Perch Zeytuncyan, Levon Ananayan, Zareh Khrahkuni
It is waiting.
On this side of the dam
The thirsty field is waiting
To fulfill its thirst.
On the other side
The reservoir is swollen
With water.
It is waiting.
On this side of the dam
The field is waiting
To be immersed.
On the other side
A river bleeds the water away
Like a vein.
From our ancestors’ lofty mountains
Bathed in light
Water pours down like overflowing tears from giants.
It forms into many streams and creeks
That flow into and build up the mighty reservoir
With the same type of immense force
That swells the heart of a brave person, powerless and imprisoned,
When his secret tears drip incessantly inside of him.
From afar,
From the mantle of our ancestors’ sacred land
Sold beforehand, the creek water leaches and trickles like sweat;
The spring flows and gushes like blood that is shed in vain;
And together they give birth to a murky river
That divides into veins and branches
And it goes
To water others’ gardens and fields in an incorrect fashion.
And as it moves farther away, it enlarges and sickens, becoming a swamp,
Until it drains into the ocean’s dark melting abyss,
While the field is waiting for one or the other or both together
To become a torrent,
To be inundated,
To be possessed.
Translated by Alfred and Lusine Mueller
