Translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian I am at home with the homeless and the mad, those who have lost their laughter and their land, the orphans, the wanderers, the dispossessed of nationhood, friends, and address, women stripped of modesty and shame and left desolate and maimed, those whose eyes dimmed looking at death, those with nothing to lose now except breath, those in doorless prisons in the dark, those charred by fires they did not start– they are my brothers....
translated by Diana Der-Hovanessian There is an invisible chain in the skies unseen as pain is unseen except in the eyes. The chain settles with the galaxies of night to buckle the stars each to each. They flicker like sacred candles and reach, but are tied to order and held separate by sight. You and I are bound like the stars by dreams, not by need. Always together, always separate. On the same course but orbits apart....
You praised red roses raised for Vartavar. And in return I sang sad singer’s songs. You said: Your country’s gardens are unmatched. Search near and far In spite of flinty land your roses burn. Vartavar’s red rosy wreaths are wherever you turn. Just like hail spangling mountains, dales, their flames have scorched our fields and burned our homes. Look, where endless blood was let. So many bled. No wonder that our roses blaze so fiery red....