Vangelis - Spotkanie z matką

She was the first to show me the moon
And the first snow on the spruces,
And the first rain.

I was little as a seashell back then,
And my mother's black dress rustled like the Black Sea.

Night.

The kerosene in the little lamp is burning.
A mosquito buzzes near my ear.
Maybe it's you, mother, in the sky
Being those few stars?

Or on the lake with a white sail?
Or a wave reaching the sloping shores?
Maybe your hands sprinkled
My manuscript with starry dust?

Or perhaps you are the southern hour,
The Mazurka of bees in golden August rooms?
Yesterday I found a pin in the reeds --
From hair. Isn't it yours?

*
Dark alders stand in the marshland,
It scatters rottenly in the wetlands
Hey, the wind whistled on the pipe,
Blew away the little stars above the alders

A little mouse ran along the path
A bat measured the Milky Way
And suddenly the wind fell silent. And from the coal
The moon came out with a silver pipe in his teeth

Clouds, hollows, acorns, and splinters
Lit up with a great glow --
As if the whole world was a silver spruce,
A silver beetle playing songs.

*
Little leaves begin to tremble,
Birds strike a tone,
The sun rises above the horizon,
The sun melts like snow.

Little leaves to fall and descend,
Birds also to not live forever,
Sun to rise and set,
Heart to be stars and violin.

*
Like a box of Christmas candles,
Suddenly, in the hand, somewhere from the depths of the sideboard,
Thoughts suddenly enter the head,
Brush against the heart, and shake it.

My mum used to buy such candles,
They sleep. In them sleeps a beautiful intention.

Just unfold them and just light them,
And you'll see what comes of it:
The oval of a precious face will shine in candles.
My mother will raise her finger. The wind will fall silent.

Kiss your mother's hands and hair,
Then scatter snow on the little streets,
For it to sparkle and crackle.

Then all the flickering lights,
Close in your suitcase. Open at night,
If misfortune meets you on the way.

*
Summer in the forest. Green darkness in the spruces.
Sage. Sorrel.
The sky sheds its clouds. A bird peeks.
Bumblebees buzz among the grass.

Yellow and white butterflies, like flying letters.
Silence and light
And further and further, beyond that sandy hill,
There is also summer.

The sky is a small town on a Sunday,
Stars gaze at the earth from windows,
And it is known that there are many stars
And that they are all blue-eyed.

And there in the corner, in the apartment with a balcony,
In one window, there is a red flower,
And this second window with another flower...

That's where you live. And with the poker
You move the fireworks. And you cry
Because you've been waiting so long for me with dinner.

*
I'm coming to you. Into your greenness.