It seems in all of us there is a bit of heroism
that dies as time goes by
in all of us lives a rebel spirit
that mellows as centuries go by
there is a speck of the ruler in our cells
that wants to grasp the globe in its palm
every morning we want to conquer a new planet
every evening we desire to elude this world
we run we fly
with trust in the strength of the last cells of our muscles
we run farther farther
then return to dust....
Poem by Krikor Ficici
translated by Tatul Sonentz
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