A and B: The Revenge of Centuries

by Siamanto (1878-1915)

Translated from the Armenian by Shant Norashkharian.
First published in Hayordinere (Paris, 1908) and reprinted in 1989 by the Catholicossate of Cilicia. This is public domain.

From the tops of the iron ladder of hopes I announce my good news,
From the valleys of ashes, corpses and sorrows I have reached you,
And, alas, the blood of my magnificent race still drips from the sleeves of my chlamys...
But my steps are tireless and my will is mighty and my voice severely fierce...
Although my head is gray from mournings and from revenge and from my fate,
But look, my eyes are as red as a hero's eyes and my appearance is terrifying.
Under the sun of my wisdom and my passion my robust torso
No longer needs a cornerstone to bear that vain glory eternally.
And the manuscripts of supplication, prayer, crying and lament and mourning,
Where century after century my generations have cried their blood and suffering,
I threw them aside, not to move from defeat to slavery, and from begging to tears...
And with my thought and with my rage I measured the deepest roots of my pains;
I saw that your bare feet of salvation beggars burned from the ashes of ruins...
I saw that you were blissful in tears and horrified from the life-giving battle...
I saw that justice had to be created and freedom had to be fiercely snatched...
And today, there you see, my unweighable rage has lit all its fires...

"I now appeal to you as well, come and stand on my road, sing for me to release you,
Sing war songs on my road, so that I may revengefully and eternally release
for the sons of my faith the savage horses of hurricane...
Tell me, which lighthouses of my idea should I burn against the four directions,
Tell me, on which breasts of injustice should I roll the piles of my rocks,
And begin with my land's fiery and rebellious troops
The advance of my formidable armies of revenge and terror...?
Tell me, so that I may have my trumpets blown with the glottis of ancient heroes,
Tell me, so that I may harden my irons and shine my steels,
Tell me, so that I may also gloriously saddle my blood-drinking horse,
Tell me, so that its hoofs may spark above the valleys, only from mountain to mountain...
Sing, there the blood of all has turned to sun and the wills and wrists have turned to brass,
Sing, the brotherhood has been celebrated and the breaths and souls have been
crowned with the revenge of the same centuries,
Look the pouring tears have turned back and the beating of breasts has stopped,
Look all of them together, all of them together, advanced under my wings of a Highest prince,
Still inebriate them, if you can, and worthily sing an epic for me, harpist,
I know that your harp has the thirst for the Fatherland, as for the revenge of centuries...
Therefore snatch your strings from the lightnings of zenith, bunch by bunch,
Raise your hands and stretch them out toward the blues of the night,
And decorate my head with the glory of a light-dripping cluster of morning stars,
Cover me with incense and worship me and when the time comes burn yourself alive for me,
And crush your earthling's forehead against the marbles of my monument,
Because it is Me, it is Me, my name is Struggle and my end is Victory".

* * *

Feedback/Comments: The email address of Shant Norashkharian is:
MASSISSAR@AOL.COM