Nona Poghosyan
Nona Poghosyan was born in 1962. She started her first literary steps at the age of 10.Her poems for children and short stories werepublished in various children and youth newspapers and magazines.
In 1979 despite the persuasionsto continue her studies in literary sphere she entered Polytechnic Institute after K. Marx of Yerevan,Faculty of Technical Cybernetics and graduated with honors in 1984.
In 1987she finished State linguistic course ofGerman with honors in Moscow.
1989-1993 Nona Poghosyan worked as a reporter in the field of journalism, corresponded with "Business World" weekly newspaper and various newspapers and magazines.
From 1993 to present she has begun a military service in the Ministry of Defense and is a lieutenant-colonel of reserve.
In 1995 she completed the Course of Military German in Bundeswehr, Germany.
Publications:
1992 - the first collection of poems "Snowy prayer"
In 2006 -the second collection "Footsteps of midday"
In 2010- the third collection "Non-proofread presence"
In 2014 - the fourth collection "Presumption of Living"
Since 2007 she has been a member of the Writers' Union of Armenia.
Nona Poghosyan’s series of poems are published in "GrakanTer", "Andin", "Narcissus", "Nork" and in various literary sites, have been included in various anthologies and translated into Persian, German, Polish, Serbian.
***
Here is the sadness...a pattering lyre,
That I bought for a few cents
To sell in autumn at a high price.
Here is the silence...I brought it home in darkness
From unadorned streets of the thunderous day,
Promising not to touch even with a finger.
Here is the memory... in the alleys of the past,
That never goes out to big avenues
Not to get trampled by wheels of the present.
Here is me ... on the saddle of neighing autumn,
Not knowing where my conscience will be sabred,
But still rushing towards the fate...
***
My hands are like shells,
That life threw to beach
At a chimerical moment of roughness
Unable to resist their tenderness...
My hands are like shells:
There lives the snail of tenderness
One hundred thousand years...
***
Where you used to be -
Noware fields of regret
Covered with shudderingrime of nights
I water them with mylongings
And the orphan present cracks.
Where you used to be -
The time wasn’t on the edge of precipice,
And the boundless space rejoiced
The heaven didn’tknow the earth…
Where you used to be -
I was untying the hands of truth,
That would cherish me one day,
Convincing methat I exist nomore…
***
I am a vein of yours,
That flows through your mornings
And fills the cup of your afternoons,
That pours onto the breast of your sunsets
Anddyes the pomegranates of your nights.
I am a vein of yours,
Which makes you feel the pulse of life
And walkthrough the night
To the house of the Sun…
***
Every morning
I want to catch the peace...
It leaps like a slippery fish
And falls splashing
Into the arms of memory...
I cannot bring it back
To the aquarium of light...
... Andsuffocate sooner it does…
***
I am a cave - lockless, doorless
Where the bare winds are rustling
Scattering on the walls
The cold ashes of my mistakes.
I am a cave – secretless,doorless
Where from my chinks every morning
The sun kindles
The fight for living.
I am a cave - addressless, doorless
Whereon my wallsstill every night
My identity is engraved
Without an ornament.
...Yet thousands years ago
My soul wasscratchedon the stone walls ...
And even thousands years later
My secrets won’t be deciphered…
***
From opened book of the old city
The sheets of mornings are falling-
Worn out, faded…
No one reads them,
Everyone is wise:
They crammed thenights,
Swottedthe days
Gave and took
Without reading the light…
Without chewing the hope…
…From faded book of the city
The epilogue will fall one day
With glued sheets of torn mornings…
***
In my gardenI have stone flowers
And I water them together with others,
That they turn green one day…
I tell them my dreams
Тhat they recognize me from afar…
I love them tenderly,
That they soften one day…
You never know:it maybe
That they won’t understand me to the end…
***
With old, rusty hinges
I fastenedmyself to this door of happiness
It neither leads to heaven, it’s hopeless,
Nor is for closing inside with laurels of glory...
It’s only for passing through me,
Wipingfrom my eyesthe dust of happiness…
English 
Spanish
