May 2006 • Vol. 27, No. 4 (94)
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May 2006 • Vol. 27, No. 4 (94) |
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PoetryLee Mirigian, a California State University, Fresno alumnus, who currently resides in Orange County, has submitted a poem that was written by his grandfather, Mesrob K. Mirigian, during his early youth. He composed the poem shortly after the 1915 Genocide occurred, while still in high school. The poem was awarded 'first prize' in his high school English class contest. (Ed. Note.) Ravished ArmeniaBy Mesrob K. Mirigian (Circa 1915) Far away in Asia Minor, Underneath those azure skies, The nightingales have ceased their singing - Saddened by Armenia's cries. Ancient hills of raped Armenia, Echo back the exiles' cry; As from homes and dear ones sundered, They are driven out to die. Given but a few hours notice, They must needs leave all behind; Starting out, they know not whither, Driven to a fate unkind. Husbands torn from wives and children, Sent long distances apart; Without hope of a reunion, Travel on with breaking heart. Foot-sore, weary, hungry, fainting, Weak ones drop out one by one; Left to perish by the wayside, 'Neath a hot and burning sun. Girls and mothers are dishonored, By a fate far worse than death; Babies are born but to be strangled, 'Ere they scarce have drawn a breath. Oh!You poor Armenian exiles, Tortured by the cruel Turk; Are there none to fight your battles? Shall all men their duty shirk? Hundreds, thousands, driven like cattle, Tortured, dying in distress; For the wrongs that you have suffered, Are there none to seek redress? The Armenian Languageby Vahan Tekeyan (translated by Diana Der Hovanessian) The Armenian language is an orchard where I walk Under green trees growing in the shadow of the past. The words are clustered fruit I pick one by one. My Armenian language is a garden I love, that grows beside a ruined palace; heavy boughs alive with the flow of sap and sun. I walk the shade of fruit trees and admire their arching branches, their wide roots amazed how they weathered the storms that felled the vast countryside. I hold rounded words, fruits both tart And sweet with juices uncounted suns made ripe; Words that anoint the lips, bless the palate And give comfort to the heart. |
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