Mher Mkrtchyan, Mkrtchyan Mher was called to be one of the great inhabitants of this country, this theater of God. if it weren't for drama, if it weren't for the stage, Mher would have been that great in a different way, let's say as a certain Poloz Mukuch, a certain Pil-Pugh or William Saroyan, a person, a resident, whose presence and process sprinkles kindness, love and trust on everyone, people wake up in a different and good mood, they don't attach too much importance to events and faces, they can see the monstrous as funny, they see themselves outside and free from what is imposed by the order. And on this stage of God, Mher was perhaps bigger than it was on the stage of the theater. A great creation of God himself, it was difficult to place himself in our works and creations of man - the molds of the figures crumbled to pieces, the clothes of the figure were torn on him with a shriek, the structure was disfigured by his entrance and rebuilt and domed in a form that was not supposed to be.
He was going to write for himself and wrote. on stage and off stage, his work and life are his own and great work. If that creation continued, today our environment would not be so poor and evil, if that life continued, we would be better for the world, our heights would be a little taller, our eyes would be a little smarter, our souls would be light and our hearts would be open.
But why do the elders leave before the great collapses, why do they turn their backs on us? What is it, is it not their duty to the elders - to be among us in our difficult days, to be at the head of our panicked flight, and to turn our panic into an orderly retreat and march? Or do we deserve to be left alone, without elders, against our own evil?