Wind fields.. Refik Martinović

 

The days hurt
the planet is dying
in wind fields
on which we ran barefoot until yesterday
and now in us without pollen and flowers
silent deathly spring
darkened without fences
with the smell
of fresh mounds.

Heaven mourns
with yellow tears
as he sends
 the stars to rest
without return
wrapped in
rainbow colored masks.
It's sad to watch
when the sky
inhuman cries
and the processions
are silent
clothed in prayers
 of foreboding.

I need you, darling
like spring rain
to water
 these dried days
which do not pass by sight
like a river without return
But I thought ...
everything will pass
 we'll leaf in May
when they fall
those tiny spring rains
when will your name
to be a nest of my thoughts
and that the pain
will stop in your bosom...
Is there any hope for us
in the days of the spell
when the Planet dies
with muted masks
in  young dandelions
which they call spring
in wind fields
on which
we ran barefoot
until yesterday.