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Sevak, AZ Canto ii


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#1 Arpa

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Posted 12 March 2002 - 02:35 PM

Anlreli Zangakatoun
Canto ii

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=====
Canto ii

PEAL of SANCTITY

Like his people he too poor orphan
He was not even barely of one year,
When... his mother died;

Ah! If she departed
May her bright spirit rise,
And become worthy of
That heavenly throne she so believed.

Only if she stayed
And nurse of her breast
Her Soghomon- our Komitas;

Only if she stayed
To take care of him
Thsat her son, our only born.

She could stay and be a mother,
In times hopeless and in times so sad
Wipe away the tears off his tiny brow,
First of his feet
And then of his heart
Remove those sharp thorns.
Stay.. she so after all
Very soon after...
When her son walked in those dark paths,
Which turned to no return and no end,
Perhaps she, with a mother's heart
Of her only born and our genius, could
Take the pain away...

If only she stayed,
An entire nation could
Call her a "Grand Mom",
Call her "Grand Matron",
An entire nation, her holy hands
To its lips place
And kiss her long skirts...

If only she stayed... She did not!

Only if his father stayed...
But he also went,
When his son barely ten.
Of his people, a son genuine
Like his people he too, poor orphan.
He remained homelsss, with nary a nest.
Hey lad of ruins...!
He became restless, with his nest ruined.
Hey lad of ruins...!

Barely as high as one's lap, with a wounded heart,
With tears in his heart, and sweat on his lids,
In fall's frigid wind and frost of winter
Where would that orphan stay, where go he could?
Where could he find warmth, on whose tonir's edge.
Hey lad of ruins...!

His orphaned heart just like shattered glass,
Ah!, Red in the out, but sharp thorn inside,
This orphan lamb lost, the world as his crib
Who will look on him, or who will give
A piece of a smile, a crumb of caress.
Hey lad of ruins...!

He sang door to door, his voice quivered
With his mouth he sang and with weeping eyes,
>From his wee chin rose a patch of hot breath,
Little heart afire, little heart in black,
His aches were as wind, his soul an oven...
Hey lad of ruins...!

Two tense years thus he would
Wander on singing and looking around
In hopes of some bread or even an egg,
His mind in thousand places, and eyes at one point...
You began wounded, who knows what the end?
Hey lad of ruins...!




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