Home / Bulgarian / A Poem by Peyo Yavorov in Bulgarian and in English : ARMENIANS – Арменци

A Poem by Peyo Yavorov in Bulgarian and in English : ARMENIANS – Арменци

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ARMENIANS

Peyo K.Yavorov

Wretched exiles, rare survivors
Of a brave and martyr race
Children of a captive mother
Heroes with no resting place.
Far from home in squalid hovels
Sick and pale from lack of sleep.
See them drink to drown their sorrows
Hear them sing and, singing, weep!
Drink…
For drunkeness erases
Former troubles, present woes
Bitter memories effaces
Gives a broken heart repose.
Heads grow heavier,a mother’s
Look of anguish disappears
And a son’s appeal is smothered
For the mind no longer hears.
By a wolf-pack harried, frightened
See them scatter everywhere
As the ruthless, bloody tyrant
Waves his sabre in the air!
They have left their country bleeding
And paternal homes ablaze.
Only taverns offer welcome
To these wretched emigres.
Here they sing…
Wild songs, for savage
Injuries erode their hearts
Bitter thoughts their senses ravage
Every tear is hot and smarts…
Hearts are brimming full of malice
Rage cool judgement has dispersed
Bloodshot eyes dart thunder-flashes
Angry souls for vengeance thirst.
Winter winds intone a descant
Terrifying they swirl
Whirl and lift the song rebellious
Carry it across the world.
Fouler still the sky is seething
Chillier the frowning night
Ever louder the Armenians
Sing, the storm attains its height…
Thus they drink and sing…Survivors
Of a brave and martyr race.
Children of a captive mother
Heroes with no resting place.
Far from home, barefoot and ragged
In the slum squalor, shorn of sleep
See them drink to ease the agony
Hear them sing and, singing, weep!
Forlorn exiles, uncommon fighters
A martyr nation- daring and brave.
Children of an anxious Mother
Unseen heroes- turned into slaves.

Far from home in foreign land,
in squalid hovel ailing and pale,
they drink, with hearts full of pain,
hear them sing and spread their wail.

Drink… and drunkenness effaces
Former sorrows, present woes
Pouring wine memories erases
Broken souls will find repose.

They feel heads havier
A look of Mother’s throe disappears
Wait for solace,it’s already near
The maurnful cry nobody hears.

As a hounded drove by a starving beast
See them scattered all over the world
A raving oppressor, unmerciful fierce
Thirst for bloodshed at the point of the sword.

Compelled to leave their bloodstained Homeland
And so left their oun homes,burning in flames
Roving and outcast in a strange land
Remain in a tavern drawn anguish and blame.

Irate and wild is the song they are singing
Their hearts are wounded eroded by sores
The venom suppresses and they all are seething
Tormented and feeble pale faces in tears.

Venom and rage overfill their hearts
A blazing fire inside is burning their sense
In the bloody mad eyes it flashes and lightens
So bloodthirsty revenge seek and yearn their souls.

As if winter storm sings for their sores
A horrific night, the tempest swirls and rises
The whirl drifts away, carries and roars
The wroth rebel’s song all over the place.

The sinister sky grows darker and darker
Not cosy and loured is the wintry night
The rebels sing heatedly louder and louder
And so the storm sings out with the highest might.

They drink and sing, uncommon fighters
A martyr nation- daring and brave.
Children of an anxious Mother
Unseen heroes- turned into slaves.

Far from home naked and barefoot
In squalid hovel – so far away
See them drink to drawn their sorrow
Hear them sing and spread their wail.

Арменци/Bulgarian/
Пейо К.Яворов

Изгнаници клети, отломка нищожна
от винаги храбър народ мъченик,
дечица на майка робиня тревожна
и жертви на подвиг чутовно велик –
далеч от родина, в край чужди събрани,
изпити и бледни, в порутен бордей,
те пият, а тънат сърцата им в рани,
и пеят, тъй както през сълзи се пей.

Те пият… В пиянство щат лесно забрави
предишни неволи и днешни беди,
в кипящото вино щат спомен удави,
заспа ще дух болен в разбити гърди;
глава ще натегне, от нея тогава
изчезна ще майчин страдалчески лик
и няма да чуват, в пияна забрава,
за помощ синовна всегдашния клик.

Кат гонено стадо от някой звяр гладен,
разпръснати ей ги навсякъде веч –
тиранин беснеещ, кръвник безпощаден,
върху им издигна за всякога меч;
оставили в кърви нещастна родина,
оставили в пламък и бащин си кът,
немили-недраги в далека чужбина,
един – в механата! – открит им е път.

Те пеят.. И дива е тяхната песен,
че рани разяждат ранени сърца,
че злоба ги дави в кипежа си бесен
и сълзи изстисква на бледни лица…
Че злъчка препълня сърца угнетени,
че огън в главите разсъдък суши,
че молния свети в очи накървени,
че мъст, мъст кръвнишка жадуват души.

А зимната буря им сякаш приглася,
бучи и завива страхотно в нощта
и вихром подема, издига, разнася
бунтовната песен широко в света.
И все по-зловещо небето тъмнее,
и все по се мръщи студената нощ,
и все по-горещо дружината пее,
и буря приглася с нечувана мощ…

Те пият и пеят… Отломка нищожна
от винаги храбър народ мъченик,
дечица на майка робиня тревожна
и жертви на подвиг чутовно велик –
далеч от родина, и боси, и голи,
в край чужди събрани, в порутен бордей,
те пият – пиянство забравя неволи,
и пеят, тъй както през сълзи се пей.

Peyo K.Yavorov

Peyo_Yavorov_House_Museum_in_Sofia,_Rakovski_Street

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