(For the millions of the Armenian Martyrs of The Genocide)
The torrential wave of blood pounds my chest, Stirring furiously from the depths of the desert, Rising from the dry sand, from the slashed breast of my holy mother, Wherefrom my orphan brother received his dreadful sustenance.
Sustenance from the slashed breast of mother… Raped and ravished… Instead of the vivifying juice of milk He suckled the bitter drops of coagulated and suppurated sacred blood, The curse of the atrocious world for the mankind.
My orphaned and wretched brother was satiated with vengeance, The brother of mine, who otherwise would have incensed like a censer, His pure eyes, luminous and compassionate of old, Were filled with the poison of rancor, perfidious, gloomy and dark.
Alas, my loves of spring… Alas my desire for life… How should I embrace you with docile and sweet enjoyment yet again? Whereas my brother, who is myself, became identified with my horrid revenge, Which he suckled from the slashed breast of my holy mother…
Glendale, CA. © 2002