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Here I am – a poet, and my name is Charents,
It shall flare in the years, it shall be high, shall be great.
I am coming from the past and I’m walking forward -glorious
To the centuries again, to the Future – florious[1].
What does of me desire the blue agony of fire?
What does your soul aspire, Nairi – ancient and dire?
Why have you spread before me your scent in complete palate,
And ‘ve ignited my agony with melancholy – so morbid?
And why has risen before me the maiden of your far past,
With her eyes of marsh-green and her charm of desert sand?
Be I naked, be I cold, unattended for, ignored
As a nameless, burning corpse, or a child – orphaned, lost.
And, with not a single arrow launched, for the fears of demise,
Here I am – running back, I’m retreating to disguise.
And my eyes, before which I see a growing image lay,
Stare up again onto them, onto the masses insane.
They have risen up again, they are many, they are bright,
And shall destroy, one by one, all your cities of lunar sand.
None of its charm anymore will your falling world retain,
In its stead death and blood, wounds and ashes shall remain.
Nevermore will rise from ashes the bleak charm of your domain,
Nevermore will there exist the blue love for your sweet chains.
And your eyes, with green passion and the glaring lust they bore,
Will burn down to dust and ashes, they won’t spark out anymore.
And not one soul will recall that once upon a day in times
My heart was fallen prey to fears, the horrid fears of demise.
That there once lived a woman – a horror maiden unfamed,
Who cast away my hopeful soul into a far terrain – unnamed.
They will come, they will destroy, nothing at all shall sustain,
Nor your sorrow with blue charm, not your paradise – profane.
Not a woman will then hear of my demise – this shameful crush,
That has turned my lucent soul into a dream – broken, dashed.
And in the hot lines of my songs, not one word will betray
That I’ve ever failed in thought, have been captive, have fell prey.
I’m a poet, and my songs, even in my darkest days
Will shoot out like arrows launched into the bright future ahead.
I am coming from the past and I’m walking forward – glorious
To the centuries again, to the Future – florious.

Yeghishe Charents
(Original in Armenian – Անկումների սարսափից)

[1] A coined word for flowery
Translated by Armine Grigoryan