How do you look, my village
in the wintery mountain valley?
Is the old house still standing?
Are your young boys now dying?
Do you hear the gunfire, in Bihach
or, by now, is it subsiding...
While the late hours are striking
your scenery is not vivid
but in my heart, you are carried.
I can see you, from a distance
with sleepy childhood alleys,
but instead of star studded nights,
dark clouds are in your sky.
But village, I now pray
That the quietness of some summer day,
with cricket song in the grass
and no darkness in your skies...
I'll be back on my way...
But...for now I have to stay
And if that summer's day never comes again on display
I will have to say
"Adios village ...And now, for me, please pray."
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem