| ***My sorrow | ||||||
| My sorrow A Translation of the poem by Petros Durian Craving for unearthly feelings To find dried , oh, nearly all springs, Fading in a blooming age, oh, no, That is not my real sorrow. Having not my pale cold forehead Burned by kisses, just to lay it On a rigid earthen pillow, That is not my real sorrow. Having not yet hugged a creature, Smiling, warbling,spreading luster, To embrace just this cold barrow, That is not my real sorrow. Having but a poor homeland, You, a branch of hapless Mankind, Not to help you, pass unnoticed, That is what my real sorrow. |
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| Sargis | ||||||
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