In April my hands release you
You are taken over like a sleeping child,
wise man and warrior, by the hands of Nature.
Here around us are all
the clocks of the seasons. They are working.
Spring works in the flowers
I don’t understand the cuckoo’s voice
The swallows fly high
And I, your son, in this turmoil
of the elements in assault, yet so peacefully,
array my forces, your forces,
in one great song that they should live
for the whole world
and in this house of ours in the mountains
that there should be room for that song. Your innocence
and parent’s care yesterday afternoon
left their mark on the sun
It made fast and raised the mountains
like ships.
selection from “Vigils”
AuthorRadovan Pavlovski