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.
– Vahan Derian, born and educated in Tiflis and studied later at the Lazarian School in Moscow and the University of St. Petersburg. While he was a student he learned about the 1915 genocide of Armenians. His poetry both of heartbreak and political ideas, became besr known for its music and echo of musical phrase after phrase.