In her nights...

In her nights, devoid of tunes,

she would hear, time and again,

melodies

out of her empty palms

of her hands.

The translucent wrecks of her soul

are gazing at the instrument

from a usual corner—

fabricating a new serenade

out of these sapphire days.

Passionate palms hunting for hymns,

hunting for hymns.

She recollects

the fingers she has left

on the piano keyboard.

December, 2006

Tehran
Translated by Samvel Mkrtchyan