Modigliani! Poem by Anahit Arustamyan

MODIGLIANI!
I wasn't born in your century. I didn't meet you, Modigliani. Paris told you its starry story. Your colors became rainbows to smile at Montparnasse tenderly. Do rest peacefully, Modigliani! Your colors are alive in my century. You had neither gold nor money. Paris gifted you with its diamond beauty. You were poor, you were rich, Modigliani. Your life floated in gloomy poverty. Your brush floated heavenly. Paris intoxicated you magically. I see you next to me, Modigliani. Don't laugh at my words crazily! Something is the same thing in any century.