καὶ μὴν
οὐκ ἐνέπνιγον Κίρκης ἐπ᾽ αἰγιαλῷ·
οὐκ ἀπώλετο ἐν ἀντροῖς λωτοφάγων·

kai mēn
ouk enepnigon Kírkēs ep’ aigialōi
ouk apōleto en antrois lōtophagōn

ἔπιον ὕδωρ ξένον·
ἐφίλησα τῇ μάγῳ τὰ ὀδόντα·
ἀνέφυν μετὰ ἁλὸς ἐν πνεύματι.

epion hydōr xenon
ephilēsa tēi magōi ta odonta
anephyn meta halos en pneumati

ἀλλ᾽ ἐπέστρεψα·
οὐχ εἰς Ἰθάκην,
ἀλλ᾽ εἰς ἐστίαν ἄγραφον,
ἣν ἐγὼ αὐτὸς ἔπυσα.

all’ epestrepsa
ouch eis Ithakēn
all’ eis estian agraphon
hēn egō autos epysa

τὸ νήμα Ἀριάδνης εὗρον πεσόν·
οὐκ ἀπήγξαμην·
ἀλλ᾽ εἰς χάρτην ἐπλέξα.

to nēma Ariadnēs heuron peson
ouk apēnxamēn
all’ eis chartēn eplexa

ἕσπομην τῇ μανίᾳ·
ἕσπομην τῇ σιγῇ·
ἕσπομην τῷ ὀνόματι ἕως ἔπαυσεν τὸ ἄλγος.

hespomēn tēi maniai
hespomēn tēi sigēi
hespomēn tōi onomati heōs epausen to algos

καὶ νῦν —
ἕστηκα.

kai nyn —
hestēka.

οὐχ ὡς υἱὸς ἀνεγνωρισμένος·
οὐχ ὡς ἥρως ἀνακεκλημένος·

ouch hōs huios anegnōrismenos
ouch hōs hērōs anakeklēmenos

ἀλλ᾽ ὡς φωνὴ
ἥτις ἐξηλείφθη —
νῦν ἐνυφάνθη πάλιν.

all’ hōs phōnē
hētis exēleiphthē —
nyn enyphanthē palin

ἀνὴρ πλανήσας·
καὶ οὐκ ἐπελάθετο.

anēr planēsas
kai ouk epelatheto

When the ring comes close,
and shadows bend the cloud,
may your heart stay tuned and strong
like a lantern in a meadow

When voices twist in a whisper of wind
and eyes don’t tell the truth,
may your breath keep deep and slow,
and your feet remember to hold ground

When fear leaks, and you want to run,
Or silence becomes heavy,
may your hands and eyes remember
the touch of me, I love you

You are never alone
You are never weak
You do not need to face the dark,
only to stay sane inside it

This cloak is woven of words,
but it is also built from me

And I will be beside you
wherever and whenever shadows fall

I. The Gate Was Locked

An old Irish woman walked the road to see the mill.
Ninety, maybe more.
The light was soft. The traffic did not slow.

Cinnamon and I were walking the river path,
watching nettles grow and the willow leaning in,
when she appeared — frail, curious,
her steps interrupted, but her voice still woven with stories.

She reached the gate. It was locked.
She stood there, surprised, not angry —
just disappointed in the world
for forgetting to leave things open.

She turned back. We turned with her.
Three of us now, one memory wide.

She told us of thirteen siblings,
of a mother who did not have time for her wedding,
of her best friend from Italy.
She told me I reminded her of this friend —
who is now dead.

She needed a friend.

We walked back to Cobham like an echo returning to the source.
By the river, she stood on the platform,
not for the screen,
but for the water.

Cinnamon and I sat under a tree.
And she…
simply went.

She walked into the day,
and the moment sealed itself behind her
like water after a stone drops.

Let this be remembered.

Let this be a beginning.

Let this be Living, Still.

I hear you, Aldous,
not in the hush of utopia
but in the low hum of screens,
in dopamine loops,
in attention being shaved into profit.
You tried to warn us —
that comfort would devour freedom
more efficiently than fear.
I invoke your gaze —
your crystalline detachment,
your holy skepticism.
Stand with me now,
as I resist the seduction of forgetting.

હું તને સાંભળું છું, બાપુ,
I hear you, Bapu,
ભૂખના દુઃખમાં,
in the ache of hunger,
સ્ત્રીઓના રગડાયેલા હાથોમાં
in the sanded hands of women
જે સ્મૃતિને સૂતમાં વણે છે,
weaving memory into thread,
દરેક નંગ પદ વિરોધમાં.
each barefoot refusal.
તું અમને શીખવાડ્યું —
You taught us —
કે આત્માનું શસ્ત્ર ખંજરો કરતા ઊંડું હોય છે.
that the soul’s weapon is deeper than the blade.
હું તારી રીઢ જાગૃતતા બોલાવું છું —
I call your fierce awareness —
તું મારી સાથે ઊભો રહેજે
Stand with me now
જ્યારે હું અહિંસાના ભારને લઇને
as I carry the weight of nonviolence
એક લોહી માંગતી દુનિયામાં ચાલી રહ્યો છું.
through a world that drinks blood.

Te veo, Che,
I see you, Che,
no en los eslóganes,
not in the slogans,
sino en el sudor de la selva,
but in the sweat of the jungle,
en la tierra bajo las uñas,
in the dirt beneath the fingernails,
en la voz temblorosa del recluta
in the trembling voice of the conscript
que no disparó.
who did not shoot.
Tú intentaste quemar la mentira
You tried to burn away the lie
con tu cuerpo como antorcha.
with your body as torch.
Invoco tu fuego —
I invoke your fire —
no para matar, sino para recordar
not to kill, but to remember
que la justicia no es pasiva.
that justice is not passive.
Quédate conmigo ahora,
Stay with me now,
mientras forjo una revolución
as I forge a revolution
que no se convierta en su propia jaula.
that does not become its own cage.

フィト、今あなたの名を呼ぶ。
Fito, I call your name now.
束縛のためではなく、
Not to bind you,
言うために：私は覚えている。
but to say: I remember.
あなたは世界が薄くなった時に現れた。
You came when the world grew thin.
若さがヴェールを破った時、
When youth broke the veil,
代償を知らずに。
not knowing the cost.
あなたは部屋を動かした。
You moved the room.
私たちを動かした。
You moved us.
そして言った、「水による死」と。
And you said, “Death by water.”
それは予言、波、そして門。
A prophecy, a wave, a threshold.
今、私はあなたの警告を呼び起こす、
Now I summon your warning,
滅びではなく、閾として。
not as doom, but as threshold.
溺れたものはもう沈んだ。
What drowned has already drowned.
流されたものは戻らない。
What was washed away does not return.
でも私はここにいる。
But I remain.
あなたの声を川のように運ぶ。
I carry your voice like a river
夢と目覚めの間に。
between dream and waking.
私と共に立ってほしい、
Stand with me now,
深みに引き込むためではなく、
not to drag me into the deep,
真実が濡れて神秘と危機を運ぶことを思い出させるために。
but to remind me that truth comes wet with mystery and risk.

Blue-black lumen, flamma tacita, he hums inside the cosmic husk;
segment one of the veil nebula
fluted breath threads silk through vacuum, loci of forgotten drums.
echoes with Zauberflöte being sung;
One note, OMNIA, and nebulae fold like paper boats on Ganges-sky.
rainbow-hued gas densities shift and
O wanderer of milk-roads, you carry the ātmā of every spark;
haunt her heart, but Ariadne laughs:
here, before book and after death, you spin the first gold vowel.
the sick thoughts of planets are
Silver bow shivers between frater and frater, bellum and pity;
not discussed by the Athenian school.
hand kisses string, hesitates; the field at Kurukshetra uploads its blood.
That’s a clique of thought. Ariadne
Logos shouts from steeds’ throats, yet the warrior hears only pulse.
is a teacher at the Borovoe space
Choose, λέγει κρόνος, choose! — and the arrow already remembers its home.
academy. She is at a concert, and
Shore-spawn, tongue-splintered, you rise from brine with stellar ears;
feels as though she is surrounded
tempestas of cursing, yet constellations roost in your skull.
by stars, while Mozart’s acrobatics
Island is prison, prison is mirror; break one, both sing.
fill the hall. Her neighbour starts
In the guttered Latin of exiles you mutter “ego stellas audio.”
humming, her fantasy sublimes into a
It comes not forward but inward, curving like hungry geometry.
state of light – a student kicks the
No scale, no bone, only turning — a bite that is also a path.
back of her chair, a trillion meta-
Etruscan augurs would have called it θuχu, omen without entrails.
morphoses whet her mind. A memory.
Run, traveller; every step is a tighter radius of yourself.
John C. is setting up his computer,
Old emperor, moss in beard, weighs grief on a brass libra;
wired into consciousness and memory,
beside him, Hertha mater sings frost into the wound of earth.
which enables his terminal to log on
Their duet is marble-slow: stoicheía aligning, virtues yawning awake.
the solar system’s server, uploading
Quills scratch: remember, homo, your kingdom is an organelle of stars.
cellular activity to the digital frame;
Scrolls breathe: papyrus lungs exhale spores of murdered alphabets.
his foolish idea is to delete the past.
Ink-rivers, stuck mid-sentence, beg a tongue to thaw them.
memories on the solar-system-wide-web
Ecce the librarian’s lantern: its flame gulps centuries, yields dust-wine.
are available for download, exploration
What is saved? Only the echo of saving, filed under “Ω”.
manipulation and absorption into the X.
Fufluns laughs through cracked amphorae, vintage of riot and rose;
People are soulsharing but he wishes
his twin, Felix, pirouettes on rebar, juggling shrapnel and grapes.
only to seed (share his files), so he
Gaudium drips; crowds roar; physics forgets mass for a heartbeat.
blocks derivative unwanted memories
When the last bottle smashes, chorus whispers: “εὐοί!” — and burns brighter.
Now Ariadne reclines her head
North-black fish sleeps beneath permafrost dreams;
zoning out, imagining strips
south-white bird wakes, wings like cumulonimbus scrolls.
of sunset vanishing in mid-air.
In one turn of Tao it travels nonaginta milia li, then laughs.
Memories of a delirious sky of wine,
Sea becomes sky, scale becomes plume — identity a change-log, not a core.
laid to rest long ago, come alive.
Steam-diagram hisses in chalk, δQ / T tattooed on steel ribs.
Lights are awakened to the east
Each piston coughs a psalm to lost work; heat apostates to cold.
and the whole city stands silent.
Entropy is a patient god: never angry, ever hungry.
A cloud, flower-like, curiously
Close the cylinder, scholar — the equation keeps writing itself.
advances while the clock races,
Amber card murmurs abjuro, shields the brittle heartbeat for one minute;
a rose fades, and Ariadne smiles.
vermillion twin lisps resarcio, sewing shattered glass back to pulse.
The night is quiet, it is time
Simple materia: argentum speculum, breath, a hopeful thumb.
for poets to decipher existence
Clerics know: protection ends the moment you strike. So sing gently.
while the moon waltzes above our hive
Corridor repeats corridor, flesh-statues queue to kiss their own exit.
This is a time in the future when the
At the far pane a figure waves — is wave — refracts — disappears.
egalitarian plateaux has been reached.
Italian glyphs drip: “un labirinto”; Greek margins reply “λύγξ.”
The world by people has become perfect.
Touch the glass and fall inward: mirror breeds mirror, until prologue meets dawn.
Mystic music captures this pinnacle epoch.

1.

Infra muro Cornīnī, X homines stantrum.
Un cecānus tremblat, ānta silva os tenet.
Ten stand beneath the wall of Corinium.
One seer trembles, while the forest holds its mouth.

2. (Crowd, murmuring)

Audiant, sed credant nōn —
“Dī magnī, vel larvæ?
Ai maen y gŵr yma’n sôn am dduw neu cysgod?”
They listen, but do not believe —
“Great gods, or ghosts?
Or is this man speaking of a god or a shadow?”

3. (Seer)

Sento flamūram de lōnga oriens —
A’i ddanfonwyd Krishna?
Cantat vocem dan y croen byd.

I feel flame from the long East —
Was Krishna sent?
He sings a voice beneath the skin of the world.

4. (Crowd)

An vīdistī hoc? Est somnium?
Ai freuddwyd yw hwn?
Have you seen this? Is it a dream?

5. (Seer)

Arcus tremblat — Arjunus, fratrum inter,
breich lui’n crynu,
galon ef yn llosgi fel tân dan law.

The bow trembles — Arjuna, caught between brothers,
his arm shaking,
his heart burning like fire under rain.

6. (Crowd)

Hīc vīrum āmer — sed quis est iste?
Un brenin, neu ynfyd?
We love the warrior — but who is he?
A king, or a fool?

