Souvenir Poem by Anahit Arustamyan

SOUVENIR
Is there a spare space in your travelling bag, my dear? I wish I was smaller than this souvenir. I wish I was in your travelling bag instead of a picture. My nostalgia being naked may shiver. Something is floating on a wide river. It may be a swallow's torn slipper. It may be a shadow's dropped finger. You placed me in your heart, my dear. Your heart forced your chest to be its ear. My dear! How long has your heart been a singer? We look at something in the Earth's mirror. Your land is afar but your hand is near. Our morning dew is even brighter than a piece of silver. What is in your bag like my life's whisper? Should I give my tongue to the souvenir?