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Razmik Davoyan, from Whispers and Breath of the Meadows

The pitchers are whispering...

The pitchers are whispering
Words of clay to each other, at night
And the clay lips turn pale
From those living whispers.

Streams of water ring
In the deep layers of the earth
And yearnings retreat
To far away mountains.

Wake up, you sleeping child
From the spell of the deep night,
See how the voice of the clay
Thickens in the ring of the pitchers.

The song dies away slowly
With the dim sparkle of the stars
No one will ever bring you
The painful scent of yearnings again.

No one will ever bring you fortune
Or love, joy or sorrow,
A handful of faith or a fraction of God
Nothing but fear.

Wake up, you sleeping child
From the spell of the deep night,
See how the voice of the clay turns to stone
In the ring of the pitchers.