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THE WOE OF ARAXES

Meditating by Araxes,

Pacing slowly to and fro,

Sought I traces of the grandeur

Hidden by her turgid flow.

Turgid are thy waters, Mother,

As they beat upon the shore.

Do they offer lamentations

For Armenia evermore?

.

.

.

But where, now, are all my people?

Far in exile, homeless, lorn.

While in widow's weeds and hopeless,

Weeping, sit I here and mourn.

Hear now while my sons are absent

Age-long fast I still shall keep;

Till my children gain deliverance,

Here I watch and pray and weep."

Silent, then, the mighty Mother

Let her swelling tides go free.

And in mournful meditation

Slowly wandered to the sea.

Raphael Patkanian