I held her hand and gave her a smile;
Alas, she's far off, many a mile.
She thinks I'm a friendly neighbor,
When in fact I'm her loyal grand-daughter.
'What's my name? ' I asked her,
'Darling' was her unsure answer.
'What is your name? ' was my second question,
Her silence increased the tension.
She did not remember her own name,
Nor the place from where she came.
Yet, when asked who was her sworn enemy
She would look me in the eye and say 'Turkey'.
Being a survivor of the Armenian Genocide,
She had never forgotten the brutal homicides.
Alzheimer's had wiped off most of her memory,
But had failed to obliterate the Turkish atrocity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem