Flamingos in Early Summer
In the terrible days of solitude,
Herds of jobless migrants with clay brick masks would
Suddenly arrive in the deserted city.
With them, the Armenian flamingos
Also descended; flock after flock
In the maggoty shadows of early summer.
From their sweaty pink wings,
Dry mustard leaves kept falling
In the freshly made shelter homes.
Flapping their empty stomachs,
Slowly, they filled the sky
With their hungry nasal cries for food and water.
Infuriated with the smell of infectious blood
Affluent city dwellers turned against themselves-
Speaking with strange voices of stones
In their moments of self-survival.