A Poem Of Ohrid

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A Poem Of Ohrid

The Tale of the Stone
Zaum
A Meeting With a Sprite
The Wedding of the Sun
The Legend of the Plane Tree
Fire Over Kaneo
The Tale of the Soul
The Sun"s Seed
The Tale of the Rain

The oarsman in his boat, he rows
across the Moon Lake, coming for my soul.
He brings earrings of silver and black stone
for her, my tranquil and beloved bride.
The soul is a bird that can fly
while we sleep to the scene of our dreams.
Like a queen without ruth death picks us out
when she will, like shadows in the night.
My soul takes wing from place to place,
hides nowhere, is nowhere at rest.
He who keeps vigil at midnight to see
the ring of the moon in the midst of the lake
will find a cure, be spared from death.
Return to me, my soul, with all your speed
bring me news, tell what you have witnessed in the world.
Have you spied out heaven’s secrets, galloping steeds
and a girl in white who sings and dances by the lake?
I see a new dawn appearing in the sky
And with it my hope comes home to me.
In this white night the white boat’s crew
will not bear off my soul beyond the hills.

AuthorDuško Nanevski
2018-08-21T17:24:05+00:00 April 1st, 1998|Categories: Blesok no. 02, Poetry|0 Comments