Hagop Norashkharian

My Heart Was Left There...

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My heart was left in the snow of nobly-poised Ararat,
In the graceful lake which sits on the peak of Arakatz,
No matter how much people mock me, it's in vain, in vain,
My heart was left in the fresh breath of mountains of my land.

My heart was left in the blue, splendid bay of Sevan,
In the densely-leaved shadow of the trees of Tilijan,
No matter how much days roll my longing grows so deeply,
My heart was left in fragrance of flowers of fatherland.

My heart was left in vow of my brother clung to our land,
In each, every Armenian, who's proud of his fatherland,
No matter how much men try to break my heart from its roots,
So much stronger, undismayed, my heart in me palpitates.

My heart was left in the voice of the girls of fatherland,
In their fiery stares and in the sea of their sweetness,
No matter how much foreign girls set up a feasting show,
I cannot yet quench my warm longing in their excitement.

My heart was left in the song of the waters and the birds,
In the ringing, purling rhythm of the new generation,
No matter how much they want to console me, it's in vain,
My heart has perched over there, while I am here, in the mud...!

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