Poppies of the Crags

poem

Poppies of the Crags

Black ravens dance around you in the snowy whiteness of infinity

Tracks of muddy boots line up to witness the shameless trail

Faceless people in a nest of hatred, unleashed from a golden chain

They thought knightly Montenegro would die

That it would fall silent like a frozen bird

Voiceless

Well, by God, it won't!

Small as she is to you, a guarantor!

Oh, poor wretch how many times they trampled you

And you rose again

How many Saber blades bent against crags and necks.

So much gunpowder and cartridges scattered over this stone.

If it were grain, you’d be a granary

Your peaks would be white with loaves of bread

Red rivers would flow through your valleys and canyons.

On meager fields,

poppies of blood would grow for every head that came to rest in these crags of yours.

So many mothers and brides, draped in black,

they’d cover the sky with veils so it may never clear

And the rain of unshed tears would never stop

So many evildoers have you proudly seen off

Do not falter, my dear

I am not afraid; I am just talking to myself in bitterness

No one shall extinguish you.