The day turned dark
All rainbows dispersed
Everything became fairy tale-like
A tale that none can tell
But to me it was an image
Of Yerevan – a picture brought
By a poet friend who went
To search for the cure
But his son died and he
Wrote a book
By that time, I just tormented myself
With Beelzebub tales
And all know that Gurdjieff
Was not stupid nor crazy