Darde Serdis (&Quot;Sorrow In My Heart&Quot;)
With sorrow in my heart,
by Avetik Isahakyan
Poor and wretched,
Cane in hand, my head bare,
After many years of pilgrimage,
Once again I returned to my native land.
Life with its burden,
My back hunched,
My mind confused and wandering,
From seven hills and seven valleys,
I returned yet again to my native land.
At the entrance of the village,
I spied my childhood friend.
Ah! My dear friend,
With a longing heart I ran to him,
And said, "Greetings treasured friend!
Do you not remember me?"
Alas! I had changed a lot,
Sadly he could not remember me.
Cane in hand, I entered our village,
Passing along the home of my beloved,
There I saw my love, rose in hand,
Standing lonesome by her door.
I implored, "My love, your sweet
Countenance has forever enchanted me."
She too could not remember me,
I was poor and disheveled.
With a sorrowful heart,
I reached our home.
And came upon my aging, helpless mother.
I said, "Madame, I'm a traveling man,
Would you allow me
As your guest for the night?"
Ah! My precious mother,
She wrapped me in her embrace,
Held me close to her heart and cried,
"Oh! My dear gentle son, is that really you?"