ANSWER

	By Khatchig Mouradian

	You talk to me of passion,
	Of lines dripping with desire,
	Yet nothing is left but ashes...
	I've rented to resignation
	The vacant apartment of Fire.

	With the candlelight of craze
	I never found tempests tender,
	But still loitered with limping days
	In the subway of dusty calendars.

	Do not ask me of Lust,
	Of ink gushing like semen,
	My words are still-born children
	Who've had no chance of dreaming.

	Look elsewhere for lava,
	And papers dipped in craving,
	Mine are sketches of withdrawal
	On the canvas of lost heaven.

--
Khatchig Mouradian has a B.S. in Biology and currently is a graduate
student in Clinical Psychology. He has been writing poetry from an
early age and around two dozens of his poems (in Armenian) have been
published in a Armenian newspapers and magazines (Aztag, Zartonk, and
Ardziv). He is also a journalist with his columns and articles
appearing regularly in "Aztag" daily and "Marzig" monthly.