Death has turned my land of merry laughter and ringing sun into a gray and warm night, and in its darkness, which is not much more reality and is the web of our darkened souls, one by one, one by one, one person after another, it devours souls.
And who will say, who will be the golden mouth to speak, and the word will pass through and through us like a light breeze, and our hearts will be lightened with the breath of a child, the light of the valley will play in our eyes, the darkness will withdraw from us and from us and the horizon of tomorrow will open before our step, and my old people will enjoy their autumn sun of peaceful conversations, and my young people will enjoy their energy. don't panic.
Whose word will be, who will say - us, anyone behind the seven mountains and seven seas... I don't know.
I only know that we are very sorry. It's a pity that we don't say and it's a pity that we don't listen. It's a pity that we don't keep our lamb hearts open to that life-giving breath, we don't wipe these premature wrinkles from our faces, we don't shake off this murderous fear, we don't banish this doubt, we don't believe in each other and ourselves. And, straining, straining, unbearable tension, and we crack and break. I only know that in front of that saving word, even if it came from us and ours, we would be inclined, sharpened to the point of remembrance, stressed to the point of being deceived, to listen, even if it seemed, to believe that word and to throw away the stone from our hearts, but we are not inclined. It's not good, that's how we kill ourselves, that's how we kill each other, that's how we betray ourselves and each other.
I swore that no occasion, no reason would take away my pen from my work, but what are we doing, guys, what are we doing, Hamo, golden-mouthed Hamo, Andranik!, Andranik Tsarukyan, Hakob, Hakob Karapents, Artashes, Vardges, Suzy!, Victor, Rafael, Manuk, a child with a lamb's heart... what are you? doing
Or do you think it's your personal business or your personality is only yours informally, if you want, you will redo it and send it back, if you want, you will leave it in the guise of fatigue and despair and drunkenness and mistrust. Is it so difficult to emerge, so difficult to establish and so easy to leave? Or were we not the soldiers of the same march that we were going to march through the days and years, we were still going to become the behavior of will, uprightness, faith and love, to the joy of many lovers?