Originally Posted by
ina
hmmmmmmm..........well, ok, I translate you what I can, but you know, it's hard.... but not because of the language.....it's very hard for me.
Arabesques - Srebrnica's Grief-song
This field, Black Field
tillage is not ploughed
these are not (Indian) corns
that is an aim next to aim
A wave of corn can't be heard
nor could water-boy(carrier)
nor herds nor white colanders (?)
the death talks with itself
(damned doom, blossom mowed)
this field, black field
mother, sister by the tomb
and bride with a ring (on her finger)
she communicate by dry cry
this field, black field
orphans, like chickens
wordless gazes toward the tomb
I can't take my eyes from it.