Saturday, November 30, 2013

Small DOT

All it takes is a small black dot
On a big white canvas
And we call it wasted, lost
And throw away the canvas.

All it takes is a small black dot
And the jar of white paint is gone
We label it as useless
Hide it somewhere in the dark

Isn't it too much power to give
To nothing but a small black dot?
A dot that doesn't let us to forgive
A piece that steels the peace of mind

She saw the tiny lip-shaped stain
The small red stain on your shirt
And now she has to wash it all
The shirt, the love and you for all.

                                                                                                     © LiLit Ghazaryan

Friday, November 29, 2013

Accused of not struggling enough

She simply left
And never came back
"How could he?"

And here he was
A man that lost his kid and wife
A man accused of not struggling enough
His face, again, hardly changed
But his hair grew white
In less then a night
His heartbeat was slower then a clock
His voice was almost gone
Once a young man, he looked so old
With only one question in his mind
"How could you?"
He lived the rest of his days
Like a puppet forced to breathe
He never talked
And hardly walked
And died unknown
Suddenly, but expected
One late night he died.

The man accused of not struggling enough
He died alone and lost
In the darkness of the night
And was buried by some strangers
With no priest or a cry
That's how he lived, that's how he died
The man accused of not struggling enough.

                                                                                                                                 © LiLit Ghazaryan

Monday, November 25, 2013


The day I died
It rained so hard,
But I was smiling
I was free at last.

My body sick
And my soul weak
Love was all I did
Love is all I need.

I'm famous now
I see and know
As I am Frida Khalo.

If I had to live again
With all the power I could gain
My art would surely stay the same
If there is one thing I would change
It's him, it's us, it's our love
I loved him more than my own life.

But every time when he came home
I smelled another strong perfume
And I would yell and cry and fight
But things would be the same each night

If I could live my life again
I wouldn't change a thing,
Not my faith, not my works, but only him

Dedicated to Frida Khalo, a true inspiration

                                                                                        © LiLit Ghazaryan