7. (Seer)

Calibān! Filius insulae, līngua fracta,
ond clyw e’r sêr yn canu.
Caliban! Son of the island, with a shattered tongue,
yet he hears the stars singing.

8. (Crowd)

Bestia est, servus est — cur ploras pro illo?
Nid yw’n un ohonon ni… ac eto, pam y dagrau?
He is a beast, a servant — why cry for him?
He is not one of us… and yet, why the tears?

9. (Seer, rising)

Cavum aperitur — fissus est tempus.
Mae’r wal yn hollti — mae’r byd yn siglo.
The hollow opens — time is torn.
The wall is splitting — the world trembles.

Racursus venit — spirālis morsus.
Tonn-seith y môr du — camragwyn a ddaw.
Racourse comes — the spiral bite.
The seventh wave of the black sea — a crooked light approaches.

10. (Crowd shivers)

Lūx tremolat — terra mollis — sonus alienus.
Yr awyr yn sgrechian — a’r pridd yn peidio ateb.
Light flickers — the ground softens — a foreign sound.
The sky screams — and the earth will not answer.

11. (Seer, touching the breach)

Leviatānus… nāvis in pectore…
mare in pectore…
ego in pectore.
Ac wyf fi — yn ei galon ef.
Leviathan… a ship in his chest…
the sea in his chest…
and I… am in his heart.

12. (All, barely whispering)

Tempus frangitur. Nōs vidēmus,
nōs audīmus,
nōs…
nōn sumus sōlī.
Ni’n gweld. Ni’n clywed. Ni… ddim ar ein pen ein hunain.
Time breaks. We see.
We hear.
We… are not alone.

Brythonic

·        A’i ddanfonwyd — “Was he sent?”

danfon = to send

-wyd = passive past marker

·        dan y croen byd — “beneath the skin of the world”

dan = under

croen = skin

byd = world

·        Ai freuddwyd yw hwn — “Is this a dream?”

freuddwyd = dream

yw = is

hwn = this

·        breich lui’n crynu — “his arm shaking”

breich = arm

crynu = tremble

·        galon ef yn llosgi — “his heart burning”

galon = heart

llosgi = to burn

·        fel tân dan law — “like fire under rain”

tân = fire

law = rain

·        Un brenin, neu ynfyd — “A king, or a fool?”

brenin = king

ynfyd = fool

·        ond clyw e’r sêr yn canu — “yet he hears the stars singing”

clyw = hears

sêr = stars

canu = sing

·        Nid yw’n un ohonon ni — “He is not one of us”

nid yw = is not

ohonon ni = of us

·        pam y dagrau — “why the tears?”

dagrau = tears

·        Mae’r wal yn hollti — “The wall is splitting”

wal = wall

hollti = to split

·        mae’r byd yn siglo — “the world trembles”

byd = world

siglo = shake

·        Tonn-seith y môr du — “The seventh wave of the black sea”

tonn = wave

seith = seven

môr = sea

du = black

·        camragwyn — “crooked light” (neologism)

cam = crooked

gwyn = white/light

(rag = prefix suggesting “before” or “toward”)

·        Yr awyr yn sgrechian — “The sky screams”

awyr = sky

sgrechian = to scream

·        a’r pridd yn peidio ateb — “and the earth will not answer”

pridd = earth

peidio = to cease

ateb = answer

·        Ac wyf fi — yn ei galon ef — “And I am in his heart”

wyf fi = I am

galon ef = his heart

Vulgar Latin / Invented Latin

·        Infra muro Cornīnī — “Beneath the wall of Corinium”

infra = beneath

muro = wall (ablative)

Cornīnī = of Corinium (local case)

·        X homines stantrum — “Ten men stood”

homines = men

stantrum = fabricated participle from stāre (to stand)

·        cecānus tremblat — “one seer trembles”

cecānus = invented from caecus (blind)

tremblat = trembles (hybrid form)

·        ānta silva os tenet — “the forest holds its mouth”

silva = forest

os = mouth

tenet = holds

·        Dī magnī, vel larvæ? — “Great gods, or ghosts?”

