Tea Party On The Shore Of Arax River

There is a town beyond the river
and you may think
that all you have to do
is dare to step
on the timeless stones
of the river bed
fearless of murky waters.

There is a town beyond the river
where the dead hosts November guests
offering them tea
brewed in an English porcelain head.
That Kashmir perfumed tea
which captured Chardin's heart
while basking
in the visuals of an Isfahan garden
sipping and waiting
to meet his Majesty
and offer him the precious jewelery
that he carried there
with the greatest care
So secretly.


There is a town beyond the river
and I'm not yet there.
for I'am walking
on a tightrope
hang over the waters
of Arax River
with no rescue in view.

There is a town beyond the river
like a dream arousing desire
but I can't reach it
for I'm hang on a trapeze
outward a boat.
And try as you may
tiny English hands can't capture mine
on that thin line
for unlike in a circus show
there is no safety net.

The vacuous porcelain head
remains devoid of
strong sustainable words
capable of substituting tiny hands
lending itself willingly as a teapot
for the dead to brew their tea
for all November guests.

There is a town beyond the river
but I remain on the outermost side
of a stretched thin line
hang over the annihilating river
and fastened from shore to shore
by multitudes of solitude.

There is no town beyond the river
not even a hazy chimera
neither a dream nor a nightmare
only a tangible opposite shore
covered with rubbles of destroyed 'Khatchkars'
and the dead keeping on
their tea party
brewing for ever the aromatic
leaves of Camelia sinensis
in the emptiness
of an English porcelain head
for all those November guests
stepping on the timeless stones
of the river bed
fearless of murky waters
in search of shattered dreams
on the rubbles of the opposite shore
and the cherished taste
of that delightful tea
sipped slowly
out of an English porcelain head.

Flora