Bitter and scarce is the northern light.
The sledge here is drawn by heavy shadows,
the owls and wolves keep watch.
A word crunches between the teeth.
I don`t know, I don`t know how to be here,
I am chilled by history.
All borders are cages,
all stories are locked.
What I`m talking about, is
the dance of dust mote
in the immeasurable sun.
Translated from Estonian by Tiina Aleman
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem