Don't cry for the green fields… Refik Martinović

 

Don't forget

the nights of the New Moon

when our fields were fragrant

and we along their paths

walked with the stars

waited for the call of silence

and chased the white lambs

in your silk shirt

with the scent of chastity

that is lulled to sleep

by the touch of freshly dewy flowers

and the quiet whispering

of birds hidden in the willows

while the river dreams

in the glow of fireflies

who guard our sighs with lanterns.

Today

after many years

only dreams still live

and the occasional dragonfly

rides our fields

to water our thirsty lips

with drops of spilled tears.

I still hang out

with the deceptive stars

that wander

through the unreal sky

and call upon the birds

to give us back the wings

with which we once

carried away

with fiery kisses

and watered our green fields

although people fly

differently from birds.

 Do not weep our fields

 silence with tears

 dead longings

 and bowed head flowers

 and on free days

 I leave like the Russian steppes

 because every story

 it has its beginning and its end.

 

 Don't cry green fields 

 some waiting

 be our hopes

 and dreams

 our lives.