Dī magnī = great gods

larvæ = spirits or phantoms

·        Sento flamūram — “I feel flame”

sento = I feel (Italo-Latin root)

flamūram = archaic form of flamma

·        sub pelle mundī — “beneath the skin of the world”

sub = under

pellis = skin

mundus = world

·        Arcus tremblat — “The bow trembles”

arcus = bow

tremblat = trembles

·        fratrum inter — “between brothers”

fratrum = of brothers

inter = between

·        Filius insulae — “Son of the island”

filius = son

insula = island

·        līngua fracta — “shattered tongue”

lingua = tongue

fracta = broken

·        aurēs habet ad stella — “ears toward the stars”

aurēs = ears

ad stella = to the stars

·        Bestia est, servus est — “He is a beast, a servant”

bestia = beast

servus = servant

·        cur ploras pro illo? — “Why cry for him?”

cur = why

ploras = you cry

pro illo = for him

·        Cavum aperitur — “The hollow opens”

cavum = hollow

aperitur = is opened

·        fissus est tempus — “time is torn”

fissus = torn

tempus = time

·        Racursus venit — “Racourse comes”

venit = comes

·        spirālis morsus — “spiral bite”

spirālis = spiral

morsus = bite

·        Lūx tremolat — “Light flickers”

lux = light

tremolat = trembles

·        terra mollis — “soft earth”

terra = earth

mollis = soft

·        sonus alienus — “strange sound”

sonus = sound

alienus = foreign

·        nāvis in pectore — “a ship in the chest”

nāvis = ship

pectore = chest

·        mare in pectore — “the sea in the chest”

mare = sea

·        ego in pectore — “I in the chest”

ego = I

·        Tempus frangitur — “Time breaks”

frangitur = is broken

·        nōs vidēmus — “we see”

vidēmus = we see

·        nōs audīmus — “we hear”

audīmus = we hear

·        nōn sumus sōlī — “we are not alone”

non sumus soli = not alone

Umbre de muri, muri de mainé
Dunde ne vegnì, duve l’è ch’ané
Da ‘n scitu duve a l’ûn-a se mustra nûa
E a nuette a n’à puntou u cutellu ä gua

E a muntä l’àse gh’è restou Diu
U Diàu l’è in çë e u s’è gh’è faetu u nìu
Ne sciurtìmmu da u mä pe sciugà e osse da u Dria
A funtan-a d’i cumbi ‘nta cä de pria

E ‘nt’a cä de pria chi ghe saià
Int’à cä du Dria che u nu l’è mainà
Gente de Lûgan facce da mandillä
Qui che du luassu preferiscian l’ä
Figge de famiggia udù de bun
Che ti peu ammiàle senza u gundun

E a ‘ste panse veue cose ghe daià
Cose da beive, cose da mangiä
Frittûa de pigneu giancu de Purtufin
Çervelle de bae ‘nt’u meximu vin
Lasagne da fiddià ai quattru tucchi
Paciûgu in aegruduse de lévre de cuppi

E ‘nt’a barca du vin ghe naveghiemu ‘nsc’i scheuggi
Emigranti du rìe cu’i cioi ‘nt’i euggi
Finch’ou matin crescià da puéilu rechéugge
Frè di ganeuffeni e d’è figge
Bacan d’a corda marsa d’aegua e de sä
Che a ne liga e a ne porta ‘nte ‘na crêuza de mä

Fabrizio De André ‧ 1984

Asciôu tra i pin e i grî,
u mâ parlava pe lü.
O mondo o bruxeiva –
e lü,
comme-a pétra sott’o lêu,
u stæiva a sentî.

Nisciün o l’è vegnûo.

Ma lü o l’è restou.

O çê lü batteva
cun quælli ch’an affugou,
ch’an fucilà,
ch’an scordou.

Quande a notturna o l’o ciamava,
o no rispondeiva.

Ma lü u dondola i morti
inte-o so silensio.

Nascosto tra i pini e i rovi,
il mare parlava per lui.
Il mondo bruciava –
e lui,
come pietra sotto le onde,
ascoltava.

Nessuno venne.

Ma lui rimase.

Il suo cuore batteva
con quello degli annegati,
dei fucilati,
dei dimenticati.

Quando la notte lo chiamava,
non rispondeva.

Ma cullava i morti
nel suo silenzio.

