Antashat. Sand Mandalas

Translation of Karen Antashyan poems made from the book “Antashat”, published in 2009 in Yerevan.


In my room- filled with silence to the helixes
I hear how in the black depths of distant ocean
blue whales are busy with love
with indomitable and affectionate squeak
and water-love thrills in me.

Love spreads the space with coil waves
life crosses itself by smiling under the nose
with green-red mosses
on the masks of once important people
that still remember the sun-cult.

In the name of ritual I always turn red
before downing in you.
With the last shine of sundown’s eternal light
my glance passes in line with the horizon-
licking the tops of distant mountains…

Sky clouds slightly meander from my breath
I feel day’s dying pulse,
that doesn’t mournful dead at all,
but dissolves with mild and gentle care
the life of loneliness
who suffer in the lonely self-determination…
in the night of keening on the love with close eyes.

Station flirt
goes on embellishing the await of those
who are in a hurry
and, it’s the same, they don’t manage
to live their time.
the evolution has inclination of fastening:
you also might not manage
to enjoy the pleasure of being repeated.
You remain the last among your type.
Hurry up!…


Our ways and thoughts are outlined
by the statistics of
cash flows
and the statistics of repeated destinies,
but you are an exception.

Don’t sell your hope and hopelessness cheaply:
gods are capricious.
Till your stony loam:
let happen what will happen.

Road comes from the horizon
and disappears in the horizon:
even your shadow isn’t your invariable companion,
but everywhere,
in any step
with every inspiration and exhalation
accompanies you,
follows you,
overwhelms you,
sends you away from you
the dust of the large road.

By Kristina Hayrapetyan

(food for meditation)

Life is a manifestation of existence’s local significance.

A man needs a man, at least a dog.

The occasions, when people touch each other, become more and more rare.

People keep silence.

Lonely people should feed up well.

The whole world is inhabited with other people.

It is cooped now in the world: I live to inside.

Hole, absence of hole, hole.

As pleasantly empty, as winking at the Death in a half smiley way.

I also remember the origin dimly: I am form the continuation, too.

I am changing my plans connected with the end of the world

Existence is discrete by anti-existence.

Nonexistence is complete.

Water will remember each of us.

Space adapts with us: it takes time.

By Kristina Hayrapetyan


You will not last long in Antashat:
cry the noise of the world.
Nudity is an obligatory condition
enjoying love (His) –
start from crying… to uncover,
for poetry doesn’t get cold alone
till comes the time to smile.

In general
we get used to living here
for the first and last time.
If it does not succeed,
(usually it does not)
we try once more.
Failed times
have the chance of becoming poetry.

By Kristina Hayrapetyan

Share Button

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *