In Memoriam Of Vartan Lutfian Poem by Bedros Tourian

OUR two devoted hearts were joined and bound
By streaming rays, with heaven’s own light aglow;
We read each other’s souls like open books,
Where ’neath each word lay depths of love and woe.
Dost thou remember, on Mount Chamlajà,
In the dark cypress shade where mourners sigh,
How we two mused, and watched the Bosphorus,
Stamboul’s blue girdle, and the cloudless sky?
We sat in silence ; any uttered word
Would but have marred our souls’ infinity.
There like two flames we burned without a sound,
And shone upon each other, pale to see.
Like sad black moths that haunt the cypresses,
Our souls drank in the shadow and the gloom,
Drank endless sorrow, drank the dark-hued milk
Of hopelessness and of the silent tomb.
Deeply we drank, and long; but thou didst drain
The darksome cup that to thy lips was given,
Till thou wast drunken with it, and became
Thenceforth a pale and silent son of heaven.
Thy paleness grieved my soul; thy last faint look,
Turned on me ere thy spirit did depart,
Has fixed forevermore, O friend beloved,
The memory of thee in my aching heart.
Oh, art thou happy or unhappy there ?
Send me a message by an angel’s wing !
Tedious, alas ! and weary is this world,
Mother of griefs and bitter sorrowing.
If in that world there is a shady tree.
And a clear brook that softly murmurs near;
If there are found affection and pure love,
If the soul breathes a free, fresh atmosphere —
This very day would I put off this life,
This poor soiled garment should to dust return.
Ah, Vartan, answer! In the unknown land,
Say, hast thou found the things for which I yearn?