The Glory of the Invention

Mesrob, standing against the Armenian centuries,
You, rock of diamond,
You, undiscoverable lighthouse of consciousness,
Which sows flashes
From the naked brains of children to the genius...
You, whose hammer's blow,
Like the hours, ceaselessly every minute,
Forges the statues of the museum of intellect for us...
You, non-sleeping watchman, you, titanic Seer,
You, from the Cradle to the grave,
Beautiful-voiced interpreter
Of each word, of each breath of ours...
You, creator of language, prince of Reason,
You, unlimited labyrinth of permanence,
You, fertile father of existence,
You, rising like a tempest upon the soil of the fatherland,
Forest infinite, forest of heart,
Of whose each gigantic thick-trunked tree
Is each a lyre, each a bandora to our breath...
Is each a war trumpet to our throats,
Is each a barricade to the misfortune of fate...
You, non-consumable field of wheat, you, free bread,
You, rich harvest and you, fiery-red reaper,
You, pond of drunkenness and wine,
In which I have submerged my golden jar as well...
Mad with my thirst for suns...

You, apostle with deeply-penetrating stares,
It was you who saved the Haigazian ray
Of your race which sings of you today
With the ruby foundation stone of your mother-language,
From the genius and fiery Hellens
And the great world-conquering sons of Rome
And the fire-worshipping neighbor Persians...
You, second God,
And You, first creator of thought...
You, abundant goodness, fountain of heart,
Treasure of colors, throne of mercy,
You, undrawn bridge arching the flying centuries one to another,
Through which your race by the millions,
Gloriously or vilely,
Passes from life to death...

You, declared by the Hellens
As grand-titled Academic,
O recluse, O Magister, there,
Both Armenias are shouting 'Hosanna to you'...!
And Hosanna to the Chief Father of Vagharshabad,
Your equally important acolyte,
And to King Vramshabouh,
Because by being in support of your great invention,
One with his Cross, the other with his equally powerful Sword,
Walking with your steps,
At Ararat's dawn,
Opened the door of learning for us...

Ah, the whole blood of Your brain,
From which fevers to which fever,
From which shudders to which shudder,
From which hellish twirlings to which twirling,
And from which uncertainty to uncertainty and hypothesis to hypothesis,
And from which wave of the sea to which wave,
From which transforming scale to which scale,
And from which balance to which balance, did it take you...?
And every molecule of your soul,
And every ray of your eyes,
Every drop of the sparks of your genius,
Your windy panting and crazy impetus of your flights,
The fiery vortexes of your prayers,
For forty days, day and night,
In your solitude, like a lonely dead man,
Took you toward your Vision...
And from the flower sprout born in the dream
And the ungrown bud,
You, from the fading light, you, from the shadow of the ideal,
From the colorless line and the sublime rose of the dream,
You, from the spire, the silent accent, the colorless word,
You, from the floating and rootless strips,
Created an Alphabet of harmony...
And from the Golden Threshold of the Fourth century
Until our day, with our dark blood,
There, the multi-stringed Armenian Genius,
Is molded in your forms...

O unsolvable enigma,
O bundle of thunderbolt nerves,
Furnace of blood, spotless expansion of visions,
O astonishing and permanent trickster of senses,
Lyrical awesome-pupiled Chimera-seer,
You, rainbow drawn by God...
Bringing us the fire of reconciliation,
You, master of the doubtful and the confused,
You, unusual and irregular steeple...
You, clergyman of great passions,
Man of God, brother of mind, sister of lyre,
From your cup, allow me, to drink as well...

And today, nourished with your sanctity,
I, tardy lyre player,
And an unpaid and unworthy grateful one,
I bring you the mirror of the soul of your race...
In my eyes I took fire from its eyes...
And I have reaped my words from its heart,
And whatever you read upon my forehead,
Whatever you read in my smile,
I have written it with its Hope...
And allow me, today, O Mesrob,
That I rise upon your golden ladder
Which reaches from the land of Armenians to the stars,
And with firm steps, step by step,
And from crown to crown and light to light,
As a son of your thought,
To come to you to sing my song...