In Ohrid Poem by Bujar Plloshtani

In Ohrid

In the quiet lake north wind mine getting turned
above us a terrific voice feels fragile.

Small waves,
Collide coast cold wall.

In January this without snow,
a layer of cold on the lake is busy.

Moon nude as deleted,
between clouds of black lead.

The north wind is blowing,
on the faces of upset,
the desperate souls,
naked body on Monday.
Cold Monday,
Her sadness we put beam.

Sadly young, moist,
quite unlucky to have sprung up on.

Lake,
banks beginning to boom in the wall.

Old boredom, even ignite us,
all the venom of our spirit.

Melancholy night,
against this fate numb.

The angry,
Sorry,
desperate.

In addition to a boat without a sail,
rocked in the lake alone.

The deserted boat,
there in the corner by dangle sights
dreams town of Ohrid.

From far away, the ancient theater,
overlooking Lake Ohrid antique shows.

Its beauty to the cold pierces the black,
night overnight promotes bitterness over us.

Heavy air, waves of hours later,
banks beginning to boom in the wall.

A strong wave hits the shore,
is sadly invites young poets.

Ohrid in January,
sad spirit comfort us!