Kochari

By Natalie Kamajian (Guest Contributor)

my generation

stands on the shoulders of our parents
on the bent backs of our grandparents
on the snapped necks of our ancestors

listen not, to what you think your people need
we know nothing without ancestors…ancient sisters
//my first sisters//

they have bled, knelt, marched, killed, hurt
loved, wrote, built and buried
so that I can breathe “hye”

strong women
&                                             ignite fires within my spirit
selfless men

when I dance Քոչարի…

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Natalie Kamajian works at a community and economic development organization designing innovative solutions to responsibly revitalize low-income, urban areas around Los Angeles. After living in Հայաստան for a year she unearthed, as Charlemagne once put it, “her second soul.” She is an inbetweener: never here nor there, never making sense and never wanting to and liking it that way. Natalie loves to write but she feels life moves too fast, its moments too precious sometimes to do anything other than live it. Lover of lavender ice cream, homemade halva and handmade soaps; Gardening’s worst gardener and biggest fan; and best friend to both the young & elderly but not really the folks in between causing all the trouble. She practices traditional Armenian ethnographic folk dancing and will revel at any chance to do a mean Մշո Խըռ to some live dhol and zurna. She will gladly bring out her inner թագուհի when necessary and believes that only when she contradicts herself, is she able to seek truth. More of her poetry can be found here.

One thought on “Kochari

  1. What a beautiful poem! I used to have an Armenian friend at uni (lost touch after that, unfortunately). We used to enjoy talking about how similar our cultures and traditions are…and other girlie things like traditional dresses and ethnic beauty/ hair products…how families in Asian cultures tend to be very close knit…tasting each other’s food (sweets mainly! :P). You brought back many good memories 🙂 Thank you! Xx
    P.s. Something I realised while reading your poem is that in India we have a percussion instrument called dhol too! It can be simultaneously played on both sides though…so it might sound a bit different, I guess?

    Like

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