Mike Youssefian

Why they worship calfs of gold?

Why don't they hunger for truth?

Why do they hate their equal?

Why friends turn their backs to friends?

Why the sky is red today?

Why silence reigns in the air?

Why the ghosts of happiness,

Have gone to far horizons?

Why am blind to see and feel,

The beauties of life and death?

Why do the birds on the trees

Are calling home the dry leaves?

Why all roses seized to smell?

Why is the moon mourn and cry?

Why am I painting hope on sand,

When the waves are so nearby?

Why don't you answer my why?

On a white canvas today,

With a palette in one hand,

I tried to talk to my Muse

And paint the girl of my dreams.

She is a child with blue eyes,

With curly, gold braided hair.

She likes to dance the ballet

And come to kiss my old face.

Love to add layers of paint,

All the colors of rainbow,

The bright, warm light of the sun

And the breeze in her blonde hair.

With a frame of pure walnut,

I will hang it on my wall,

To talk with her every day,

So all my dreams will come true

And my Muse will stay alive.

They went to die in the fields,

Young and handsome family boys,

Leaving their pretty brides behind

Couple of kids in the cribs.

They took with them all their dreams,

All the freshness of their lives,

With heavy arms in their hands,

They went without looking back.

In the plush mansions of town,

The rich and powerful clans

Drank their cheerful and red wine,

All their grandchildren around.

They sang and danced to the beat,

While from solitude far off,

The boys were fighting with guns,

To secure peace, joy at home.

I love the toys in my house,

The trains, the cars and the dolls,

That will one day disappear

With the little people around,

Who bring sunshine with their smile,

They sing, they shout to the birds,

They run to catch each other

And come to rest on my lap.

I love these kids in my yard,

Who fill my heart with their joy

Like a dream in morn of spring.

They come and go like a breeze,

Displaying toys on the lawn,

So I can live memory

Of their childhood hide and seek,

To seek and find their pictures

In the faded book of life.

Every day and every moment

I am fighting the evil one,

The one who burns fires around me,

Fills my travel road with thorns,

The one who quenches the light of sun,

And sets me in complete darkness,

Who tries to fill my mind and soul,

With the manure of this world,

And let me dwell in prison of guilt.

I am using all my power

To fight and kill the evil one,

Who pulls my feet to fiery hell.

Today, Master, I pray and ask,

To save my soul, give me your peace,

Give me the hope that one bright day,

You will defeat this black liar,

Take me home to your daylight,

And destroy this source of all guilt.

She is sixteen, all life and joy,

Like a white fawn in the forest,

Running in the path of her dreams

And waiting her bright destiny.

I love this girl who has blonde hair

Flowing down to her thin waist,

Who does not care what happens next

To the whole stars in universe.

She has her own room as her world,

Her own golden spot on her nose,

Her two fluffy cats to caress,

Multitude of boys to elude,

So she can hear the songs of rock.

I know, one day she has to spring

And see the world with different eyes,

She will give us feeling of pride

To have a grand daughter like her.

She will be a shining star for all.

In the old rugged country

Where ancestors are buried,

There is a church carved in stone

With all the saints on its face.

There is a brook flowing by,

And a lonely cypress tree,

With a nest of stork on top,

And the breeze playing its harp,

Anointing walls of the shrine.

I open the heaven’s gate

And enter the sacred hall

To listen the melodies

Of love and praise of angels.

I dream my life to conclude

Within the walls of this cave,

Where there are saints on the walls,

Guarding and blessing my soul.

I pity people with pain,

They sob, they cry, they complain.

You don’t see smile on their face,

They feel themselves in prison,

With no peace, no hope, no joy.

I am friendly with my pain,

The one visits, sometimes dwells

With me almost every day.

I don’t share it with neighbor,

Nor proclaim it to the world,

It is my pain, not their own,

They have their own, if I could,

Carry all pains of the world

In my compassionate soul,

And let the world be happy,

With no burden of its own.

I can bear all; I am friendly with my pain.

For as the Apostle says:

When I am weak, I am strong.

No matter what material it’s made of,

Walnut, oak, stainless steel or pure gold,

This coffin was lowered down today,

In the deep and cold grave of our town.

It carried the pale body of a friend,

Near and dear to us all yesterday.

I go back seventy years to see,

The pretty and blonde girl in our court,

Holding tight a woven doll in her arms,

Laughing and jumping rope with her friends.

She carried all the dreams of a life

And the hopes of future happy days.

She walked in the bridal gown with her love,

So one day to listen babies’ cries,

And enjoy the wedding of her boys.

But today, in the hard wooden box,

All silence, with a frozen and sad smile,

Lies and waits the visit of loved ones,

Once a year with a bouquet of flowers.

I can see all with my blind eyes,

All the tulips and all lilies

Painted with hundred colors.

The horizon with its red sun,

The million stars on heaven’s face.

I can see all with my blind eyes.

I can hear all with my deaf ears,

The music hanging from the trees,

The baby calling the “mama”,

Roar of lions, song of the birds,

The call of love in nightly dreams.

I can hear all with my deaf ears.

I can run fast with broken legs,

Climb and conquer the mountain tops,

Visit village of my childhood,

Drink water from the fountain,

Call one by one old memories,

I can still walk with broken legs.

I can still love with my old heart,

Embrace all beauties in my arms,

Compose the music in my soul,

Talk to my friends and enemies,

Forgive the vice surrounding me.

I can still love with all my heart.