Unripe fruits.. Refik Martinovic

 

That October night
the ballad about us
has died out
who had been daying for days
in the sobs of the winds
who scattering red leaves
on the wet road
bathed in tears.

That... night without sleep
who cried with grief
which descended down an empty street
without humans and birds
hiding in the shadows of wild chestnuts
beneath which someone was always waiting for someone
to lean sighs on its wet shoulders
bitter partings.

That night... I was left alone
without the smell of your footsteps
powerless to restrain
restless storms of the night
which take you to some blurred memories
and they left me in solitude
to dream of hot kisses and rebirth.

That night... I forgot the torrents of my youth
who plan restlessly under the silk shirt
the color of an acacia flower
which will warm someone's longings
and the sad touches of night birds
which will embrace their nests
and keep the saga about us
our unfinished dreams and  traces of destiny.

If we ever meet
put on the red October you wore for me
always when we were sick
of our vague words
maybe you didn't know
that in juventus days
only unripe fruits are harvested.