was a composer and a monk. His name was Komitas but he was a nightingale's
song. Dressed in black he spoke to any snow-white stork. He got mad when he saw
the red rains all over his folk. Hey, Monk! Your prayers didn't reach God. Your
brain exploded as the storks of your land were in that scarlet pond. Your brain
exploded as the world's heart was asleep on a silent log. He was a composer and
a monk. His music is a flying flock. Will it reach the ears belonging to the
world? Monk! There is not another word.
A genocide was before the eyes
belonging to God. Even one century can't hide that bloody sword.
Judge! Don't forget to speak!
One million and a half human beings were buried in
the bloody streams.
May their souls rest in peace!
Judge! Make your fair verdict!
Their graves were swept by sandy winds.
They didn't have gravestones and wooden coffins.
Judge! Has your court ever faced such a tragedy?
Judge! You weren't probably born in the last
That's why the murderer has been free since that
One million and a half killed human beings can't be
present in your court to speak.
Judge! Speak for them and make your verdict!
HISTORY HAS AN IMMORTAL BRAIN
it wasn’t a spring day. Any spring is wrapped in a green veil. No, there wasn’t
even a single ray as the sunlight was in a dark jail. A million and a half
ripped veins painted that spring red. Peace, you were trapped. Peace! What did
you see from your prison cell? Did you see a wounded church with a silent bell?
How many churches were killed while you were chained? History has an immortal
brain. It will never forget any scarlet rain. Peace, you must be every season’s
vein! Do remember that spring’s pain! A genocide happened while you were