“Respublica Armenia” newspaper (June 1, 2005)
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“Shadow Colors”
The yard was always in shadow. The sun seemed to have forgotten about our houses. The days were white and black and even now I don't seem to remember any other colors.
…Mush and me are in the yard, no one else. There is nothing but shadow and sparkle, the sparkle of Mush's eyes, which are as black as stars. The shine never fades away, even when my brother starts to cry. Sounds-there are none, silence- there is one.
A funeral procession passes by the empty street… without any music, without loud cries… One can only hear the monotonous thumping of people's shoes over the wet ground. They bring the coffin then. It's a soldier. He is young.
“Poor child…”
“He didn't even taste the life…”
The procession disappears.
“God have mercy on him…poor mother…'-moaned my mommy.
I am in my father's arms. Shadows start to retreat. Something seems to have changed. A tram stands out in the distance. It's red, bright red. The tram rolls nearer, it is beside us, and it pulls up. The tram is so large and red. It's the brightest color that comes to my mind. I cry out something but there is only father's smile in response. Other people keep silence. Their faces remain gray. Even the red of the tram doesn't pass to them. I am happy, unutterably happy in spite of all this.
The red is reflected in my eyes. The tram ring goes on echoing in my ears…
The tram is half-empty. I am on father's lap, I look out…
The streets are also half-empty and gray. Things are different in the tram: everything and everybody are gayer. This doesn't matter though: father smiles and this means everything is all right. The tram rolls on to the last stop, we are in…
…The tapping of the typewriter ousts out the ding-dong of the tram.
It's dark. It's time for me to go to bed. The oil lamp crackles. Then, there is tapping again. I can hear none of it after a while, it's a long time I haven't heard it, and I have got used to it. Here is mother bent over the typewriter, there- father working with some documents. Some unutterable warmth laps me for a moment because they all are so near. Then everything freezes and starts to float. I fall asleep. In the absence of any noise from the street, it is the tapping of the typewriter, which reminds me the world is alive…
…Hovnan was born. I am seven. We are below the window of the hospital. Mother shows us the newborn baby. He is wrapped in a red blanket. It's hard to see his face but not mother's eyes shining with joy. They shine just as Mush's eyes do. Who knows, maybe, Hovnan will have the same sparkle in his eyes in some years? I felt father smiling. My new brother's blanket is red, bright-bright, red as the tram was. And I am happy too. The days have started to be filled with tints and hues and there is only a scarcely discernible trace of cold left…
Hovnan is at home. Mush and me examine him attentively. My brother is in a bed, which is too large for him. It's hard to imagine there is a new member in our family. We love him. I understood this when I felt my parents` joy, the warmth of Mush's eyes and how goody one our younger brother was.
There are now more noise and colors. As for shadows- I hardly ever see them. Hovnan's birth changed everything, though it's only now that I realize this…
… The war was over that year.
The yard was always in shadow. The sun seemed to have forgotten about our houses. The days were white and black and even now I don't seem to remember any other colors.
…Mush and me are in the yard, no one else. There is nothing but shadow and sparkle, the sparkle of Mush's eyes, which are as black as stars. The shine never fades away, even when my brother starts to cry. Sounds-there are none, silence- there is one.
A funeral procession passes by the empty street… without any music, without loud cries… One can only hear the monotonous thumping of people's shoes over the wet ground. They bring the coffin then. It's a soldier. He is young.
“Poor child…”
“He didn't even taste the life…”
The procession disappears.
“God have mercy on him…poor mother…'-moaned my mommy.
I am in my father's arms. Shadows start to retreat. Something seems to have changed. A tram stands out in the distance. It's red, bright red. The tram rolls nearer, it is beside us, and it pulls up. The tram is so large and red. It's the brightest color that comes to my mind. I cry out something but there is only father's smile in response. Other people keep silence. Their faces remain gray. Even the red of the tram doesn't pass to them. I am happy, unutterably happy in spite of all this.
The red is reflected in my eyes. The tram ring goes on echoing in my ears…
The tram is half-empty. I am on father's lap, I look out…
The streets are also half-empty and gray. Things are different in the tram: everything and everybody are gayer. This doesn't matter though: father smiles and this means everything is all right. The tram rolls on to the last stop, we are in…
…The tapping of the typewriter ousts out the ding-dong of the tram.
