Alan Whitehorn: Hayastan

We journey in search of a path,
back to Ararat,
back to my ancestors' village,
along centuries-old trails
that meander across the dry, rocky landscape
that I call my homeland.
To cradle a bit of soil
amidst my weathered fingers
that have been numbed
from too much pain.
And so,
I caress the soil to my face
to feel one last time
my Hayastan,
my precious Hayastan.



Copyright Alan Whitehorn December 14, 2007. Used here by kind permission of the author.