DONDE EL CORAZÓN TE LLEVE

THE FALL

THE FALL

Spill the honey on my forhead in the fall,

leave the sorrow to blossom

run into fall, run you foolish,

thats mine darkness, these dry leafs you e looking at.

The days of Brave Autumns and Clumsy Nettles

has erased the time and swallow the lightness.

They has troubled the river, killed the deserts,

infuriated and angered the coming snow...

nicely sharpened the bark from a heart.

And now, Im standing bare in front of future water springs.

Dressed into dead herbs and boots of mud, I wonder

who will dare to call himself a "singing stone",

who will inhale the morning with a moss,

whos brave enough to bring the dew without crying?

The rain is calling for me…

One tree at the end of the forest is very important.

There I met a real hunter, with great foots,

he was naked and with petrified teeth

and he wasn aware that he was a hunter.

Squirrels has gone and lost somewhere in oaks, he said.

These oaks hurt, he said.

They always suffer for their persistent strength, he said.

Do you have a cigarette, he said.

Im unbearably alone, he said.

I don belive in holidays any more, he said.

You know, here, the autumns are silent and beautiful, he said.

Just, these oaks really hurt, he said.

So, here I am at the flower meadow, again.

The moon is full, and the victims are sacrified.

I feel that something in my chest so I could let

the thunder to rip me and take me to the wild treetop.

Pictures are still...

the wind is bringing the storm.

The Wood is whispering:

“…in the fall, it is never all the same

in the fall, everybody leave

in the fall, you should not be ashamed

of these thunders in you

you must rather defeat these landscapes

you must defeat that particular omnipotent wind

you must be able to erase your essence

and become a flower..."

The autumn is bitter.

Nevertheless, some day, all of us will be gone

and lost in the oak’s leafs.

Djordje Popovic