April Twenty-Fourth
Today is Armenian Genocide Remembrance Day. Readers of this blog know that The Stiletto has been championing passage of H.Res.106/S.Res.106, which would bring the U.S. in line with other Western governments in recognizing the systematic slaughter of 1.5 million Armenians in 1915-1917 by Ottoman Turks as a genocide. Some even believe that the genocidal campaign against Christian Armenians should be considered the first Muslim jihad against a Christian population in modern history – a point of view that has gained currency in the wake of last week’s murder of three Christians by Turkish nationalists in Malatya.
But today is not a day for debate or rhetoric. Today belongs to the Christian martyrs and their families. To commemorate the 92nd anniversary of the Armenian Genocide, The Stiletto offers this powerful, haunting poem written after the Allied victory in World War II. The Stiletto is indebted to the translator who worked with her to recreate as faithful a rendition of the poet’s words and meaning as possible (the verses rhyme in the original Armenian).
April Twenty-Fourth
By Kevork Chekidjian (published, 1945)
April twenty-fourth …
Years have passed since, and they pass still.
Through the black curtain and the fog,
With drops of my tears,
And the longings of my soul …
It was a great war, a war it is still.
The white dove of Freedom and Equality,
Flung from its ravaged nest,
Into a sky like an open wound.
Murderers!
All the nations now expect a peaceful era,
From the Great Victors of the war,
For tomorrow’s world and its people.
Won with the blood of countless dead.
For tomorrow’s world and its people …
It was a great war, a war it is still.
Tiny nations deprived of their rights, their wounds like searing fire.
Like fire, everyone’s wounds - the big and the small alike.
And numberless hearts beat with hopes of a new world ...
It was a great war, a war it is still.
To the Allied forces fighting for victory,
My Nation brought several hundred thousand soldiers,
Upholding its longing like a burning torch for the world.
For the young and the old …
To the past centuries, to the future centuries.
Screaming that one chosen race in the East,
Through its blood and bravery,
Became the bearer of the torch of Great Ideals.
And with its mind and body,
Adopted the light of Justice and Freedom,
Of Equality and of Brotherhood …
And you, Mighty Ones,
This time, they look to you again.
Like the dove leaving the Ark,
Having opened its heart to the blue of the heavens,
The souls of the innocent martyrs,
My people – robbed and nailed to the cross one thousand times,
The immortal pyre of their sacred petition
Like frankincense burning solemnly on your table ...
And you, Mighty Ones,
Do not forget April twenty-fourth,
And a people deprived of everything,
Wandering from country to country,
Holding tight to their bosoms,
The undying love for their native land,
The silenced prayers of now-abandoned monasteries,
And the song of war on their lips for your victory – their victory,
Awaiting tomorrow with hope, and justice with open arms …
And you, Mighty Ones,
Allow just one day - at least once,
See through the tears of millions of victims,
Bright eyes, full of the promise of Spring,
The green peeking through the ruins and ash,
Flowering for all, for the world – and for its own sake …
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