…And I broke the mirror
For luck
Near a stony bridge
Dusted with fresh snow
I knew I would feel free
Of age, passion and fear
The river had seen
Poets, lovers and vagabonds
Hope to hear in that flow
The song that was theirs to write
…And the mirror fell
Into the slow waters
Piece by piece
In silence, like midnight fantasies
Dear ones have gone away
Without hearing goodbyes
So I said it in silence
And for the last time, perhaps
It was already deep night
When I reached for an old verse
Whistled a new refrain
As alone I was again
…And, then walked over the bridge
To where the roads met again
To take me home
February 20, 2014
© Vahé Kazandjian, 2014
...Fragile, this bridge of fifteen arches would be repaired for the first time in 1649, completely redone two years later, burnt in 1654, flooded in 1656, completely rebuilt in 1660, propped up in 1673 and finally carried away by a flood in February 1684 .... the bridge is still there, will be for next 50. And the man is still there, still sitting on the shore of the river. Did roads brought him back, again? Does he know where his home is?
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