Atom Yarjanian


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It was him, who, on the marble edges of my Dream, tonight,
Standing invincibly like a rock,
Immersing his fiery head of a rebel into the stars,
And arming his hand with the swords of hatred,
Like a brother, marvelous for his love of saving the land,
Whose soul bleeds when a brother becomes a foreigner,
Spoke to me, and his words one after another, and phrase by phrase,
Were solemn and sweet and true and revengeful and virile...
"It is me, O son of feebleness and immobility,
Who has come from afar with perturbing noises,
To finally shake your dreamy and indifferent and inactive and selfish and feeble
Youthful body and your being and your soul,
With the strike of my arm and the uproar of my swords,
For the compelling hours of the fights...
Listen to my voice, which in these decisive days
Of our race, is the terrible tumult of our vengeance and our blood,
And merge with our mighty crowd, join our company, become a brother,
If there is still in your soul any spark of freedom left alive,
If your arms still have the courage to strike the enemies,
If your heart even once became wounded from the death of our motherland,
If from the suffering of your race and from the nightmare of the massacre of innocents
Within you rose the forests of hatred and rage...
If you will still be able to embrace a purpose in your life,
If your eyes still have not been blinded by these useless tears...
If you changed your prayers to roars of Hatred,
If you still feel your race's militant blood from the sun
Being inflamed in your veins and head,
If still from Aram's, Dikran's, Ardashes' and Vartan's
Victorious strength there was a breath left in you,
Then from the heroic steps in front of your dreamer's stares
A way of self-devotion, revenge and freedom is opened,
Stand up then, become a brother to my squads and a storm with them,
Because, know that in these days of sacrifice, rebellion and hope,
It is the basest of all baseness for all of us to give up our souls in bed..."

Suddenly the squads went far through the fires of sunrise,
And the iron ring of their volunteer's conscious and decisive steps
Was like the ring of countless chisels crushing marbles...
While the detached heads of the enemies were burning like torches
On the tops of the swords which they raised over their shoulders...
At that moment, kneeling on the ground with envy and passion,
I kissed with awe the trace of their heroic steps...

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