I observe that masters such as our medieval secular poets, often referred to as "those genius serfs", are unmatched in any other literature, not necessarily in terms of their genius but rather in the originality of colors and shades, form and material processing.

Each poem exists as an artifical construct, a system that humans, contrary to the laws of nature, bring into existence. The natural order is prose, poetry, however, is always a possibility, always subjective.

Witin the collective entity of "humbnity", the concept of "tragedy" gains significace only when individuals view life from the perspective of their personal, unique experieces. Therefore, the death of a person is a tragedy for me because they are unique to me. However, if viewed from an outsider's perspective, the tragedy ends, and the cycle of human life begins: "Yesterday it was you, today it's me, tomorrow it will be someone else..."

There is Metsarents, there is Teryan, - and there are many other poets, But - Tumanyan is the immature Ararat of our new strip.