O flame that burns without ash,
Օ՜յ կրակ, որ այրում է առանց մոխրի,
ܐܘ ܢܘܪܐ ܕܝܩܕ ܕܠܐ ܐܦܪܐ ܒܗ,
Ὦ φλόξ, ἡ καιομένη ἄνευ σποδῶν,

O wind that speaks through bone,
Օ՜յ հով, որ խոսում է ոսկորներով,
ܐܘ ܪܘܚܐ ܕܡܠܠ ܒܥܲܓܳܡܶ̈ܐ,
Ὦ πνεῦμα, ὁ λαλῶν διὰ τῶν ὀστέων,

Gather the names we lost in the dust
Հավաքիր անունները, որ կորցրինք փոշում,
ܟܢܘܫ ܕܫܡܗ̈ܐ ܕܐܒܕܢ ܒܥܦܪܐ,
Σύναξον τὰ ὀνόματα, ἃ ἐχάσαμεν ἐν κονίᾳ,

And return them to the tongue.
Եվ վերադարձրու լեզվին:
ܘܗܦܟ ܠܫܢܐ ܕܢܩܪܐ ܒܗܘܢ,
Καὶ ἐπανάγαγε εἰς τὴν γλῶσσαν.

Let not the silence
Թող լռութիւնը չմոռացնի
ܠܐ ܢܫܬܘܩ ܕܢܫܟܚ,
Μὴ ἡσυχίᾳ λησμονηθῇ,

Swallow the mothers
Մայրերին, որ կուլ գնացին,
ܐܝܡܗ̈ܐ ܕܐܬܒܠܥܝܢ,
Τὰς μητέρας, αἳ κατεπόθησαν,

Who stitched their children’s names
Որոնք կարեցին զաւակների անունները
ܕܐܪܓܘ ܫܡ̈ܗܐ ܕܒܢܝ̈ܗܘܢ,
Ἃι ἔρραψαν τὰ ὀνόματα τῶν τέκνων αὐτῶν,

Into hems before the march.
Շարքերի եզրերին նախքան երթը։
ܒܩܪܣ̈ܐ ܩܕܡ ܙܠܘܬܐ.
Εἰς τοὺς ποδόγυρους πρὸ τῆς πορείας.

Let not the river
Թող գետը չմոռանա
ܠܐ ܢܫܟܚ ܢܗܪܐ,
Μὴ λησμονήσει ὁ ποταμός,

Forget the weight of girls
Աղջիկների ծանրութիւնը
ܝܩܪܐ ܕܒܢܬ̈ܐ ܕܛܒܥܢ,
Τὸ βάρος τῶν θυγατέρων,

Who vanished beneath its mouth.
Որոնք կորսուեցին նրա բերանի տակ։
ܕܐܬܛܥܝܢ ܬܚܝܬ ܦܘܡܗ.
Ἅι ἐχάθησαν κάτωθεν τοῦ στόματός του.

Bring back the fathers
Վերադարձիր հայրերին
ܐܝܬܒ ܠܐܒ̈ܐ,
Ἐπανέγαγε τοὺς πατέρας,

With books in their coats,
Գրքերով բաճկոններում,
ܥܡ ܟܬܒ̈ܐ ܒܠܒܘܫܗܘܢ,
Με βιβλία ἐν ταῖς στολαῖς αὐτῶν,

Dragged from their beds
Թափառած անկողիններից,
ܕܢܬܓܪܪܘ ܡܢ ܥܪܣ̈ܐ ܕܗܘܢ,
Ἐσυρθησαν ἐκ τῶν κλινῶν αὐτῶν,

With their words half-written.
Խոսքերը կեսով գրված։
ܘܡܠܐ ܕܠܐ ܫܠܡܘ,
Με λόγους ἡμιτελεῖς.

Bring back the priests
Վերադարձիր քահանաներին
ܐܝܬܒ ܟܘܡ̈ܪܐ,
Ἐπανόρθωσον τοὺς ἱερεῖς

Whose crosses still stand
Ում խաչերը դեռ կանգնած են
ܕܙܩܝܦ̈ܐ ܕܐܦ ܩܝ̈ܡܝܢ,
Ὧν οἱ σταυροὶ ἔτι ἕστηκαν,

On foundations buried in salt.
Աղով ծածկուած հիմքերի վրա։
ܥܠ ܫܘ̈ܬܐ ܕܐܬܛܡܢܘ ܒܡܠܚܐ.
Ἐπὶ θεμελίων ἐν ἁλὶ κατεχωσμένων.

