NeraNature - Słowiańska łza

A Slavonic tear

The wind brought me the old song,
which I know so well...

Apples fall down again
She keeps dreaming a beautiful dream,
standing in mud up to her chest.
Birds break away from their nests straight into the drum of clouds
in an attempt to conquer the world.
She keeps weeping motionlessly all day long ...
Lilies wither, so does her braid.
Her heart trembles: can it be the end? It’s only dawn...
She asks the river – the river knows... But it remains silent as the rock on the river’s bottom.
She ‘s rolling down...

In this state, where there is no hope, where there is no light ...
It’s the kingdom of the night in broad daylight,
Where there are only the moths and the parade of bad, bad memories...
Where there are only the dust and the tears ... no place for dreams...

Into a jar of melancholy ...
She uses honey plaster to ease the pain.
She rolls down into a jar of melancholy ...

A stone which snatched out of her hand
Cannot be returned.
She’s learning to survive a string of bad luck...
Her happiness, when finally found
It was short-lived. He was a stranger.
Now under the sycamore he’s in eternal sleep.
Field poppies are getting pale, so is her face.
“No wonder”- you say in your sneering tone...
She asks the fire – the fire knows...
But this time the reddish fire sidesteps artfully...

And so she’s rolling down again...

In this state, where there is no hope, where there is no light ...
It’s the kingdom of the night in broad daylight,
Where there are only the moths and the parade of bad, bad memories...
Where there are only the dust and the tears ... no place for dreams...