակում գրել: Հետո գրում է անտարբեր անցորդների մասին, որ անցնում են այդ նույն մուրացկանի կողքով ու միայն անտարբեր հայացքներ նետում նրա վրա: Մի անցորդ էլ դրամ է նետում ու ասում.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

Desire and Obligation

When "I want to" and "I need to" meet each other and start to fight again...

"I want to" is what comes inside you, from the corners of your soul, which tries to control you. Your "I need to" is the society, the way you've been brought up, the norms you used to follow all your life, never thinking that those norms might be wrong. You were just following the ideas that did not belong to you, all the while hiding your "I want to" in a small cage, in the furthest corners of your thoughts. But the desire gets stronger one day and keeps reminding you about its existence. Two different sides, two fairs and only one choice. Not an easy decision to make. All you want to do is to follow the voice of your soul, but your fear of the "society" keeps whispering what you really should do and the "I need to" comes back to you again.
-Don't cross the line
-What line?
Didn't you create all those lines yourself? Then just move them a little further, as long as you don't cross the line it doesn't matter how far the line really is. When you yourself follow the "I want to" but show everyone what they want to see, then people will think that you're doing whatever you should, following your "I need to". Isn't everything just great now?
                                                                                                                       © LiLit Ghazaryan

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Harmony

...It can be the strongest power, the desire that can destroy the two for creating the one. The passion kills our ego, our character, personality and makes us go against ourselves for the one in front of us, while that person does the same for us and it creates a new power, a new person with another ego. Probably years later that very same ego will die and vanish away for another person to create a new personality again. This circle keeps going on and repeating itself. We do our best to have our own attitude, we build a personality which should be unique and original, but we create our personality only for loosing it later, when we find the one for whom we will be ready to loose ourselves, not ready but willing to. At that point we don't give questions, we don't care about anything, forget about the long way we've been going through. For that one person we cross all the possible lines we had created ourselves as borders. Is it love? No, it's the passion, the desire that grows stronger then love, walking along with that feeling on the same road. We loose our mind to the point when we are ready to give up everything for the joy and desire. Two people loose themselves to find another personality in each other. They loose everything they had and start creating a new personality, they start creating each other, they build the harmony which leads to a strong combination. Two people loose themselves as individuals to find themselves again, this time not as individuals but as parts of a united character, they find new themselves in each other...


                                                                                                                            © LiLit Ghazaryan

Friday, April 6, 2012

Իմ սիրելի քաղաք

  Ողջույն ընկերս:
  Այսօր քեզ վերևից եմ նայում: Ինքնաթիռի փոքրիկ պատուհանից աշխատում եմ որսալ քո գիշերային ողջ գեղեցկությունը: Լույսեր... Որքան ջերմություն կա քո լույսերում, որքան գեղեցիկ ես ընկերս: Իմ սիրելի քաղաք, իմ Երևան: Վերևից նայում եմ քեզ ու մտածում, որ ժամանակին գուցե չեմ հասկացել քեզ, բայց դու հանդուրժել ես ու մեղմ ժպտացել: Դու հիմա էլ ես մեղմ ժպտում, իսկ ես փայտացած նստած եմ ինքնաթիռի աթոռին, նայում եմ քեզ ու հասկանում, որ չգնացած արդեն կարոտը խեղդում է ինձ: Անգամ չեմ փորձում զսպել արցունքներս, եթե նույնիսկ ուզենաի՝ չէի կարողանա:
Photo by LiLit G.
  Իմ սիրելի քաղաք... 
  Որքան ջերմ հիշողություններ եմ թողնում քո գրկում ու հեռանում: Գիտեմ, դու դրանք պահելու ես քո տաք սրտում, պահելու ես այնքան ժամանակ մինչև վերադառնամ, ու այդ ժամանակ նորից իմ առջև կբացես անցյալի դռները՝ իմ սեփական անցյալի: 
  Եթե կարողանաի կգրկեի  քեզ ընկերս, ամուր-ամուր կգրկեի հրաժեշտից առաջ: Որքան դժվար է բաժանվել քեզնից քաղաքս, իմ մասնիկ, իմ մանկություն, իմ անցյալ ու ներկա, իմ ապագայի անբաժան մասնիկ: Չէ՛, բաժանումը չի, որ ստիպում է ինձ զգալ այս ամենը: Ես քեզ միշտ էլ կարոտում էի, անգամ երբ քայլում էի քո փողոցներով, բայց վախը, որ հեռավորությունը կարող է օտարացնել մեզ, սարսափելի է:
  Բայց դու ժպտում ես...

Thursday, March 22, 2012

The Rule

Please don't hurt me...
I got lost in my own game with two players. I created the most important rule: to love you, love you always, love you in any case, no matter what happens. And now I have no way to go against that rule. I just ask you not to hurt me, not to give a reason for any regrets. Sometimes i just wanna close the door and go down the stairs that I was climbing for such a long time. Sometimes I wanna leave the room that I have reached after so many difficulties. But I can't, I've created the rule. Why? I don't know. I did not notice how I did it or when. It just happened like usually it does. You just go forward, follow the road and only after reaching the end you start looking back to the way you got there.
I'm here, standing in the place that was a dream for a long while. Trying to stay here is harder then reaching this place, it's so easy to fall, to go back to wherever I came from.
Please don't hurt me... I don't want to fall.






                                                                                                                                © LiLit Ghazaryan

Thursday, March 8, 2012

The Simple Secret

Women
How different and similar we are...

The woman once was a little girl, weak and soft, but safe, knowing that she has another woman next to her, the strongest person in the world: Mother.

The woman once was a teenage girl, a girl who could get hurt easily, but who also was a hero for another woman, her little sister.

The woman once was a young lady, 
Sometimes selfish, sometimes silly,
A queen for some
And yet a little girl for others.

The woman once was a lover,
The man next to her was the happiest
And she for him was the prettiest.

Then the woman became a mother...

And here she is again, the woman, the daughter, the sister, the wife and the mother... So different and so unique. 


We can be strong and weak
We can cry and laugh
Sometimes smile through tears
We love and hate
Forgive but never forget
We think but stay silent
We dream, desire
We are simple
Simply hiding a secret inside us
We are difficult
We are different
But after all we all are the same... Women

P.S. Happy Women's Day Ladies.
No matter who you are, where you are and what you do, just remember that you are a woman and be yourself, unique and original.
Shh, keep the little secret inside you ;)

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan




Friday, February 24, 2012

Not a love story

An old house
The man and the woman...
Two people living in the room filled with only one thing - their feelings. An old picture frame was hanging on the wall and inside it was a picture that only these two people could see. The empty frame was the book of their memories, their photo album and a mirror at the same time.
They were happy, they were not living, they were just being together. They never talked much, because they could read each other's thoughts, the looks and gestures were taking the place of all the words that could have been said.
Was it love? No, it was just a connection between two people. They were together because  they got used to each other by the time. There were no thoughts, no regrets, just a moment and then another one coming after it. None of them asked any questions, they had created their own answer to all the possible questions that could come to their minds.
What was connecting these two people after all? Some thought it was the passion, many considered that these two young people were just crazy, too foolish and were doing nothing but wasting their time on the relationship that didn't make sense to anyone. Obligation? Friendship? Maybe a sense of gratitude? There can be many versions, different ideas, but they called it simply a decision.
It was just a decision to be together and nothing more.
Does it really matter anyway? They were happy because there was nothing else but the moment and then another moment coming right after the previous one. A beautiful life full of memorable moments, no time, no space, no rules, no love... Just a moment...

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Thursday, February 23, 2012

Ձմեռն ու տաքսու վարորդը

-Նորից ձմեռ, ասաց տաքսու վարորդն ու շարունակեց վարել մեքենան, իսկ ես նայում էի ձյան փաթիլներին ու մտքումս կրկնում նրա ասածը` նորից ձմեռ:
Այո', նորից ձմեռ, նորից եկավ ձմեռը ինչպես տասնյակ տարիներ շարունակ, ինչպես անցյալ տարի, ինչպես նախանցյալ տարի, ինչպես տասնյակ տարիներ շարունակ` նախանցյալ տարուց առաջ և էլի հազարավոր տարիներ այդ տասնյակ տարիներից էլ առաջ: Բայց այդ ձմեռներից և ոչ մեկն էլ նման չի եղել մյուսին: Հազարավոր ձմեռներ են եկել ու գնացել, բոլորն էլ ուրիշ, նախորդից ու հաջորդից տարբեր:
 -Ա՞ջ, թե՞ ձախ
 -Ի՞նչ
 -Ա՞ջ, թե՞ ձախ,- կրկնեց վարորդը:
 -Աջ,- ասացի ես, ձեռքով ցույց տալով ձախը,- Չե, ձախ, կներեք:
Նա ծիծաղեց ու թեքվեց աջ: Իսկ իմ դեմքին հայտնվեց շփոթված ժպիտը, որն ասյպիսի դեպքերում փորձում է փրկարարի դեր տանել: Դե արի ու վարորդին բացատրի, որ իմ շփոթվածության պատճառը հենց իր իսկ ասած նախադասությունն էր, որ ինձ մտքերով չգիտես ուր հասցրեց:
Տես է, էլի տարվեցի, հասել ես, վճարի ու դուրս արի  մեքենայից:
Գնացի, կհանդիպենք:

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Once I was a Bird...

Once I was a bird, free like a small piece of cloud, flying high above the sky, dancing with the starts. The sun was my home and the lake was the mirror I used to look in and see my reflection early in the morning. I was washing my face with the warm raindrops melting on the leaves. 
What happened one day was the disaster that all the birds are scared of. I was put in a cage, away from the life I had, lost without my freedom, afraid of the darkness around. I lost the bright sunshine and the midnight moon.What could I do? I was just a little bird, lost and afraid, until one morning I woke up and the reality shocked me.
The one who has put me in that cage was nobody else but myself... The question "What could I do?" was changed into "What should I do"? I knew I should wake up, I had to wake up from the dream I had put me into. I realized that I'm the only one who can give me back my freedom... And I did. I got what I wanted or what I thought I wanted to have. I still don't know.
"Once I was a bird, it was a long time ago..." she started her story again, softly smiling.
...Sometimes we put ourselves into the cages where we want to be. The idea of not belonging there slowly vanishes away and one day while telling your story you just realize that things are more complicated then you thought they were, you realize that you never understood yourself and your decisions, but you still smile softly and just go on... Once...
                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Magic Bubble

Remember those bubbles? I'm sure you loved them when you were a kid, I did and I still too.
I used to blow the magic bubbles and watch them fly high until they vanished away. I was always trying to send one of the bubbles to the clouds, hoping it will reach the sky. When the bubble was too high I stopped looking at it, so I don't notice how it is fading, that gave me a hope that maybe after all my small magic bubble did reach the sky. I hoped that it is living up in the sky, flying among the white clouds, playing with the sunshine. I was making my own fairy-tale and forcing myself to believe it, at the same time knowing that it was not true.

Some people remind me of those bubbles. They live with no worries, without carrying how long their life will be. It seems like someone just decided to blow them in the air and they are just going wherever the wind might take them. Such people don't know much and they never try to find out something new. They just live, they fly along the road that is already set. Sometimes I feel that those people are the ones who know exactly what happiness is. They never look for any answers because they never ask questions, they don't wonder why things happen, they don't care how everything works and why their own journey is set in a certain way. Maybe after all it is the real happiness, to just move forward like a small bubble that fades away after a moment when it appears.
Sometimes we all have to be just like bubbles. At a certain period all you wanna do is just fly along, go forward without wondering where are you going and why. Sometimes living like a small magic bubble is the only solution, to just live, to be happy, to close your eyes and mind to the things you don't want to see.
Maybe now it's the time for me to be a bubble for a while. No, I'm not weak and even if I am I won't be afraid to admit it. I'm not running away, I'm flying away.
... Small magic bubble was flying in the air, doing its best not to touch a single leaf, not to die on someone's hand. The small magic bubble, it was different from all the others, it had dreams, plans and ideas. It could be sad and even cry sometimes, but no one could notice it, because outside he was still the small colourfull bubble, enjoying the lightness of the flight.
My small magic bubble... I believe that you will reach the sky...




