Akhtamar

Every night to the waters of Van
Someone comes from the shore,
And without a boat, through the mist,
Boldly swims to the island.

With mighty shoulders,
He cuts through the bosom of the waters,
Drawn by the beams
That the distant lighthouse sends.

Around him, the current swirls and hisses,
Chasing after the swimmer,
But the fearless one is not afraid
Of dangers or misfortunes.

What are the threats of the night to him,
The foam, the waters, the wind, the darkness?
Like loving eyes,
The lighthouse shines before him!

* * *

Every night, sparks of light
Lure with the charm of secret spells:
Every night, cloaked in darkness,
Tamara waits for him.

And with mighty shoulders,
He plows the bosom of the waters,
Drawn by the beams
That the distant lighthouse sends.

He swims toward happiness,
Bravely battling the waves.
And Tamara, consumed by passion,
Waits for him in the night's darkness.

Her expectations are not in vain...
Closer, closer... here he is!
A moment of bliss! A moment of meeting!
A heavenly dream of sweet mysteries!

Quietly. Only the waters splash,
Only, filled with pure enchantment,
The stars murmur and tremble
For shameless Tamara.

And again to the depths of Van
Someone comes from the shore.
And without a boat, through the mist,
Swims away from the island.

And with fear, Tamara remains
Alone above the water,
Watching, listening, as the furious wave
Beats against the shore.

Tomorrow—again the waiting,
The lighthouse still sparkles,
The same wondrous moment of meeting,
The same caresses, the same darkness.

But a cruel enemy discovered
The secret of the loving hearts:
The distant light was extinguished,
And the swimmer was caught in darkness.

Evil people trampled
The brightly burning fire,
The night skies are silent,
The gaze searches in vain for light.

The lighthouse's welcoming glow
Will no longer sparkle as before—
And in deceptive hope,
He struggles, struggles against the waves.

The wind whispers incomprehensibly,
Mist swirls over the water—
And a faint sigh is barely audible:
"Ah, Tamara!"

Sounds of weeping, sounds of laughter...
The waves caress the cliff,
And, like a fading echo,
"Ah, Tamara!" resounds in the gloom.

At dawn, the waves rose
And carried a pale corpse,
And a silent reproach froze:
"Ah, Tamara!" on the dead lips.

Since then, years have passed,
The island is full of its former charm,
It gazes darkly upon the waters
And is called Akhtamar.

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Akhtamar

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