Illusion Poem by Hovhannes Toumanian
Illusion
It started up, our true Chalak,
Raced across the mountain flank,
On and on through the darkened wood
With my bold brother in hot pursuit.
Glade and thicket they wandered through
In the twilight virgin depths.
I call them ever and anew,
Their return I still expect.
But alas, among our hills
Neither of them reappears.
Only their two voices still
Echo in my ears.
1918
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8/6/2026 1:20:11 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
