Daniel Varoujan Poems

“THERE is famine; bread, bread !”
Who is sighing?
On the threshold of my cottage, who is sighing?
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ON the bank of the river, in the row of cranes,
That one drooped its head,
Put its beak under its wing, and with itsaged
Dim pupils, awaited
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Here the book which I promised…
There if you find the dream bottomless of the secular life,
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BENEATH my window, as each morning dawns,
You like a wandering ghost go flitting by,
And on your beauteous virgin head there fall
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MY mother writes: “My son on pilgrimage,
How long beneath a strange moon will you roam?
How long a time must pass ere your poor head
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Villages to the horizons, extends the field from our maternity;
Spring has just arrived.
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It's the sower. He is standing tall and stout
In the sunset's rays which are like flowing gold;
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