(To the memory of martyred Armenians and the ongoing persecution of ethnic Armenians.)

Shadows drift, the night descends,
I hear the echoes of recent wounds
Seep through weathered stone of centuries
And at dawn’s first light,
The highland winds their faint whispers ascend
Carrying fragmented dreams
In vibrant hues of pomegranate, plum and apricot.

In broken pieces,
Memories weave the tapestry of a culture
Embroidered in our souls where hope ignites
A spark, that cuts through endless nights.
The silence roars, a distant cry,
For those we loved, who said goodbye.
Yet from the ache, a courage blooms
To face the dark,
a strength takes hold to clear the gloom.

The shadow ghost may hover, soft and near,
Reminding us of Hope’s small candle
burning clear and sincere to faith’s glow.
With steady hearts to forge ahead
To uphold the fight lurking in our veins,
To mend the wounds, to heal the dread.

We build anew, with cautious hand,
To heal the scars within the land.
We weave the tapestry of our past
Determined to redeem on canvas our story told
Never forgetting from where we’ve come, where we’ve been
And the beauty of a future brave to be seen.

(tapestry by Meruzhan Khachatryn: Symbol of Armenian Culture)