It's dark. It's time for me to go to bed. The oil lamp crackles. Then, there is tapping again. I can hear none of it after a while, it's a long time I haven't heard it, and I have got used to it. Here is mother bent over the typewriter, there- father working with some documents. Some unutterable warmth laps me for a moment because they all are so near. Then everything freezes and starts to float. I fall asleep. In the absence of any noise from the street, it is the tapping of the typewriter, which reminds me the world is alive…
…Hovnan was born. I am seven. We are below the window of the hospital. Mother shows us the newborn baby. He is wrapped in a red blanket. It's hard to see his face but not mother's eyes shining with joy. They shine just as Mush's eyes do. Who knows, maybe, Hovnan will have the same sparkle in his eyes in some years? I felt father smiling. My new brother's blanket is red, bright-bright, red as the tram was. And I am happy too. The days have started to be filled with tints and hues and there is only a scarcely discernible trace of cold left…
Hovnan is at home. Mush and me examine him attentively. My brother is in a bed, which is too large for him. It's hard to imagine there is a new member in our family. We love him. I understood this when I felt my parents` joy, the warmth of Mush's eyes and how goody one our younger brother was.
There are now more noise and colors. As for shadows- I hardly ever see them. Hovnan's birth changed everything, though it's only now that I realize this…
… The war was over that year.
Gor Baghdasaryan
15 years old
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“The cost of victory”
He ran to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, then the oven, he bent over, opened the cupboard, then ran out in despair. The baby went to the bathroom, looked in the sink, didn't find anything and went to the bedroom.
“I missed him. I haven't eaten ice cream for many days, haven't made a palace from sand, haven't cooked a cake from mud, haven't played with my train; meanwhile the passengers are waiting. Where is he? Find him, bring him back, please.”
The baby cried and thumped his feet on the ground. Suddenly his mom entered the room.
“Take your teddy bear, it is under the sofa.”
Look, you're smiling. Isn't it nice? And now imagine a woman, her son's picture and tears, many tears. She can't search and find her son like the boy did with his bear. She can't find her son, who is in the front with the gun in his hand, waiting for the enemy to attack. Maybe it is his last battle. What for? Because some president wants oil or fertile soil. Maybe her son is already dead, lying with his eyes at the sky.
Dear God, you see, I died for a drop of oil, while my mother pays with millions of drops of bitter tears. During a war, everything has a blood cost.
Did you get excited? I knew that.
He ran to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, then the oven, he bent over, opened the cupboard, then ran out in despair. The baby went to the bathroom, looked in the sink, didn't find anything and went to the bedroom.
“I missed him. I haven't eaten ice cream for many days, haven't made a palace from sand, haven't cooked a cake from mud, haven't played with my train; meanwhile the passengers are waiting. Where is he? Find him, bring him back, please.”
The baby cried and thumped his feet on the ground. Suddenly his mom entered the room.
“Take your teddy bear, it is under the sofa.”
Look, you're smiling. Isn't it nice? And now imagine a woman, her son's picture and tears, many tears. She can't search and find her son like the boy did with his bear. She can't find her son, who is in the front with the gun in his hand, waiting for the enemy to attack. Maybe it is his last battle. What for? Because some president wants oil or fertile soil. Maybe her son is already dead, lying with his eyes at the sky.
Dear God, you see, I died for a drop of oil, while my mother pays with millions of drops of bitter tears. During a war, everything has a blood cost.
Did you get excited? I knew that.
Anoush Mouradyan
14 years old
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“Important lessons”
I like military activities as all the boys do. I have been attending a young soldiers club since I the age of nine. I like everything there: we have a real strict commander, we wear military uniform, and everything is neat and clean. In a word, things look like in a real army there. The training process is also a difficult one: we run, take apart and put together guns. I get tired easily, but always find strength to go ahead. In my opinion, a real man should be ready to everything, should never complain. I remember, once we had competitions. Many of the boys were tired; they stopped every now and then. This was not about me. I wanted to win. I was sweating, my hands were hard with training, but I went on struggling. I won. They gave me an award. It is really priceless for me, as I have won it myself by having a victory over myself. Now I look at my medal and think of all the war activities in the world to be this way, just like when a boy becomes older. Let the loser just get up, and shake the dust out of his clothes.
I like military activities as all the boys do. I have been attending a young soldiers club since I the age of nine. I like everything there: we have a real strict commander, we wear military uniform, and everything is neat and clean. In a word, things look like in a real army there. The training process is also a difficult one: we run, take apart and put together guns. I get tired easily, but always find strength to go ahead. In my opinion, a real man should be ready to everything, should never complain. I remember, once we had competitions. Many of the boys were tired; they stopped every now and then. This was not about me. I wanted to win. I was sweating, my hands were hard with training, but I went on struggling. I won. They gave me an award. It is really priceless for me, as I have won it myself by having a victory over myself. Now I look at my medal and think of all the war activities in the world to be this way, just like when a boy becomes older. Let the loser just get up, and shake the dust out of his clothes.
