Play, duduk, you are dear to me,
The sad motif of Armenia.
In it are the groans of the motherland on fire
and the original spirit of the people.
How often have you wept with us,
Seeing off with respect
the One who was leaving our world,
Honoring him with your confusion.
But there were days that you were silent.
In the fifteenth year it was,
Pasha the ruler wolfed
him and his beast attacked us.
It bared its fangs at peaceful and ordinary people
.
At the hands of a pack of executioners,
the blood of Armenians was shed in rivers.
A million and a half wasted,
brought down by the Turkish wolves.
Recognize the genocide throughout the world!
It is criminal to live without this punishment.
Play, duduk, my dear,
The sad tune of Armenia.
And Ararat stands with us like a mountain
, instilling the initial spirit!
Play,
© Copyright: Александр Часин, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123112106857
Свидетельство о публикации №123112106857
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