Levon Shant (1869-1951) was an Armenian poet, playwright, and novelist. This is my translation of “An Arrow” from Armenian to English.
Your stare is an arrow forged by lightning
with which you pierce into the blackness of my eyes
like a fiery ray from the sun
penetrating the darkness of the deep cave.
And your playful body boils in my arms
when it touches my excited chest,
when my lips, with the flame of longing,
write my love on your cheeks.
Bats swam in a dark pool of heat
on a summer night that smelled like sweat.
The moon shined like a glow-in-the-dark sticker;
it smiled like the Cheshire Cat.
Clusters of unrelated thoughts, a brain fog, and a headache.
I crawled out of bed after a long night of drinking with Dionysus.
My mouth was as dry as forgotten laundry in the sun.
But instead of looking for water, I looked for a pen.
Why do these lousy muses decide to visit when I’m hungover?
Yesterday – what happened yesterday?
My neck is sore from all the head-banging.
It was a lot of fun.
Today – how can I have a normal day?
I woke up dead, but I feel so alive.
I want to do things.
First, water.
Then I’m ready to create.
Bored Absurdist 