                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Sunday, February 5, 2012

Անձրևից հետո

  Երևանյան շոգ ամառ էր: Հուլիսյան արևից քաղաքը հոգնել էր ու մի տեսակ թառամած տեսք ստացել: Շտապող մարդկանց դեմքերն ավելի էին հոգնել, փողոցները մի տեսակ ճնշող էին դարձել ամռան տապից: Գիշերային խավարն անգամ տաք էր ու շոգեցնող: Աշնանն ու գարնանը անձրևից միշտ դժգոհող մարդիկ, ամռան շոգին երազում էին անձրևի մասին:
  Հուլիսյան հերթական մի առավոտ արթնացա անձրևի հաճելի ձայնից: Սառը օդը պատուհանից լցվել էր սենյակ ու այն լցրել էր անձրևի անուշ, տաք բույրով: Ժամանակ չկորցնելով` արագ դուրս եկա փողոց: Անձրևի մանր կաթիլները թափվում էին վրաս ու մոռացնել տալիս նախորդ օրերի անտանելի տոթն ու այրող արևը: Քաղաքում տարածվել էր թարմության ու դուրեկան սառնության շունչը: Սիրում եմ մեր քաղաքի բույրը անձրևից հետո, հատկապես ամառային անձրևից հետո: Օդում տարածվում է տաք ասֆալտի բույրն ու անձրևի կաթիլների սառնությունը:

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

What should we learn from a Snowflake?

  It was snowing today.
  ... so beautiful, white, pure.
  I was looking outside the window and wondering how does it feel to be a snowflake. I guess they have a short life. The white snowflakes come down from the sky, fly along the cold winter wind, they reach the ground and soon melt away. Some of them don't even get to the ground but vanish away standing on a tree, inside a kid's warm hand or on a glass of a window. But they all seem so happy, they bring so much joy with them, those small white starts are hiding some magic. What makes them so beautiful and happy? Maybe the flight. Maybe that's the real meaning of their life, of any kind of life - to be able to fly.
  People are born here on the Earth and many of them believe that they will go to the sky later. The snowflakes are born up in the sky and maybe their dream is to come down to the Earth. Maybe their journey is the end of the long search, a journey that is worth their own life.
  Heaven.
  We're looking for a heaven somewhere else while our own place in the heaven for many others.
  It was cold, but the white beauty around made me forget about it. The snowflakes. How lucky they are, how happy they are. Is it because they don't see or hear? Is it because they have  a chance to create their own views and sounds? Those small stars get together and change our big world the way they want it to be. They paint the city with white colour and maybe secretly laugh at us, laugh at all those who think that they are the ones who control their own world, the world around them.
  Maybe it's even funny that the simple snow made my thoughts go so far away. I kept looking at the dancing snowflakes and thinking how happy they are and it made me smile.
  People, we should learn from that small, beautiful snowflakes, we should learn to be happy, to enjoy our journey and melt away at the right time, at the right place, we should melt away with smiles on our faces.
  Let's live like a snowflake, so they will look at us and think "How happy they are"...

                                                                                                                         © LiLit Ghazaryan


Saturday, January 28, 2012

Self-portrait


By LiLit G.

Multiple personalities? No, just a character with different ideas, just a person with multiple reflections of "Me".
A self-portrait with the inner feelings. 
I don't know what this painting is for you, but for me it's a mirror that shows my reflection better than any other mirror I have ever looked in. 
It's simple and confusing at the same time. It's very soft but also scary with it's strangeness. It shows everything that is happening inside me, reflects the argument between me and myself, which goes along with the harmony that makes me fly sometimes.
This is a story of an artist who did less then she could, less then she had to, but who never stopped realizing her own mistake. This is a realization of being misunderstood, a regret that she carries with her to the following stairs. 
But most of all this is the lightness of the feather flying along with the warm and soft summer breeze...



                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Sunday, January 22, 2012

Not a Serious Post :D

Just a fun "thank you" note dedicated to that tasty piece of orange cake that brightened my morning today :)

"An orange cake in the morning
Makes your day less boring,
An orange cake in the evening
Makes a day exciting,
An orange cake at noon
I will eat very soon."
                                               by LiLit G

Wish you all a nice and bright day :)))





