Excuse me, my flowers,
and dawns of my life, excuse
me,
flowery valleys of my childhood
and pretty birds of the sky,
excuse me all of you,
for I don’t sing for you,
for I don’t sing about roses
and violets,
for none of you is inspiring
me right now,
for I haven’t time to enjoy
by nature,
Love has died deep in my
heart,
the stars and the moon have
got dark as hell,
And I can’t sing about you,
praise the nature,
for my thought has started its
journey,
it’s going to Masis1, Sipan2
and Maruta3,
Our great mountains, our lake Vana,
Our cities Kars, Adana,
Bitlis, Erzrum and Erznka,
Moosh and Sasoon,
where the heavenly manna comes
down on the trees,
Don’t be hurt from my words,
my moon and stars, my pretty
flowers,
I have no time for you
today,
‘cause my thought has started on journey,
it’s going on foot,
and barefooted like pilgrim,
it’s going to our abandoned
churches and castles,
to the ruined temple Ani,
and all these places that were
our own,
but ruined now and destroyed,
‘cause the Turks have broken
every treasure we’d had,
Even our cross-stones and the
Holy Bible,
our books, handwritings and manuscripts,
And burned all my people –
young and adult,
mother and child,
The Turk bastards have killed
my people
without any conscience,
the knavish and insidious beasts
have torn my nation to pieces,
Excuse me, my flowers,
For I can’t praise you
today,
‘cause my nation has become
wanderer,
‘cause we’d been plundered heavily
,
‘cause we stayed face to face
with death,
but we survived at least,
we became a rock against storms,
we struggled hardly,
we became a river and overflowed,
we became seeds and have been
sowed
all over the world,
we were occurred by ruins
and homelessness,
we became the conscience of
all the world,
of the blind world,
and we were silent
and we are still silent,
for so, so long time…
***
Now,
how can a poet sing joyously
about spring and its miracles,
when the blood is flowing from
her heart?
Excuse me, my flowers,
and my fresh-scented dawns, excuse
me,
flowery valleys and pretty birds
of the sky,
cool waters coming down the
mounts, excuse me…
Excuse me, my snowdrops,
you were inspiring me since
my childhood,
and I was going crazy every
time
while you were smiling with
your blue eyes,
Excuse me now, I haven’t time
even for you,
‘cause my thought has started
journey,
and the blood is flowing from
my heart,
my longing heart has packed
its bags today
and started on its way,
it’s going to our lands,
it’s going our home,
it’s going to be the owner of
the fields
of my grandfather Balo,
to pick our fruits, to enjoy
by harvest,
to keep the fire in the
hearth going…
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1.Masis – another name of mount Ararat.
2,3.Sipan, Maruta – mountains in Western Armenia.(t.n.)