BIG WHITE BIRDS FLYING IN A ROW

earlier this year
the photo camera I received as a gift,
the Lumix,
it was still mine,
and of course I brought it with me when I went to the circus.

there is an old circus in Yerevan.
It survived the collapse of the Soviet Union
It survived the war that followed, the black years
It survived the “transition” as they call it
It survived also the recent “rebuilding” process
The circus even survived the cell phones
and all the new trends that keep the little children busy

during all these years that I’ve been living here (nine)
I promised myself I would never go to the circus
because, I used to say, I don’t like it

It would make me sad, I thought, to see
the old clowns in their old circus costumes
the old circus poodles running around, and jumping
the old circus pony, tired, pulling a circus cart with the poodles in it,
the old circus capuchin, sitting among the poodles
the old circus elephant

what do you dream about, old circus elephant?
about an ancient temple in the jungle?
about a herd of elephants crossing the road?
about village people with their chains or tree trunks?
about a young master feeding you?
about colorful birds?

“Hold it,” the old circus elephant said,
“Every night I see big white birds flying in a row
a few meters above the gray waters of the sea.
They come to feed, pelicans!
and as I watch them,
I feel a light, a warm light; it rains on me, the light.”

“What then?” I asked her.

“Nothing. I just wake up,” she said,
taking a single peanut from my hand.

it was fun at the circus. There were three llamas,
and a beautiful Ukrainian girl acrobat,
and many,
many smart ass monkeys.

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Leopards in the forest by reading_is_dangerous]