Monday, January 20, 2020

Alan Whitehorn: An Old Woman Reaches Out

Tear upon tear flow,
one by one
seemingly forever.
But ever so slowly
each tear also releases:
first the fear, then the anger,
next the frustration,
and lastly the despair.
And so eventually,
one day a child is born.
An elderly woman’s
weathered hand
reaches out
and gently touches
a young infant’s
tiny fingers.
At that precious moment,
hope and love begin anew.
In touching the hand
of the newborn Anoush,
my metzmama Siroun
could see a better and happier future.
In the end,
love prevailed over hate,
and life over death.

Alan Whitehorn


Unknown said...

Wonderful, touching and a very true poem. Thank you for capturing that very special and precious moment. arsho

Unknown said...

Thank you Alan for such a touching and sincere poem. You captured the unique and precious moment. Arsho

Kamo Mayilyan said...

Very beautiful poem!

Steven Leonard Jacobs said...

Your poetry continues to inspire those of us who work in the dark vineyards of genocide.
Thank you.

Unknown said...

This poem reminds us not only of the horror of the Armenian genocide but also of the courage of those who survived and their capacity to believe in a better future. Thank you for expressing this so well Alan.