A PRAYER

TO GOD
(A PRAYER)

(Dedicated
to two strangers, my father and my mother)

O
Compassionate Lord,

I hate your Compassion as there
were children in Sodom and Gomorrah destroyed by you and the gravity of
the sins committed by them are measured by Your Compassion.


Sodoms and Gomorrahs of the past, you have always
been and will forever be in prayers to glorify the Compassion of Lords.
The immeasurable distance from your demolished walls and the butchered
reflection of the candles crying tears unto ashes to our hearts is
measured by Your Compassion, Lord! The prayer of chosen Lots is for the
ears of the common sense of Tradition, it is a scar left by the scourge
of Compassion which stretches from Heart to Mind. And the distance
separating Heart and Mind is immutable, is measured at birth by the
Compassion of Your Will, O Compassionate Lord!

I
hate the measures measured by You: the compassionate prisons of
preservation of the kind, where Death is measured in the least amount.


I want to be deaf as both the pleas and cries of
Sodoms and Gomorrahs and praising prayers of Lots are the same. They
are the same for you, Lord.

I hate Your Godly
Indifference and Your Indifference to all prayers.


O Creator Lord,

I hate Your
Virtue of Creation. Darting over nothingness, you created but
nothingness. Nothingness that took a name_ Deception.


Idols of Deception, you are the eyelids opening our
eyes to exquisite, colorful and illusory worlds. Nothingness - a
mockery for the blind, which we call father, son, mother, stranger and
relative, life and motherland?. Empty names from Emptiness.


Cut off my tongue so that I do not shatter the
happiness of the blind into misery.

I hate Your
Spirit of Creation and it is its uterus-brain only that can conceive of
such a horror which we call Human Life.

Strike my
eyes out so that I do not see Nothingness wearing the garb of
Meaningfulness whose tailor is Tragedy wearing a smiling mask. So that
I do not see the millions of cartons which we call skulls - the
labyrinth of drifting winds and refuge of earth.


Strike my eyes out so that I do not see the
milliards of corpses, not to die with every single one of them in agony
and in cruel torment. May I never ever witness new births with wailing
cries, and deaths with blood-curdling shrieks?

I
hate the torments you have created. There exists only bodily pain. The
human soul never aches once the veneer of Deception is torn and Your
Face is seen, O Lord.

Cut off my tongue so that I
do not push the ironic essence and mechanism of Idols and Prayers along
the path connecting Heart and Brain.

O Lord,
Considerate of Humankind,

I hate the Godly Equality
created by You. We are all equal before you, before the Realization of
Your Intent and Will. We are as equal as the Sun and the Earth, water
and earth, man and beast, all the stones making up the tower of prayers
addressed to You.

Cut off my arms not to build
towers for You, enthralled by this deception of Equality.


O Righteous Lord, I hate your justice that
transforms itself into skyscrapers and shacks, the walls of which are
held together by a mortar of human misery and powerlessness. Justice -
a commandment weighed by an ephemeral scale, the sole value and meaning
of the Commandment being not harming Humankind.

I
hate your Mind, which conferred this love of equality onto this blind,
mute and deaf rabble of people. That is the illusory conductor of those
endless requiems when there are &;quot;likes&;quot; and
&;quot;not likes.&;quot; A glowing illusion for us to imagine
ourselves to be Gods, hence to judge: to chew on Happiness, the
pain-relieving drug not to go insane from living. The chimera of our
likeness to Your Image leads us along the path designed by you
beforehand - from birth to death just for the sake of preserving our
species and perpetuating Your Whim.

P.S. Tear my
uterus asunder, it is going to give birth to Nothing.


Bury me without prayers, laughing at God.

I have been dead a long time, from the moment when the
Fairy-Tale died and I saw you naked, O Lord.

Today
is the funeral of Lord. The prayers are for Him and Pray just for Him.

translated from Armenian into
English

by Anna Mkhitarian