It is Raining, Son

Translated by Khatchig Mouradian

It is raining, son, the autumn is wet, Just like the damp eyes of poor beguiled love, Go and shut the door, close the window too Then come to my side, let’s sit together

In silence supreme. It is raining, son, Does it sometimes rain in your soul as well? Does your heart get cold? And do you shiver When you think about the bright, bygone sun

At one of the blocked doors of destiny? Yet you weep, my son. All of a sudden, I see heavy tears falling from your eyes.

Weep irretrievable tears of innocence, Weep without knowing, my poor unwise son You poor victim of life, weep so that you grow.