MY ISLAND by by Shmavon Azatyan Arménia You are the heavenly island I swim to to be harbored from the gloating of all world. The sea is cold, day is gloomy, I’m numb - my feelings turn frigid. Yet you have power on my heart. I toil to you; the autumn day sinks beyond the high waters - life draws away, and the jump of the blindfold lightening speckles my anticipation. And then the predisposition I divine in your manner loses its advantage. The time we at last come to speech the island has gone. In between you and I seas lie laden with somber skies; only the anonymous topography we’ve both cared to observe is what can lead us to one another.