                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Մետաղյա Կծիկ

Ու նորից Դու, դու, դու
Դու` իմ վախերի ու կասկածների մարմնացում:
Դու` մի սև կետ երկար ու լուսավոր թունելում:
Վախ, որ կա նույնիսկ բարձր ու զվարթ ծիծաղում:
Կասկած, որ կրծում է հոգիդ, անգամ երբ վստահ ես ու համոզված, որ որոշումդ ճիշտ է: ճի՞շտ: Իսկ ո՞րն է ճիշտը: Ո՞վ որոշեց ճիշտն ու սխալը: Ո՞վ է պատասխանատուն, ո՞վ է քննադատը:
Սխա՞լ, ո՞վ է սխալ, դու թե՞ նրանք: Նրա՞նք, որ քննադատում են, սխալ համարում: Իսկ դու՞, դու լսում ես ու ենթարկվու՞մ:
ԾիԾաղելի է:
Այսօր մեկն արթնացավ ու որոշեց, որ դու սխալ ես: Եվ նույն օրը երեկոյան դու կգնաս քնելու  այն մտքով, որ նա ճիշտ էր: Իսկ առավոտյան կարթնանաս խառնաշփոթի մեջ, խճճված ճշտի ու սխալի մետաղյա կծիկում, որ անհնար է քանդել: Մետաղյա կծիկ, որ օր օրի ծանրանում է, մեծանում, դառնում քո մասնիկը: Իսկ հետո՞:

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Անկում դեպի բարձունք

  Ու կրկին հայելու մյուս կողմում կանգնած է նա ու նայում է վրաս իր ոչինչ չարտահայտող դեմքով, որն ավելի սարսափելի է քան նրա բարկությունը: Ակնկալիքնե՞ր, ի՞նչ է նա ինձնից ակնկալում, իսկ ես ինքս ի՞նչ եմ ակնկալում ինձնից:
  Անտարբերություն... Ասես մի մեծ պաստառի նման այս բառը մեզ հետևում է ամենուրեք, բղավում է փողոցի յուրաքանչյուր անկյունից` "Դուք անտարբեր եք, մարդի'կ": Իսկ ե՞ս, ես էլ իր ճյուղից պոկված մի թոշնած տերևի նման ինձ պատեպատ եմ տալիս, առանց հասկանլու, որ ախր փողոցում անգամ պատեր չկան:
  Մի փոքրիկ սև կետ եկել նստել է գոգիս ու փակել ամենինչ: Մի փոքրիկ ճեղք կտավի աջ անկյունում ու ողջ նկարը կորցնում է գույները, ամենինչ չքանում է ու այդ չնչին ճեղքը աչքիդ առաջ դառնում է մի հսկա թունել, որը շուտով կուլ կտա քեզ էլ, կտավն էլ, ճեղքն էլ, կուլ կտա ինքն իրեն ու կհամարի, որ սպառվեց իր կատարելությունը, զրոյացավ, հետևաբար հասել էր բարձունքին, որտեղից միակ ելքն արդեն անկումն էր:
  Անիմաստ թախիծ, իսկ ձմեռն էլ մյուս կողմից: Սառը օդը խեղդում է, մռայլությունը` ճնշում, աշնանային գունապնակի հետքերից մնացել են միայն սևագրության էջերն ու մի քանի թոշնած տերև, որ համառորեն դեռ պայքարում են, պայքարում են մինչև հիմա: Իսկ ե՞ս, դե ես էլ երևի նրանց պես: Չէ, չեմ պայքարում նրանց պես, պարզապես սխալ կտավի վրա եմ հայտնվել ու դարձել ընդամենը մի սևագրության հետք, որին նայում են ու մտածում, որ սա  էլ երևի մի ճեղք է, որը սպասում է իր վարկյանին, այն վարկյանին, երբ իրավունք կունենա ու ի զորու կլինի կուլ տալ կտավն էլ, ինքն իրեն էլ...

                                                                                                                             © LiLit Ghazaryan

Sunday, January 15, 2012

The Dialogue of "Me" and "I"

I was just sitting in the quite room, my thoughts were also silent but my other half was not feeling comfortable in that emptiness or maybe she just had so much to say. I haven't talked to myself for a long time and my inner part didn't like it.

- Are you scared?
-Scared of what?
- Of talking to me.

Scared of talking to me... That "me" was no one else but myself.

Me: Stop thinking, I'm talking to you, at least be kind enough to pay attention to me

This was too much already, I was not just shocked but also angry.

Me:  See, you're doing it again
I:  What do you want?
Me:  I just want to talk to you
Photo by Monica Ohanyan
I:  Talk? What will we talk about?
Me:  Us
I:  Listen, there is no such thing as "us", it's just me. So stop playing with me and just stay quite please.
Me:  I knew it
I: Well then, good
Me: I knew that you're scared. You're scared to talk to me. You think you're going crazy, talking to yourself, having conversations with your own personality, arguing with your own thoughts. It all scares you and you choose the easiest solution, which is to just make me shut up.