Ashot Ghoukasyan
13 years old
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“Abandoned House”
It was night, it was dark, only the branch shadows reflected on the ceiling. It was raining. The tapping of the rain made all the sounds but granny's sighing fade away. It was midnight , but I couldn't sleep because it was neither my room, nor my bed I was in. I was at granny's, where everything was unknown and mystical for me. I was thinking about grandpa who was a war participant, had many medals but a proper house was not what he managed to have. War had made him incapable of doing any physical work.
I went out in the morning. It was foggy outside, but granny was there, in the garden, busy doing things. I approached her and said:
“Go to rest, Granny. Father will buy all the necessary products from the market after all.”
“No, my dear. We have built this house together with your grandpa. Grandpa is not by my side any more. Then, how can I leave all this and come to Yerevan ? Grandpa couldn't bend, nor do any job after he was back from the war. I used to say: “That's all right, Stephan, things may be this way too.” I remember your father as a small boy and me mending the roof with some cloth. We did this to keep your grandpa from bothering. He used to say he was of no help to anybody, in such cases. We needed him even if he was this way. Now, how can I leave all this? How can I let people call our house an abandoned one?”
Granny wiped away the tears.
I approached her, took the spade away from her and started digging.
“Go home, granny. I'll do everything”.
It was foggy outside, the raindrops like granny's tears fell over my hands from the leafless old trees.
It was night, it was dark, only the branch shadows reflected on the ceiling. It was raining. The tapping of the rain made all the sounds but granny's sighing fade away. It was midnight , but I couldn't sleep because it was neither my room, nor my bed I was in. I was at granny's, where everything was unknown and mystical for me. I was thinking about grandpa who was a war participant, had many medals but a proper house was not what he managed to have. War had made him incapable of doing any physical work.
I went out in the morning. It was foggy outside, but granny was there, in the garden, busy doing things. I approached her and said:
“Go to rest, Granny. Father will buy all the necessary products from the market after all.”
“No, my dear. We have built this house together with your grandpa. Grandpa is not by my side any more. Then, how can I leave all this and come to Yerevan ? Grandpa couldn't bend, nor do any job after he was back from the war. I used to say: “That's all right, Stephan, things may be this way too.” I remember your father as a small boy and me mending the roof with some cloth. We did this to keep your grandpa from bothering. He used to say he was of no help to anybody, in such cases. We needed him even if he was this way. Now, how can I leave all this? How can I let people call our house an abandoned one?”
Granny wiped away the tears.
I approached her, took the spade away from her and started digging.
“Go home, granny. I'll do everything”.
It was foggy outside, the raindrops like granny's tears fell over my hands from the leafless old trees.
David Babayan
14 years old
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“Watch your step”
War is a very bad thing. People die even if the war was over long before. This happens because of mines. Fighting sides put land mines everywhere. Our relative's grandson was seventeen; he lived in Kapan, in frontier-bound territories. He had entered an institute that year. He was very happy to go to Yerevan. The bus drove over a mine and exploded. The boy died. He was neither a soldier nor was there a war. I know that thousands of children die because of post-war land mines every year.
Do we really need this kind of victory?
War is a very bad thing. People die even if the war was over long before. This happens because of mines. Fighting sides put land mines everywhere. Our relative's grandson was seventeen; he lived in Kapan, in frontier-bound territories. He had entered an institute that year. He was very happy to go to Yerevan. The bus drove over a mine and exploded. The boy died. He was neither a soldier nor was there a war. I know that thousands of children die because of post-war land mines every year.
Do we really need this kind of victory?
Hovnan Baghdasaryan
8 years old
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“War philosophy”
Why do people kill mice? This is because mice would never heed people's demand to stop making holes on the floor, or take away grains, they are neither going to understand us, nor to die of hunger. So people have no other choice but killing these animals. Who knows, maybe, it might have been possible to use them somehow and pay them back in form of grains? We may just suppose the mice themselves did not prefer this way of life.
People kill elephants, foxes, cows, birds (and many other animals) merely because they get some profit from them.
They get ivory from elephants (you know that it is very expensive), fur from foxes, meat from cows, feather from birds. Having profit is a kind of justification for people.
What a pity people kill each other, people become extinct. Can't they negotiate and come to consent?
They actually negotiate but consent is never reached.
