Tag: lives

For Paris – You Are Slender Song

November 15, 2015

For Paris – Our hearts and thoughts are with the people of Paris. It’s shocking and horrible what’s happening in Paris. This song by title ” You are Slender”

Honor Guest on Duduk: Giro Vardanyan
Lyrics “ You Are Slender”
Producer: Edward Khoury & Elias Bandak
Music Arrangements: Edward Khoury
Record Labels: Paramount Studios

Mino Element Band Members

Aram Kasabian – Lead Guitar
Sevan Manoukian – Drummer
Hratch Panossian – Bass
Samer Khoury – Violin
Tony Amer – Saxophone
Haim Cohen – KeyBoard
Albert Panikian – Trumpet
Nicole Del Sol – Percussion
Dana Debos – Trombone

∞∞∞∞∞∞

Is it his nearest of the human voice
is it more expressive vocals
that invent

every breath of duduk
when an artist carries in him
from all eternity

Then means
from the depths of time,

never ceased to exist,

all the joys, all the pains,

victories and injuries,

fine, new beginnings,

all storms, all the upheavals

no people, more than we are heirs

will have had to cross

drawing from the depths of his despair

in the hell of a cruel fate

faith, hope

that still exists

at the dawn of morning miraculous

the golden thread woven for millennia

that binds us forever in space and time

∞∞∞∞∞∞

Copyright Disclaimer Under Section 107 of the Copyright Act 1976, allowance is made for “fair use” for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching, scholarship, and research. Fair use is a use permitted by copyright statute that might otherwise be infringing. Non-profit, educational or personal use tips the balance in favor of fair use

© 2015 Paramount Studios& Element Band All Rights Reserved

 

Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem

February 25, 2014

By Mihran Kalaydjian, CHA

Consultant, Strategist, and Writer

Image

My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers
of my palms tell me so.
Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish
at the same time. I think

praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think
staying up and waiting for paintings to sigh is science. In another dimension this
is exactly what’s happening,

it’s what they write grants about: the chromo dynamics
of mournful Whistlers,
the audible sorrow and beta decay of Old Battersea Bridge.
I like the idea of different

theres and elsewhere, an Idaho known for bluegrass,
a Bronx where people talk
like violets smell. Perhaps I am somewhere patient, somehow
kind, perhaps in the nook

of a cousin universe I’ve never defiled or betrayed
anyone. Here I have
two hands and they are vanishing, the hollow of your back
to rest my cheek against,
your voice and little else but my assiduous fear to cherish.
My hands are webbed
like the wind-torn work of a spider, like they squeezed
something in the womb

but couldn’t hang on. One of those other worlds
or a life I felt
passing through mine, or the ocean inside my mother’s belly
she had to scream out.

Here, when I say I never want to be without you,
somewhere else I am saying
I never want to be without you again. And when I touch you
in each of the places we meet,

in all of the lives we are, it’s with hands that are dying
and resurrected.
When I don’t touch you it’s a mistake in any life,
in each place and forever.