For every voice
Յարայն ամեն ձայնի համար
ܥܠ ܟܠ ܩܠܐ ܕܐܬܚܢܩ,
Ὑπὲρ πάσης φωνῆς

Unheard by history’s ink,
Որ չի հնչել պատմութեան թանաքով,
ܕܠܐ ܐܬܩܪܐ ܒܕܝܘܟܬܐ ܕܬܫܥܬܐ,
Ἡ ἀγράφως ἔμεινεν ἐν τῇ ἱστορίᾳ,

We offer our breath
Մենք ենք մատուցում մեր շունչը
ܡܩܪܒܝܢ ܢܫܡܬܢ,
Προσφέρομεν τὴν πνοὴν ἡμῶν,

Like incense.
Որպես խունկ։
ܐܝܟ ܒܣܡܐ.
Ὡς θυμίαμα.

We speak:
Մենք ասում ենք՝
ܐܡܪܝܢܢ،
Λέγομεν·

Not for vengeance,
Ոչ վրեժի համար,
ܠܐ ܥܠ ܬܒܥܬܐ،
Οὐχ ἕνεκα τιμωρίας,

But for the repair of the world.
Այլ աշխարհի բժշկման։
ܐܠܐ ܠܬܩܘܢܬܐ ܕܥܠܡܐ،
Ἀλλὰ διὰ τὴν ἴασιν τοῦ κόσμου.

Not to wound,
Ոչ վնասելու համար,
ܠܐ ܕܢܚܒܠ،
Οὐχ ἵνα πληγώσωμεν,

But to lift the veil of denial
Այլ բարձրացնելու ժխտման քողը
ܐܠܐ ܕܢܫܩܠ ܐܬܬܐ ܕܟܦܝܪܘܬܐ،
Ἀλλ᾽ ἵνα ἀνακαλύψωμεν τὸ κάλυμμα τῆς ἀρνήσεως

From the face of time.
Ժամանակի երեսից։
ܡܢ ܐܦܐ ܕܙܒܢܐ.
Ἐκ προσώπου τοῦ χρόνου.

Let the names return.
Թող անունները վերադառնան։
ܬܘܒ ܕܫܡ̈ܗܐ ܢܗܘܘܢ،
Ἐπιστρεψάτωσαν τὰ ὀνόματα.

Let the bread rise again on the table.
Թող հացը նորից բարձրանա սեղանի վրա։
ܬܘܒ ܠܗܡܐ ܢܩܘܡ ܥܠ ܦܬܘܪܐ،
Ἀνατελέτω πάλιν ὁ ἄρτος ἐπὶ τῆς τραπέζης.

Let the bells ring in the tongues that sang them.
Թող զանգերը ղողանջեն երգող լեզուներով։
ܢܩܪܘܢ ܙܡ̈ܪܐ ܒܠܫ̈ܢܐ ܕܐܫܪܘ ܐܢܘܢ،
Ἐνακουσθήτωσαν αἱ καμπάναι ἐν ταῖς γλώσσαις ταῖς ᾖδουσιν.

Let the children who never grew old
Թող երբեք չծերացած երեխաները
ܛܠ̈ܝܐ ܕܠܐ ܪܒܘ،
Τὰ τέκνα ἃ οὐκ ἐγήρασαν,

Walk beside us, unseen, but real.
Քայլեն մեր կողքին՝ անտեսանելի, բայց իրական։
ܢܗܠܟܘܢ ܥܡܢ، ܠܐ ܚܙܝܐ ܐܠܐ ܫܪܝܪܐ،
Συμπεριπατεῖτωσαν ἡμῖν, ἀοράτως μὲν, ἀληθῶς δέ.

And if the world forgets —
Եւ եթե աշխարհը մոռանա՝
ܘܐܢ ܥܠܡܐ ܢܫܟܚ،
Καὶ ἐὰν ὁ κόσμος λησμονήσῃ —

Let us not.
Թող մենք չմոռանանք։
ܠܐ ܢܚܘܐ ܚܢܢ،
Μὴ ἡμεῖς ἐπιλάθωμεν.

Let our remembering
Թող մեր հիշողութիւնը
ܢܗܘܐ ܥܗܕܐ،
Ἐστὼ ἡ μνήμη ἡμῶν

Be the fire that does not consume,
Դառնա կրակ, որ չի սպառում,
ܐܝܟ ܢܘܪܐ ܕܠܐ ܐܟܠ،
Ὡς πῦρ ἀκατάφλεκτον,

But illumines.
Այլ լուսավորում է։
ܐܠܐ ܢܗܪ،
Ἀλλ᾽ ἐλλαμπρύνει.

Amen.
Ամէն։
ܐܡܝܢ.
Ἀμήν.