The
grapevine waiting bird that went south
Before you, other fulfilled my solitude that you
repudiate - they got used to misery, you're wake up joy. You were spring and
summer, you were the wealth and abundance in which my spirit flourished, and
when you left began a long gloominess autumn which slowly turned into winter.
Here's solitude in
which you're not present... around me desert
and thirst... around me desolate emptiness... no one in sight to give me water...
Outside is cold, icily
in my soul, for a moment I'm desperate - a man who lost everything, a man who had everything... and the last bond -
yellowed leaf which defies coldness... soon it will fall off... and in him dying longing which whine...
As a bare vine in the
cold squeezing last juices, and golden vintage are getting ready... this wine will be
sweet and harshly... and when the last raceme pick gentle women's hands, dead and yet alive
again, to some extent, I surrender...
Squeeze juices out of
me and I will give them... fragrant and golden... downward through a tongue I will
flow and hope that my story at least occasional smile will elicit...
And then will come the
spring and the sun will repudiate the white snowflakes and over again, briefly,
abundance will dominate and life will flourish again...
And maybe... with the spring... another woman came to
meet my solitude and enjoy in the wine mature...
Maybe she likes the taste... to her palate might be I
more suited will be... to her it may be thrill, deceiving, or at least she
could get drunk occasionally by a story and experience that I gained from you...
Maybe... maybe not...
But spring will definitely come...
And along with it all
the birds will come back, swallows, woodcocks, storks, all that go to the
south...
And… maybe get you back ...
