Death of the Mountain

/, Blesok no. 12/Death of the Mountain

Death of the Mountain

Voicing the Heights
Death of the Mountain
Sower. Flower

Translated by: Zoran Ančevski

Pain is variable beauty
History happens
When a tear trickles from my mouth

After the long journeys
Night rains
Await me


I again smell the mown grass
Fragrance rises from the the steps of the Bacchantes
Illuminated Sky in the Night
A traveler who travels Nowhere
Without the shadow of the Universe

I wake like a mystic
And announce a miracle

I voice the heights.

AuthorJanko Ninov
2018-08-21T17:23:56+00:00 January 1st, 2000|Categories: Poetry, Blesok no. 12|0 Comments