Dhour Shoueir(Lebanon), August 1937
Translated by Khatchig Mouradian
Your pain unfolds from the past, oh light-shaded pine tree…Barely risen from the ground you have lost your maiden branch, the trace of which Appears on you dry and sprout as a broken arm.
Then countless other branches succeeded it, And once they thought your trunk had grown enough Allowed your upper knots to sprout and thicken, and silently adorn themselves with transparent hair.
And upon them abound new traces of sawing, All your still-born granddaughters and grandsons, Whose fervent sepulchers you have become.
But you do not inspire at all, oh green tree of the mountains -With memories of so many victims- any notion of sorrow, You breed new life constantly and sway in joyous mood.