The centuries have brushed by
its summit like minutes
and have gone.
Lightning bolts have flashed
their swords, crushed their knives
against its diamond crest and have gone.
Dying eyes have lifted
their last light against its light
and have gone.
For a minute, a moment, it`s your turn
to face Ararat`s proud forehead
before you`re gone.
(1926)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem