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Derenik


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#1 Arpa

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Posted 11 March 2002 - 09:34 AM

ΈΊπΊάΖΞΐ
Έ³έΗ»Ι μ³ραυΕ³έ

ΈαυιΑ ΟΑ ΅³σαυΗ.- Έ»ρ»έΗΟέ, ³Ραν,
Ζ΅ρ»υ ΓΏ ³ΫΝ»³Ω Ω°ΑΙΙ³ρ έ»ο³Ρ³ρ,
ΨϋρΑ Γ»ν»ραυέ ΩΏη Ο°ΗΫέ³Ϋ Ι³Ιαν£
-"Ζέ±γ αυέΗλ, οΑΥ³λ... ΑλΏ ίαυο... ΩΗ Ι³ρ.
ϊΣΑ± ω»½ Λ³Ν³», ΓΏ ³ω³σ»σ ΣΗέ£"
"ΆΑΙαυΛΑλ ε³οι»σ ΉΑρ³σΗ ²ΙΗέ.."

Ίυ ³έ σαυΫσ Ο°αυο³Ϋ λ»υ ·³έ·αυιέ»ραυέ
ά»ρω»υ νΏρω Ω°αυρΟΏ ΅ΑΛ»Ιαν ³ρΗυέέ
Π³Ϋ ·ΙΛΗΟέ ³ΫΉ Γαυρω αΛαν ΟΑ ΓΑρηΏ£
ψ³η Ωϋρέ Ρα·υαΫέ ΩΏη νΗΡ»ρ ΟΑ ΅³σαυΗέ
Θ»σαυ³Ν ³ΩϋΓαν.- ·Α·αυ»Ι ΟΑρΓΗ±γ Ώ
κΑροΗ νρ³Ϋ° Ϋ³ΥΓαυ³Ν Χ³Ο³οέ »ρΟγαοΗέ£

δ³Ρ Ω°Ηρ ·αυΓΗέ ΛαυΙ ΟΑ ΩΥΏ Η ΅³σ
ΞαυρΝωΏέ ·ΑΙαυΛέ ³Ϋ Ηρ χαωρΗΟ ν³οΗέ.
Ίυ ΟΑ ·αι³Ϋ.- "ΈαυρΉλ!.. . ΩΗέγ»υ αρ Ϋ³ΥΓ³Ν
²ρΗυέέ»ρΉ ³έαρ ³ρ»³Ω΅ γΑΩ³ωρΗέ
²Ϋλϋρ οαυέ γ»λ ·³ρ£ Ψ³οέΗγ Λέ³Ωωέ»ραυλ,
ΨΗΓΏ ν³ρλ³ΟΗ Ρ³σαν± λΑέ³ρ... Έαυρλ"!£
ξΑΥ³έ ³ΩϋΓΏέ ίΗΟέ³Ν Ο°³ι³ρΟΏ.
"΄³Ϋσ, Ω³ΫρΗΟ, ²ΙΗέ ΒαυρωΗ ½³υ³Ο Ώ.
²γωΗέ ΩΏη Ρ»ι Ο³Ϋ, »υ ΩΏηωΗέ χ³Ι³£"
"ΖλΟ Ήαυ ³Ι Ρ³Ϋ »λ, »υ ΩΏηωΗΉ ΑΙΙ³Ϋ
ΒαΥ ΗΩ ΩΑΟρ³ολ, ΗΙλ, Ηέγ αρ Οαυ½»λ... Έαυρλ!£"

Έ»ρ»έΗΟέ ³ΫεΏέ ·»οΗέ έ³Ϋ»Ιαν
ΞΑ Ω»ΟέΗ ³έΣ³Ϋέ....£ Παέ Ν³ιΗ ΩΑ ωαν
ΌΗέωΑ ΟΑ ο»λέ»Ω ΙαΫλαν Ιαυλ³έΟΗ.-
Ψ»Ν ω³ρ ΩΑ Σ»ιωΗέ, ηΙ³σΗ·, Ή³ΙΟ³Ρ³ρ,
(ΨΗέγ ³ρΗυέέ ³ΫοΏέ ν³ρ ΟΑ Ο³ΫΙ³ΟΗ)
ΒΑίέ³ΩυαΫέ ί»ΩΗέ ΟΑ λε³λΏ, »ρΟ³ρ...


DERENIK
By D. Varouzhan (1884-1915)
(Note: All these works in re to the Armenian suffering, as well as those by Siamanto and others were written before "the big one", i.e. before 1915)

The door opens wide, Derenik with awe,
Like a wounded deer hit by an arrow,
Falls in his mother's arms, weeping.
"what happened, my son... tell me quick.. don't cry,
Did the snake bite you, or the horse you kick"?
"My head tore open, our next door Ali!"

And he bares open, under those black curls
That gashing wound with blood streaking down
That little Armenian head, hit with Turkish vengeance.
Deep gorges open in brave mother's soul
Full of shame... is it right to caress
On her heart- head of a defeated coward?

In a moment, deaf to her mercy, she ponders
From chest to the head of that little wretch,
And she roars,- "Out!... until you triumph
His blood you cleanse with your own
Don't come today. You betrayed my care,
Did I nourish you with bread made of oats?... Out!!!"

The boy turned scarlet with shame protests,
"But mommy, Ali is a son of Turk,
There's fire in his eyes and pala on his back."
"And you're Armenian, and let at your waist be
My scissors, my spinner, whatever you want...Out!!!"

Derenik with shame, looking to the ground
Leaves in deep silence... There under a tree
I see him by light of the moon,
A big stone in hand, nervous and pale
(While down his cheek blood dripping down)
At the doorstep of foe, he waits and waits long...




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