Before I knew how brown eyes
Make one forget to wake up
Before I left cities of stone and fig trees
To grow up in silence
And before I slept enough for short dreams
To take over my awakening days
I walked the streets near the bluest sea
Where brown eyes took a bath on every half moon
But then I thought
It was the moon
That softened the figs
And made stony houses
Open their doors
To a dreaming boy
... That was then
© Vahé A. Kazandjian,
2018
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