The Dadeek, grandmother of the clan—
Still dressed in the old ways,
The subservient ways,
In the days when her cross
Was hidden under cloth
That covered her head, chin, and neck,
And her prayers to God were silent,
Reverently gazes towards heaven,
Then closes her eyes for a moment
Before bringing her callused, weathered
Hands together in prayer—
Asdvats, yes Kez madagh leenem,
Marmeenus Kez madagh,
Mee tsak tsakeer es joghovortee vra,
Amboghch ashkharee vra,
Voreets hedo, eem yerekhaneree vra.
Asdvats, yes Kez madagh,
Dghaeed, aghchgad madagh,
Danud, dranud madagh,
Hand oo poochakheed madagh,
Dzereetsus ayd aghachankn eh galees,
Hargeer khntrankus. *
Never having learned to read and write,
Somehow, she knew what was in The Book
That echoes the Breath of God.
Somehow, she understood
The meaning of it all,
And, daily prayed—
God, let me be Your sacrifice,
Let my body be Your sacrifice,
Shine a ray of light on these people,
On the entire world,
After that, on my children.
God, let me be Your sacrifice,
Your son’s, Your daughter’s sacrifice,
Your home’s, Your door’s sacrifice,
Your field’s and corner’s sacrifice,
From my hands comes that plea,
Honor my beseech.
In a nearby field,
Under an oak tree,
Next to a Khachkar—a Cross Stone—
Children repeat
The Dadeek’s Prayer.
July, 2009
*This old Armenian prayer is said in Artsakh, and it comes from an oral tradition that still lives on.
Thank you for this poem. It is beautiful and reminds me of prayer time I would have with my Nene. A very similar prayer that she would pray, and now, one that my mother prays with my children.