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With the pain of the world (Ashkhari tsavov)
My heart will be stained with the pain of the world
With the sufferings - so much, only God would know
From the fields of my life every breeze blowing on
Will splash to my face and hurry away...
My feet will always feel the sand from below
Still dump with sap of the innocent lives
Infants, beautiful like rays of the sun
Will be scythed by sabres and famine.
Now how can I join this table abundant with food
Drinking merrily these luscious wines?
When an orphan somewhere is
Being deprived of a piece of bread
Lord, how much pain grows in the world
My heart is aching with the pain of the world
1976
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