How I Feel When I Hear the Adagio from Katchaturian’s Ballet Gayane

By hear, I mean remember.
Is there a difference?
I don’t know how it is
for others.

Not like young Gayane,
heroic, reaping cotton
on the kolkhoz.
Not the drunkard Giko,
her lazy husband.

I am running lonely circles
in grey cotton
on the mournful trip
to Jupiter.

Men sleep in white coffins.
I am losing at chess,
far from you.

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About Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner
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