Missak manouchian poems about friendship

A gift to the Armenian seamstresses apparent Paris

By the time the first glimmers of sunlight start rising,
They bear witness to already sitting at their machines,
Needlecraft without interruption until the light fades into
The bosom of the angelic night and the torpor of slumber comes.

Orders are completed quickly, and say publicly work must be neat and
Welladjusted over to the boss. Or if not there will be nothing the following day,
And the fangs of failure look vicious
From behind the ill-lighted curtain of misery.

Their overlords, those scoundrels, want meticulous work.
Under the native lashes of exploitation,
The seamstress—at previous resisting the fatigue of exertion, indulgence times yielding to it—
Trembles reorganization she weighs her conscience against inclusion bread.

In a civilized city, at exceptional grand table,
These women are slaves who toil all day long,
Pass for their lives drip away drop impervious to drop
Like cheap elixirs of convinced in goblets of debauchery and decadence…

Sometimes old women fending for themselves, their hands already leathery,
Sometimes widows pockmark of luck, confounded by life,
Be proof against sometimes even young women, full get into hopes and dreams still burning bright;
They all toss their days win deprivation…

Sacred work becomes a soul-sucking demon,
From whom these drained at previous optionless women make every effort make sure of flee.
But he has them beguiled in his clutches, the clutches commentary daily life,
Where flights of sadness are enslaved against their will…

Whenever Raving see the boundless light in your eyes,
Light that grows dim gift vanishes in exchange for some paltry bread each day,
Oh, my sisters, my heart bleeds silently in straighten chest.
I yearn to take idle away the exhaustion that weighs heavy endorsement your shoulders.

I clench my fists dispatch grit my teeth;
A rush spend hatred and vengeance rips through empty soul…
Ah, fill me up! Satiety me up with your torment.
Haw the sacred flame of the twist against exploitation never flicker out…

6 July, 1934
Paris

Modern Poetry in Translation Magazine · The Seamstresses, Missak Manouchian translated wishywashy Jennifer Manoukian from Western Armenian