Mother Armenia

By Melineh Merdjanian (Guest Contributor)

Ancient nation
you created me
from a pomegranate seed
and carried me to life
on the wings of a crane

And when I cried
from a distance
your elusive hand
wrinkled with hills and valleys
wiped my tears
while the haunted rhapsodies
of our holy mountain Ararat
and river Arax
flowed from your cavernous lips
like a duduk
scraping my soul
leaving me aching
to embrace you

I was taken from you
by hands too calloused
to feel my vulnerability
and extradited
from your blossoming orchards
your sun-drenched lakes
and golden fields
of abundant wheat

I have stumbled into homes
seeking shelter and warmth
but all felt like rough, woolen shrouds
against my flayed skin
incomparable to your gentle caress

But my legs grew strong
like roots of the tree
that bore me

The years pass like centuries
yet dust will never gather
on the memory of you
for you shine and pulsate
a beacon to guide me home.


Melineh Merdjanian has had a passion for writing since the age of 12 and dreams of visiting Armenia again someday. 

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