So, this is the way the most evil thing in the world, war starts. Justifications exist even here. Some want oil, others free access to the sea, some say they are to attack not be attacked by others. All have justifications, an aim to reach to without any regard to the means applied.
Now, I am thinking over those reasons and fail to understand where it is safe. States are large and small, powerful and not, rich and poor. Powerful countries swallow less developed ones, the latter attack the former out of fear. Any state having riches inside is destined to try the power of other's fist. Good geographical position predestines the bad situation of a country. So, we can find no place to live safely in. Maybe people should sit down to think over this and stop making wars.
Why do people kill mice? This is because mice would never heed people's demand to stop making holes on the floor, or take away grains, they are neither going to understand us, nor to die of hunger. So people have no other choice but killing these animals. Who knows, maybe, it might have been possible to use them somehow and pay them back in form of grains? We may just suppose the mice themselves did not prefer this way of life.
People kill elephants, foxes, cows, birds (and many other animals) merely because they get some profit from them.
They get ivory from elephants (you know that it is very expensive), fur from foxes, meat from cows, feather from birds. Having profit is a kind of justification for people.
What a pity people kill each other, people become extinct. Can't they negotiate and come to consent?
They actually negotiate but consent is never reached.
So, this is the way the most evil thing in the world, war starts. Justifications exist even here. Some want oil, others free access to the sea, some say they are to attack not be attacked by others. All have justifications, an aim to reach to without any regard to the means applied.
Now, I am thinking over those reasons and fail to understand where it is safe. States are large and small, powerful and not, rich and poor. Powerful countries swallow less developed ones, the latter attack the former out of fear. Any state having riches inside is destined to try the power of other's fist. Good geographical position predestines the bad situation of a country. So, we can find no place to live safely in. Maybe people should sit down to think over this and stop making wars.
Maneh Tonoyan
14 years old
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“Isn’t it love that…”
It was a warm autumn evening. The sunrays were filling my room through the open window, were playing with my hair, and were trying to seize the pen away from my hands. Go away you mischievous rays! I'm busy! I can't play with you today. I think, I must write about war. Well, you persuaded me. I will stand by the window for a while, will look at the white top of Massis, and will admire the autumn red and yellow of Hrazdan Gorge.
That's enough, I am going to write.
I cannot explain why I always think of “war” as the only antonym to the word “peace.” War and peace. People have fought for centuries, killed each other, destroyed developed cities, and brought to the ground all the miraculous buildings which were created once by people like them. Then they sign peace treaties and become joyous, after having made all around them suffer. Reconstruction has followed total destruction. People can rebuild houses but can they ever bring back to life their parents, sisters and brothers killed in wars?
“Nar, Nar. Please help me…”
It's Romanik, my younger brother. Here he is in front of me with his English book under his arms; with a pen, as always, in his mouth; with his round eyes looking at me.
“Come, let's see what we can do. Hurry, or else I will forget all I want to write about.”
See? I lost my train of thought. What was I writing about? Oh, yes it was peace…
One can, perhaps, restore and rebuild everything, but never human relations and lives. Where there are innocent victims there is always a bloody revenge. So, any kind of war should be put to an end if we want to see people around us.
“Nar, Nar, come. Be quick, there is a wedding over here. Look, there is no room for cars again. Look at how beautiful the bride is. Come, see the balloons. They are already high up in the sky.”
It is Rom again. He has climbed up the windowsill and is having fun.
“Rom, don't disturb me”.
I can hear a mix of melodies from outside; it's flooding my room. The music won't stop 'til the morning; the sounds of the people having a party won't let us sleep. What should we do? It's a holiday for them today. I close the window and try to concentrate. How can I convince people to stop fighting? How can I convince terrorists not to burst planes and take over theaters? What's to be done? Isn't it nice when the bright rays of the sun light up the blue sky? When the children make noise playing in the yard? When one can see colorful butterflies on flowers? I so like the noisy wedding party that is disturbing me. Maybe all the people should love each other. Their love should be so great that it doesn't leave any room for offense… Is it that hard to love people?
It was a warm autumn evening. The sunrays were filling my room through the open window, were playing with my hair, and were trying to seize the pen away from my hands. Go away you mischievous rays! I'm busy! I can't play with you today. I think, I must write about war. Well, you persuaded me. I will stand by the window for a while, will look at the white top of Massis, and will admire the autumn red and yellow of Hrazdan Gorge.
That's enough, I am going to write.
I cannot explain why I always think of “war” as the only antonym to the word “peace.” War and peace. People have fought for centuries, killed each other, destroyed developed cities, and brought to the ground all the miraculous buildings which were created once by people like them. Then they sign peace treaties and become joyous, after having made all around them suffer. Reconstruction has followed total destruction. People can rebuild houses but can they ever bring back to life their parents, sisters and brothers killed in wars?
