Monthly Archives: January 2008

One Snowy Evening

Closing the door

You endure the kissing ice dust

Caressing your rotund cheeks and chin

And bend your neck upward

To engage this formless encounter

Embracing the infinity of night

Copyright © 2008 Christian Garbis

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Caressing The Heart

Chilly nights keep you warm

Côtes Du Rhône at your fingertips

The slims being smoked one after one

You are vying for the day

When comets jet across

The velvet darkness of oblivion

Into the souls of the shadows

Which wake from their slumber

Into the day at dawn

Arms outstretched, seeking the cross

But find the heart lonely and new

Cursing all who despised it

Waiting for the one to caress

Copyright © 2008 Christian Garbis

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Endurance Is the Path to Your Salvation

I sit here and ponder life, where I am now and what I wish to be doing. Although I have had moments when I was proactively creative, I believe that too much of my time in the 1990s when I was in my twenties was lost to ambivalence. Sometimes I feel concerned that the same state of being is relapsing. I feel that my potential is boundless, but I am hampered by clumsy aloofness and thought disorganization. In times of insecurity, particularly in the days when I worked as a blundering waiter for a pretentious chain restaurant, I would jolt myself with a simple phrase I wrote:

“Endurance is the path to your salvation.”

It still comes in handy from time to time.

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Solace

I see you now

Radiating with promise

Energies unbound

Inspiration without chains

But your conscience is cacophonous

And your soul quivers

While it stifles your desires

Attainable but detached

You are in communion

Shiva’s wisdom penetrates

Oust the sage of dissonance

Everlasting radiance awaits you

Copyright © 2008 Christian Garbis

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Doing Nothing

I am having a day when all I want is to do nothing. These moments arise infrequently but when they do they are hard to overturn. I am tempted to leave work for home but have not yet mustered the nerve. Once I do get home I cannot fathom what I would do. Perhaps I could read or write, but more likely than not I would nap, pretending to have some kind of ailment. I feel very slightly bloated from repressed gas failing to be expelled, but I don’t know if that warrants an excuse to take off early. I was hoping to go out for lunch but I don’t know if I want to sit in a smoke-filled restaurant blaring cheap Russian pop music and eat alone. The day seems pleasant enough except for the mild chill that I am feeling on my right arm and torso, since the temperature is set at freezing outside. Perhaps I will go there after all and order an ajarakan khachaburi, an oval-shaped baked bread bowl with cheese encased in the crust and two eggs staring up at me with their gleaming sunny sides. A delicate slab of butter tops it all off, then I usually douse the thing with black pepper before I tear it apart and ram the oozing, sloppy mess into my mouth, morsel after morsel. So it seems I can either go eat or sneak home and do nothing. Both are tempting during this frigid, sun-soaked day of winter.

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