“Nar, Nar. Please help me…”
It's Romanik, my younger brother. Here he is in front of me with his English book under his arms; with a pen, as always, in his mouth; with his round eyes looking at me.
“Come, let's see what we can do. Hurry, or else I will forget all I want to write about.”
See? I lost my train of thought. What was I writing about? Oh, yes it was peace…
One can, perhaps, restore and rebuild everything, but never human relations and lives. Where there are innocent victims there is always a bloody revenge. So, any kind of war should be put to an end if we want to see people around us.
“Nar, Nar, come. Be quick, there is a wedding over here. Look, there is no room for cars again. Look at how beautiful the bride is. Come, see the balloons. They are already high up in the sky.”
It is Rom again. He has climbed up the windowsill and is having fun.
“Rom, don't disturb me”.
I can hear a mix of melodies from outside; it's flooding my room. The music won't stop 'til the morning; the sounds of the people having a party won't let us sleep. What should we do? It's a holiday for them today. I close the window and try to concentrate. How can I convince people to stop fighting? How can I convince terrorists not to burst planes and take over theaters? What's to be done? Isn't it nice when the bright rays of the sun light up the blue sky? When the children make noise playing in the yard? When one can see colorful butterflies on flowers? I so like the noisy wedding party that is disturbing me. Maybe all the people should love each other. Their love should be so great that it doesn't leave any room for offense… Is it that hard to love people?
Narineh Daneghyan
12 years old
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“Love each other”
I have thought much of war and peace and have failed to understand the causes of wars. They seem to be so easy and solvable. The adults really tend to make things complicated. I am sure children would be able to solve all the problems on any battlefield if the adults cared to turn to them. It's easy to say war is a great vice or that peace should be established all over the world. One should just be a bit kind to put an end to wars.
People are very pessimistic nowadays. Everybody thinks wars will never end that our planet is going to be ruined. That's why we have never thought of how to establish peace. We should come to the notion the earth is very small and its inhabitants are and should be like one family. We should realize every destroyed house is ours, every killed person is our relative.
No one is better than others are and no one has the right to deprive people of their lives.
Peace cannot be reached if we only wish of it. We should always keep to the Bible saying, “Love each other”.
I have thought much of war and peace and have failed to understand the causes of wars. They seem to be so easy and solvable. The adults really tend to make things complicated. I am sure children would be able to solve all the problems on any battlefield if the adults cared to turn to them. It's easy to say war is a great vice or that peace should be established all over the world. One should just be a bit kind to put an end to wars.
People are very pessimistic nowadays. Everybody thinks wars will never end that our planet is going to be ruined. That's why we have never thought of how to establish peace. We should come to the notion the earth is very small and its inhabitants are and should be like one family. We should realize every destroyed house is ours, every killed person is our relative.
No one is better than others are and no one has the right to deprive people of their lives.
Peace cannot be reached if we only wish of it. We should always keep to the Bible saying, “Love each other”.
Lusine Hakobyan
13 years old
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“Fairy-tales and Reality”
I love fairy tales very much. When I was small I used to fall asleep sleep to heroes defeating evil forces in the fairy tales my mother told me.
Then I grew up and started reading by myself. I was happy when kind kings were the winners. They shed blood in all the corners of our small planet everyday.
Countries make war, children lose their parents, mothers never see their children again, buildings and schools are destroyed…
The fairy tales are ruined every time I hear of a destroyed school…
Let leaders of different countries fight with one another if they want to fight so badly. Let them plunge people into war.
If they are that powerful, let them win like the fairy tale kings, or let them lose like Msra Melik in our epic. Don't you know kings fight against each other, without any army?
No one would call for war then, because he himself will have to fight.
I love fairy tales very much. When I was small I used to fall asleep sleep to heroes defeating evil forces in the fairy tales my mother told me.
Then I grew up and started reading by myself. I was happy when kind kings were the winners. They shed blood in all the corners of our small planet everyday.
Countries make war, children lose their parents, mothers never see their children again, buildings and schools are destroyed…
The fairy tales are ruined every time I hear of a destroyed school…
Let leaders of different countries fight with one another if they want to fight so badly. Let them plunge people into war.
If they are that powerful, let them win like the fairy tale kings, or let them lose like Msra Melik in our epic. Don't you know kings fight against each other, without any army?
No one would call for war then, because he himself will have to fight.
Aram Abrahamyan
12 years old
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